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em1i2a3 · 27 days ago

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I’ll Believe In Anything

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You book a beach getaway for the team, only to realize that it would be harder than expected to hide you and Bob's relationship from the others.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut (a lot of it…kinda just purely self indulgent, promise next time I’ll have way more plot), and pure Fluffiness. Bob and Reader are in a secret relationship together, and it is relatively new (about two months in, though they were extremely close prior to this)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…please), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female and Male Receiving), Hands Covering Mouths to Muffle Moans…But like…In a nice way? (I feel like that might need a warning for some reason), Dirty talk, Teasing, The use of the name ‘good girl’ is scattered throughout this, Overstimulation, Squirting

Author's Note: I took the request of a beach day with Bob and I thought of a beach weekend with Bob and the rest of the Thunderbolts with the trope of a secret relationship and it being in peak honeymoon phase where reader and Bob/Sentry just can’t get enough of each other. Thank you Anon for suggesting a beach day with Bob…Because it got out of hand lol

Word Count: 15,200

You were supposed to be on the road by noon.

Instead, it was nearly 2:30 and you were still in Bob’s bedroom–sitting cross-legged on the floor, folding his t-shirts while he tried to seduce you with forehead kisses and absolutely no concept of urgency–while the others were already on their way to the beach house.

“Bob. I need you to focus!” You said, voice muffling through a laugh as he nuzzled against your neck, “You were supposed to be packed yesterday, and we were supposed to be halfway down the coast by now!” Bob, who had his arms looped loosely around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, sighed dramatically.

”B-But you smell so good…It’s l-like you bathed in the tropics or something. I-I can’t think straight when you smell like that.”

“You never think straight when I’m around.” You shot back. He turned his head and kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

”That’s b-because you’ve ruined me.” He murmured. You grinned as he kissed the apples of your cheeks, his breath fanning over your skin. His arms tightened around your waist like he was trying to physically keep you from packing, while his whole body curled around yours, pulling you onto his lap slightly. Despite your better judgement, you leaned into him just a little.

”Actually,” You started, reaching for another t-shirt that you had thrown on the floor, “You were just secretly harbouring a high sex drive and didn’t realize it until we finally did it.” Bob let out a flustered breath–half-laugh, half-gasp.

”I-I was not…” Your eyebrows raised.

”Oh, really?” He leaned back a bit so he could look at you fully, with feigned innocence playing in his eyes.

”I-I mean…Fine. I didn’t know it was that b-bad until you. I-It’s not like I ever…I mean, no one’s ever…” He paused and tried to get his words back, taking in a deep breath because his voice almost got carried away with him “Y-You’re the one who makes it a whole different e-experience for me.” You sighed, surrendering to his words.

”I’ll take the blame for opening the floodgates,” You said, tossing another folded t-shirt into his duffel bag. Bob let out a soft laugh that reverberated through your back, warm and full in your ear.

”A-At least you’re a-admitting to it.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for a hoodie you had dug out from the corner of his closet.

”That doesn’t absolve you from having the highest sex drive I’ve ever encountered.” He groaned into your neck, kissing the sensitive flesh there as his arms tightened around you again.

”T-Technically,” He started, drawing the word out, “I’m trying to satiate three different sex d-drives here…” You froze mid-fold, raising your eyebrows at him again.

”Excuse me?” He lifted his head, like he was explaining simple math to you.

”Well…You can’t just put this all on m-me when there’s…Y’know…Two other entities l-living in here.” You immediately started shaking your head at him, giggling slightly in disbelief.

”You are not blaming your libido on Sentry and The Void.” He shrugged, smiling helplessly.

”I-I’m just saying…T-They have opinions too.” You hummed, fighting against the grin on your lips.

”I’m sure they do…But I never thought The Void was needy.” Bob nodded with mock solemnity.

”You’re right, h-he does tend to stay q-quiet unless he really wants to surprise y-you.” You threw his hoodie into the duffel bag.

”Sentry, though…”

“D-Don’t say his name…” Bob cut in quickly, “O-Or else he might be summoned.” He whispered. Which immediately made you double over with a laugh as Bob collapsed back onto the carpet beneath you, his large arms taking you down with him.

You both laid there for a second, tangled in each other and soft cotton, letting the laughter settle in your chests like a weight you wanted to carry. It had only been two months since you started going out with each other–officially. But it hadn’t exactly come out of nowhere.

From the second the Thunderbolts moved into the compound together, you had been drawn to Bob. You didn’t know why at first. He was quiet, hesitant, and always outside the room even when he was inside it. He was your total opposite. But he looked at you like you owned the moon and the stars–and that kind of gaze stuck with you.

It wasn’t long before you started orbiting each other in a way that felt deliberate. Every mission debrief, you found yourself sitting closer to one another. Every team meal, you would share your food with him, and he would do the same with you. Every long hallway walk back from training, he held the door for you with flushed cheeks and twitching hands. He loved the way you smiled, and that was all he wanted to make you do, all the time.

Then, two months ago, it happened. A soft moment. A long look. A kiss in the quiet of your room after a late-night movie together, and then–

You were his. And he was yours.

Now you found yourself in the dangerous phase where everything felt like fire under your skin. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other. He touched you constantly. Kissed you at red lights when it was only you and him in the car. Fell asleep with his fingers curled in your shirt. And snuck into your room at midnight and left your sheets twisted by the morning.

And yet–no one knew.

Not Bucky, nor Yelena, or Ava or Walker…Not even Alexei, even though he had his suspicions. You had both agreed to keep things under wraps until you were ready. Until it wasn’t so new. Until Bob was sure he could be looked at without being seen as a danger to you by the rest of the group. It was not like they didn’t trust him, but in the midst of everything going on with The Void and Sentry, it was easy for them to baby him and treat him like he was always on the brink of exploding, even though that wasn’t the case–mostly because you grounded him.

But both of you were able to admit it was getting harder and harder to keep your relationship under wraps, especially with how much you were sneaking around.

Bob turned his head and kissed your cheek again–slow and soft, right in that spot where he knew it would make you sigh. His lips lingered a second longer than necessary, and it was so sweet it was almost infuriating.

You groaned, flopping your head back against his shoulder. “Okay. We’re getting off-task again. Can you please contribute to the packing so we can get on our way?” He pouted, eyes wide and glistening, still reflecting the sea blue that always put you in a trance.

”A-Alright…Alright. But I want one more kiss.” He said sheepishly. You stared at him for a beat, then leaned in and kissed him on the mouth–firm but brief, something halfway between a promise and a bribe. He chased it for a second when you pulled away, but you were already on your feet, dusting off your thighs and grabbing the half empty duffel.

”Now, help me find those flip flops we bought for you last week,” You said pointing toward his closet.

————————

Thirty minutes later, you were finally on the road.

The sun had begun its slow descent, dipping low and gold behind the treetops as you pulled out of the compound’s gravel lot. The world beyond the gate opened up wide and free–the start of the real sky, of long stretches of road and salt tinged air rising up from the distant coast.

It was warm in the car. That perfect kind of summer heat–the one that lingered on your skin without stifling you. Your hand rested lightly on the wheel, guiding the car through curves and straightaways with practiced ease, in your other hand, condensation clung to your iced coffee cup as you sipped slowly, the straw catching slightly between your lips every now and again.

Beside you, Bob was quiet. Legs drawn up a little, barefoot, with sun streaking through the passenger-side window. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, curling slightly at the edges and shining in the glow of the beams that cascaded over the light brown crown of his head. He wore the black soft cotton t-shirt you liked stealing, and his body had settled into that familiar, lazy sprawl that only happened when he was truly content.

The compound was behind you, and the beach was straight ahead. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to exhale. This was the start of something nice and soft, a time to actually relax and not think about anything other than your found family and your secret lover.

Then you felt Bob’s warm hand spreading across your thigh.

At first it was casual, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, resting just above your knee. You didn’t even glance at him, because Bob always did this–it was his way to soothe himself.

But then his thumb started to move.

A slow, deliberate drag along the inside of your thigh. It certainly wasn’t innocent, and it had alternative intentions.

You shot him a warning glance.

”Bob–“ He didn’t look at you, he just kept his eyes forward, with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then you caught the glow in his irises. It was very faint, but you knew the signs better than anyone else.

“Oh, for the love of god.” Sentry’s fingers crept a little higher on your thigh, just enough to make your breath hitch around the straw of your coffee.

”Come on…” He said deeply. Sentry’s voice was silkier, and lower. Touched by something celestial and smug, “Don’t act like you didn’t know I was going to make an appearance.” You groaned, putting your drink down into the cup holder, before dragging your damp hand down your face.

”Sentry…Now is definitely not the time. We literally just got on the road.” You said sternly. He leaned in, not touching you beyond the dangerously warm hand on your thigh, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his gaze.

”Yet, I’ve been waiting patiently. I watched you pack up his bag, and bend over and kiss his cheek as if I wasn’t even there.” His thumb made another slow sweep, dragging a little higher now, just an inch–but an inch too far, “You’re lucky I didn’t ruin the folding party,” He added, grinning now. Your jaw tensed as you kept your eyes on the road, trying very hard not to give him the reaction he was digging for.

”You’re not ruining this road trip fifteen minutes in,” You said firmly.

”Mmm,” He hummed, “I’m sure there’s a lookout space somewhere nearby. We’re already late, what’s another half hour going to do?” You shot him a withering glance.

”Sentry,” You warned, “You know it’s going to be suspicious if we show up super late. I know how you are. It won’t be half an hour. It’ll be half the damn evening and we won’t get to the beach house until midnight or something.” He bit the inside of his cheek before letting the corner of his mouth tilt.

”All I want is a little taste,” He said, voice dark with promise, “Fifteen minutes. We pull off, throw ourselves in the back on top of our bags. I go down on you quickly, then we get back on the road and nobody will know a thing.” You stared ahead, feeling your heart thudding against your chest. His hand hadn’t moved, it just burned against you like a promise waiting to be claimed.

”And hey…We can even pick up something from a market along the way and pretend we made a quick stop to cover up our trail,” He added helpfully, “A 24 case of beer will definitely be a good peace offering…It would be believable.” The hand on your thigh squeezed–gently, but with purpose. Just enough to make your pulse skip and your breath falter.

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Sentry murmured, voice low and amused, like it thrilled him. “It’s stuttering. All fluttery and sweet. It does that when you’re thinking about me.” His thumb resumed its slow, teasing pass along the inside of your leg, brushing higher this time–so close to dangerous territory it made your stomach clench. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, and that was your downfall, because of course…He felt it.

”Oh, sweetheart…” He drawled, his voice smooth and coaxing, “Don’t do that. You’ll have all that friction and it won’t be able to go anywhere…You’ll make yourself ache. Let me fix it for you…” His hand inched slightly higher, fingertips ghosting the hem of your shorts, toying with the edge like he was already imagining sliding them down your legs in the backseat. You let out a sharp exhale and kept your eyes forward, but he leaned in closer, voice dropping to something deep and honeyed as he whispered:

“You know…I can smell your pheromones right? I can smell everything. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already tempting the divine…Don’t make me beg.” You swallowed hard, jaw clenched, and glanced down at your phone where it sat in the center console with the maps app still open. Estimated arrival time: 7:04 PM.

You didn’t even care about being late. But the team would care. And so would Bob, mostly because he would think you almost blew your covers, but at this point…You were putting that off to the side.

Your voice came out rougher than you intended–strained, but full of warning, “I’m going to set a fucking timer, Sentry.” He stilled slightly, his brows raising in curiosity. You glanced over at him just enough to see his eyes–those shimmering, celestial irises already brightening with every breath you took, devouring every word you were about to say.

”I’ll give you fifteen minutes, not a second more. We can have our little backseat romp session, but then I want Bob back so we can get to the beach house without another stunt like this. Deal?” He didn’t hesitate. He raised his free hand, as if he was swearing a divine oath.

”I will keep my promise,” He purred, lips tilting into something between appreciation and mischief. You groaned, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter before flipping on your turn signal.

“Let me find a fucking exit…”

Sentry reclined smugly in his seat, already victorious. “Good girl.” You rolled your eyes.

”You’re lucky the back windows are tinted.” Sentry didn’t move his hand–just let it linger, warm and steady on your thigh as you guided the car down the exit ramp toward a small turnout nestled beneath a canopy of trees. The kind of hidden roadside clearing that was perfect for a quick stop…Or a god-tier rendezvous. He was watching you with that look again. The one that belonged solely to him, not Bob. All gleam and heat and slow-moving hunger. He looked like temptation itself–bathed in the soft, dusky glow bleeding in through the windshield, his smirk half-wicked, half-worshipful.

“I could’ve asked to do it in front of a window without a tint,” he said softly, leaning back like he wasn’t plotting sin, “And you still would’ve said yes.” Your breath caught, “You like my tongue too much to care about an audience.” Your knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. You made a strained noise of disbelief in the back of your throat and gave a low grunt.

“Text the group chat,” You growled, eyes flicking to the parked gravel lot ahead, shaded and deserted. “Tell them there’s traffic, that we’re behind. Say we’re stopping to grab a case of beer. Make it sound casual.”

Sentry made a pleased little sound in his throat, already unlocking Bob’s phone with one swipe. “I love when you get like this,” He murmured as he thumbed out a message.

“Bob: Hey srry, we hit some crappy traffic, gonna be a bit late, going to stop and grab beer so no one complains ❤️❤️❤️”

”You’re putting too many hearts,” You muttered.

”I’m in a loving mood,” He replied, “Or maybe I’m just…Warming up.” He commented, returning his hand back to your thigh, giving it a squeeze. You pulled into the shaded turnout, tires crunching slowly over gravel as you eased the car to a stop beneath a thick curtain of trees. The sound of the highway faded, replaced by the gentle hum of nature and the distant whisper of the coast.

You turned off the ignition and grabbed your phone off the console, flicking to the clock app to put in the timer. You set it for fifteen minutes, and pressed start, before dropping it into the cupholder with a thunk.

Sentry was already shifting toward you in his seat, his pupils blown, and his mouth already watering in anticipation.

“Backseat. Now.” You ordered.

He obeyed without hesitation. But not before dragging his palm slowly up your inner thigh one last time, a promise etched into that final touch.

“Don’t worry,” He murmured as he unbuckled, voice dark and sweet as sin, “I’ll make every second count.” You didn’t wait for another cue. In one smooth motion, you shifted your weight and climbed between the seats–knee first, then twisting your hips as you hauled yourself into the back without ever leaving the car. It wasn’t graceful, but it was efficient–and Sentry made a sound the second your ass brushed past his face.

“Fuck,” He muttered low, and before you even had both feet off the console, his hand came down in a playful smack against your backside. You jolted, letting out a sharp gasp as you turned to glare over your shoulder.

“Seriously?”

“You’re the one waving it in my face like an invitation,” He purred, gaze locked on your curves like he was already halfway undressing you with just his stare. “You expect me not to say hello?” You flopped back onto the bags, thighs spreading automatically as you settled into the soft, uneven pile. The duffels creaked under your weight, but they cradled you perfectly–your legs open, head tipped back, heart already hammering.

Sentry followed in a slow, almost stalk-like crawl. His eyes were molten gold, his mouth parted slightly like he could already taste you.

And the moment he was between your legs, he didn’t speak.

He went straight for your shorts.

His fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging them down with one smooth pull—and your underwear followed, sliding down your thighs and calves and off with a gentle rustle. He bunched them up in his hand, then casually tossed them into the front seat like one would toss a bouquet at a wedding.

“I love this seat now,” He muttered.

You didn’t get a chance to retort–he was already back on you.

Sentry’s mouth descended onto your belly first–hot, slow kisses pressed just beneath your navel, where your shirt had rode up and exposed your skin. He worshipped his way down: lips dragging, breath heavy, hands stroking your sides like he wanted to memorize every inch before devouring the center of you.

You parted your thighs even more for him and his breath hitched.

“God, yes,” He breathed, reverent and aching, like the sight of you made him lose all of his thoughts for a second. Sentry exhaled hard through his nose as you opened yourself wider for him. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you further like he needed to see every inch, and his gaze–bright, golden, hungry–burned a trail straight to your core.

Then he dipped his head.

The first stroke of his tongue was filthy.

A long, unrestrained lick from your entrance all the way up through your folds, ending in a slow, devastating flick against your clit that made your back arch off the bags. He moaned into you like he’d been craving this for days, like you were his personal religion.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathed against you, and then he was all mouth.

Lips, tongue, teeth–he worshipped you with all of it. He lapped at you like he was trying to memorize your taste, then sealed his mouth around your clit and sucked with a precision that made your hips jerk. You cried out, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling, hard, as your other hand reached out blindly and was promptly pinned to the seat.

He held you there. Just enough pressure to keep you grounded, trembling beneath the mouth of a god.

He looked up at you as he worked–eyes locked to yours, glowing with unfiltered desire. Your hips began to grind instinctively, rutting against his tongue, and he groaned–loud and guttural–at the feel of it. The vibration shot through your entire body, igniting the tension building in your gut like it was being called forward.

And just when you were about to fall apart, he pulled back.

His mouth was slick, chin shining, lips red and parted as he stared up at you with a sinful kind of reverence.

“Look at you,” He rasped, voice thick and ruined, “Already grinding on my face like a good little thing. I knew you missed this.”

You whimpered, and he grinned like he’d won a war.

Then he dove back in.

His tongue was relentless this time–messier, wetter, devouring you like you were the last thing he’d ever taste. Your legs trembled, your hips stuttered and rolled against his face, and his moans only got louder. His tongue circled your clit and sucked hard, and you shattered–with a cry and a full-body jerk as the orgasm ripped through you, fast and merciless.

Your legs clamped around his head, and still he kept going, licking through it, eyes fluttering half shut as he groaned into your core like your pleasure was the most delicious thing in existence.

You collapsed back against the duffels, panting, twitching, vision swimming.

And he still didn’t move.

Not until your thighs loosened and your hand slipped from his hair.

Then he slowly pulled back, breath heavy, lips wet, and reached casually over the seat to tap the screen of your phone.

Seven minutes left.

He looked back at you, eyes flashing.

“Plenty of time.”

Before you could catch your breath, he was on you again–this time with a low growl, gripping your hips and dragging you closer until your thighs were slung over his shoulders. You barely had time to inhale before he buried his mouth in you again, and this time, he didn’t ease in.

He was ruthless.

Sentry licked and sucked with feverish intensity, tongue working your already sensitive clit until you were writhing–overstimulated, gasping, body trying to get away even as your hips betrayed you, chasing more friction. He held you still, strong arms wrapped around your thighs, anchoring you as his tongue danced through you like he owned your pleasure.

“Please–fuck, please–” You sobbed, not even knowing what you were begging for.

“You can take it,” He murmured against you, mouth hot and sticky, “Be good for me. Come on, sweet thing…Give me one more.”

You didn’t even realize you were grinding on him again until you felt how tightly you were rocking against his face–hips pulsing, chasing that high you swore had already ruined you. Your hand reached back to the seat, desperately clutching for leverage, and your thighs began to tremble.

Sentry moaned again. Louder. Hungrier. He followed your movements, let you grind against his face while he kept sucking your clit, letting you fuck yourself on his mouth like he was starving for it.

The orgasm ripped through you even harder than the first–violent, blinding, stars behind your eyes as your entire body locked up, a cry catching in your throat as your hips seized against him. You sobbed, gasped, twitched, and he kept licking until you slumped back against the bags, shaking.

Then he pulled off slowly, tongue sliding with one last lazy lick, and kissed the inside of your thigh.

He sighed like he was full.

“You’re unbelievable,”He whispered, voice low and worshipful. “Fucking gorgeous. So good for me. Such a perfect little thing, letting me ruin you like that.”

You were still panting, barely able to lift your head.

“Sentry…” You breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. Maybe. But you’re glowing, and I’m proud of my work.”

He licked his lips, still tasting you, and looked dazed with pleasure.

Then he leaned up, slowly, and kissed your mouth.

It was deep, slow, and messy–your taste was still fresh on his lips, and you moaned against him without meaning to. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe again, then finally pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth:

“Hopefully,” He whispered, smug and tender, “You can recover for a minute or two…Before you get back to driving.” His eyes–bright and swirling with hints of caramel beneath the glow–scanned over you like he was taking inventory. Your hair was mussed, your shirt rumpled, your thighs still twitching faintly as your breath fought to steady itself. He looked proud. Not smug. Proud–like he’d just completed the holiest task of his life.

Then, gently, he reached down and smoothed his hands on the outside of your thighs, giving you one more kiss before saying:

”Let me help.” You gave him a small nod, watching as he reached toward the front seat and grabbed your discarded shorts and underwear. Carefully, he slipped your underwear back on–guiding each foot through the holes and sliding the fabric back up your thighs with featherlight fingers. His knuckles brushed your hips as he tugged the waistband gently into place. Then he leaned forward and kissed your stomach, right above the hem.

“So beautiful.” He murmured against your skin. You let out a long exhale, watching him closely as he did the same thing with your shorts–lifting and fitting them over your legs, being as gentle as possible. He let his fingers linger for just an extra second at your hips before pulling back, offering you both his hands.

”Come on,” He said softly, his voice now hinting with the familiar cadence of Bob returning beneath the surface. “Let’s get you up front before he wakes up and before your legs decide to go on strike.” You let him haul you up, giggling breathlessly as you stumbled a bit and collapsed into his chest. He steadied you with both arms wrapped around your back, holding you there as your head rested on his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, and you nodded into his neck.

”Yeah, just dating a guy who has a menace living inside him.” And he let out a small laugh.

————————

The car still smelled like you.

Even with the windows cracked to let the salt air in and the case of beer tucked safely in the trunk, the interior held the faintest trace of heat and sweat and you–like citrus and sugar and something warm he couldn’t name. The radio was low now, playing a soft stretch of guitar through the static as the trees thinned around you, and the narrow road shifted into something more golden. Sunlight spilled like honey through the canopy overhead, dappling the long gravel drive leading to the beach house with flickering, buttery light.

Bob leaned forward slightly in the passenger seat, eyes wide and quiet as the house came into view–wood-paneled, two-storied, all soft cedar and wide windows that caught the last of the sun and bounced it back into the sea below. You could hear waves in the distance already, even with the engine still humming beneath you. A long wraparound porch stretched across the front of the house, framed by tall grasses and uneven dunes, and parked cars were scattered along the side like lazy footprints. You recognized Walker’s truck immediately, and Alexei’s SUV beside it. Farther up, Bucky’s bike leaned half in shadow near the porch, its chrome handlebars still catching the last low light.

“Almost there,” You murmured, easing off the gas as the tires crunched softly over the gravel. You reached for your iced coffee again, now mostly melted and watered down, the condensation ring still etched into the center console.

Bob, still barefoot, tugged slightly at the hem of his black t-shirt and glanced sideways at you, his voice quieter now. “S-So…How’re we gonna pull this off?” He scratched at the back of his neck, hair still slightly mussed from the backseat, and you could see the concern flickering beneath his tone–half nerves, half anticipation. “R-Rooming together, I mean. W-We’re gonna need a story, right? Or else…”

You raised your eyebrows and cut him off with a soft, sly smile, “I just ‘accidentally’ booked a house with one less room.”

Bob blinked. “You what?”

You shrugged, eyes forward again as you navigated the last turn into the long curve of the driveway. The house loomed larger now, golden in the dying sun. “We’re the last to arrive. Someone was going to get the short end of the straw either way. This way, it just happens to be us.”

His mouth parted slightly, brow lifting with astonished admiration. “Y-You’re very clever…” He breathed, voice warm with affection. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek–quick and soft, just before the car came to a full stop at the base of the porch stairs.

Your skin tingled where his lips had landed, but you didn’t let yourself react visibly. Instead, you reached down and turned off the engine.

The car fell silent, and for a moment, all you could hear was the ocean.

Bob stared up at the house like it might swallow him whole. You could feel the weight of his anxiety settle behind his chest, even though he was trying to play it cool. You slipped your hand over his, gave it a quick squeeze.

“Hey,” you whispered, “We’re going to have fun. That’s the whole point of this weekend, remember?” You raised a brow. “You know…Vacation? No missions. No compound stress. Just the beach. Board games. Barbecue. Bad drinks.”

His lips twitched. “A-And maybe some bad ideas,” He added, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand.

“Definitely,” You agreed, grabbing your phone and slipping it into your pocket. You both got out of the car at the same time.

The air outside was humid, but not heavy—salt-kissed and breezy, laced with the low rhythmic hush of the tide. You stretched your arms overhead, your shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of skin, and you caught the way Bob glanced at you before looking away quickly. Still flustered. Still sweet.

He grabbed the case of beer from the trunk while you took the small overnight bags. The sand crunched softly beneath your boots as you made your way up the porch steps, and the wooden boards creaked gently under your weight. Laughter spilled from inside–Yelena, unmistakably, and then a deeper voice you recognized as Alexei’s. The screen door rattled in the frame, propped open by a flip-flop.

You paused just before stepping inside, glancing at Bob one more time. His eyes met yours with something soft–nervous, but steady.

“We got this,” You said, nudging your shoulder into his.

He nodded. “O-One less room, huh?”

You smiled.

“Short end of the straw.”

And with that, you pushed open the door.

Inside, the beach house was warm with light–wood-paneled ceilings, string lights draped along the beams, and the cozy smell of something cooking already wafting in from the kitchen. The living room was scattered with mismatched throw pillows, a huge sectional wrapped around a coffee table stacked with snacks and card games. Someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker that was playing an old Rolling Stones song under the chatter. Walker was barefoot, sitting on the edge of the couch drinking a beer with his arm flung over the back, while Ava lay sideways across the cushions on her phone. Yelena was perched on the kitchen counter with a handful of kettle chips, and Alexei was in an apron, aggressively stirring whatever was inside a pot.

The room turned the second the screen door clicked shut behind you.

“Finally!” Yelena shouted, hopping down from the counter. “What the hell took you so long? You miss a turn and wind up in another state?”

”G-Guess there’s no service up here…G-Got stuck in traffic,” Bob explained, lifting the beer up, “A-And we decided to stop for t-this as a peace offering.” He placed the case on the island counter with a thud. Yelena narrowed her eyes.

”Mmm…Well that’s nice…But they’re warm.”

“They’re not warm,” Ava called from the couch. “They’re body temperature. Like they’ve been sweating in a hot car for hours.”

You kicked off your boots, smirking. “Then someone better put them in the fridge if you want to be hydrated by nightfall.”

Alexei gave a loud cheer and clapped Bob on the back hard enough to jostle him. “Bob! You pack swim trunk, or are we going to encourage skinny dipping?”

Bob blushed so violently it touched the tips of his ears. “I-I packed,” He said quickly.

You reached for your bag and motioned casually to the stairs. “Which room are we getting?”

Bucky appeared from the hallway, arms crossed, already looking like he’d claimed the bedroom with the best view. “There’s one left. Top of the stairs, last door on your right. Double bed. Sucks to be the last ones here…”

You nodded, keeping your expression even.

“Guess we drew the short straw Bob…Hope you like sleeping on the floor.” You joked.

You followed Bob up the narrow, creaky staircase, the wood groaning under your footsteps and the hum of laughter still trailing from the kitchen behind you. The upstairs hallway smelled like cedar and sea salt. A tall window at the end of the corridor cast a rectangle of gold light across the hardwood, and you could hear the distant, rhythmic crash of waves through the thin summer walls.

“L-Last door on the right,” Bob said softly, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was still a little hoarse–quiet from nerves or from what had happened earlier in the car, you couldn’t quite tell. Probably both.

The room wasn’t big, but it was perfect.

A double bed was pressed against the wall, low and wide, with fresh white sheets and a faded blue quilt that looked like it had been dried in the sun one too many times. The window above the bed was cracked open, letting in a soft breeze that lifted the edges of the curtains gently like breath. Through the slats, you could see the glittering edge of the ocean just beyond the trees, gold sun sinking into darkening blue. A small dresser sat in one corner, its top empty except for a lone seashell bowl and a lamp that hadn’t been turned on. A fan clacked softly in the ceiling overhead.

Bob hovered in the doorway for a second, like he didn’t quite believe this was real.

You stepped past him, tossing your bag onto the foot of the bed and letting yourself take a slow, indulgent breath.

“Not bad,” You said, turning back to face him with a playful tilt of your mouth. “Definitely cozy.”

Bob let out a breathy laugh, finally crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “I-It’s perfect,” He murmured. His eyes drifted to the bed, then back to you. “D-Do you think…W-We’ll be okay sharing that?”

You raised your eyebrows. “I’ve seen you take up more space on a couch than that bed,” you teased, “I think we’ll manage.”

He smiled, stepping closer, his hands still fiddling with the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

The tension was different now–softer, quieter. The chaos of arriving was behind you. The shared room was secured. The door was closed. The window was open to the salt air and the hush of waves.

And you were alone.

Bob reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin.

“Y-You were amazing earlier…In the car,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I-I know it’s not always easy when he comes out in my moments of happiness like that. I just–wanted you to know I’m grateful. F-For you. For…Everything.”

Your chest ached at the way he said it. Honest. Bare. Like you were holding his whole heart. You stepped in, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. He folded into you like a tide, resting his chin gently on your shoulder, his arms sliding around you in return. His breath was warm against your neck as he kissed the smooth skin there. You turned your head slightly, just enough to let your nose brush against his jaw, and then you whispered:

“I love every piece of you, Bob. Every single one. The quiet parts, the powerful parts, even the ones that scare you a little. They’re all you—and I love them all.” His breath hitched ever so slightly, and his arms tightened around you in that way that always made your heart ache a little, because it was like he was trying to make sure you didn’t float away.

Then you added, just a little softer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips:

“And, hey… it’s also kind of a perk that when you’re at peak Sentry, you’re practically putty in my hands.”

Bob huffed a quiet laugh—half embarrassed, half endeared—his forehead tipping against yours. “Th-That’s not fair,” he murmured, grinning shyly, “Y-You already have me wrapped around your finger without any celestial interference…” You opened your mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Yelena.

”DINNER IS IN TEN!” Her voice carried like a bombshell from the kitchen, followed by the distinct clatter of a pot lid being thrown into the sink.

”STOP THROWING THINGS, WE’RE RENTING THIS PLACE!” Ava yelled. You let out a little groan, and pressed your forehead to his, hearing a soft laugh escape his throat.

“W-We should go down before she comes up here with a spatula…”

”Or worse…A truth serum.” You added, taking a step back, “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

———————

After dinner, everyone moved in slow, satisfied motions–bellies full, limbs relaxed. Alexei’s strange but oddly delicious pasta had vanished quickly, and someone had cracked open the beer before it could fully chill. The plates were stacked haphazardly beside the sink, and instead of drawing straws or assigning chores, a quiet sort of rhythm formed.

Bob washed.

You dried.

Yelena stacked the dishes with unnecessary aggression while muttering under her breath about how she always got “dish-duty by proximity.” Ava supervised, occasionally leaning over to correct the stacking form while sipping wine from a novelty mug. Bucky wandered in halfway through the clean-up with a dish towel over his shoulder and somehow managed to avoid doing anything except drying one fork and then disappearing again. You didn’t even know where Walker had gone, but the open back door suggested he’d escaped onto the porch with the Bluetooth speaker and a fresh beer, and Alexei had sprawled out on the couch.

Eventually, with the kitchen cleaned and the sink no longer threatening to overflow, the group gathered in the living room. Someone dimmed the lights. Bob claimed a spot on the corner of the couch, and you casually sank down beside him. A blanket was draped over the back cushions–threadbare and too warm for the weather, but you tugged it down anyway, letting it spill across your lap and his.

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for his hand beneath it.

He let you take it, let your fingers lace with his, and his thumb drew slow, steady circles against your palm as the movie began to play. Something old. Familiar. Background noise for a room full of ex-operatives pretending to be ordinary.

No one noticed you. No one questioned the blanket. Maybe they were too full, or too tired. Maybe they didn’t care. But Bob’s breathing slowed the second your hand found his, and you could feel the way his shoulders eased against the cushions, just from that simple, hidden touch.

The movie ran long. People started peeling off one by one. First Walker, then Ava. Alexei disappeared upstairs muttering something about needing to “test the mattress.” Yelena stayed the longest–curled up in a chair with her hoodie pulled tight–before eventually yawning, retreating to her room soon after.

That left just you and Bob.

The TV still played–now quiet, some after-midnight rerun that neither of you were watching.

Bob shifted slightly, his hand still linked with yours under the blanket, and you could see the way the light touched the soft parts of his face, casting long shadows under his lashes and along the slope of his cheekbone.

You turned your head toward him, voice low.

“Hey,” You murmured, “Wanna go for a walk?”

He blinked slowly, like you’d caught him in the middle of a thought, then nodded. “Y-Yeah…It’s cooler now, right?”

“Much.” You smiled, pulling the blanket off and rising to your feet. “Tomorrow we’ll be roasting in the sun. Let’s take advantage while we can.”

You grabbed a hoodie from the back of a chair and slipped it over your head as Bob did the same, and together, you padded barefoot across the wooden floors, out the back door, and down the stairs that led through the grass-covered dunes toward the shoreline.

The sky had settled into a deep indigo, the last hints of twilight drained away, and the stars had begun to peek through the clouds above. The moon was just enough–silver-bright and low, casting its glow across the dark stretch of water. The tide dragged in slow and lazy, brushing against the shore with a soft shush-shush that sounded like breathing.

You and Bob walked in silence for a while, shoulders occasionally brushing, your steps syncing as if you’d done this a hundred times before. There were no footprints ahead of you, only the ones you left behind.

Eventually, you stopped near a slope of dry sand that overlooked the water. You sat first, tucking your legs up loosely beneath you. Bob dropped beside you, not too close, but not far–like his gravity always pulled just slightly toward yours.

You tilted your head back, looking at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, the saltiness of the ocean stinging your lungs slightly.

��I could stay here forever,” You whispered.

Bob glanced over, eyes warm. “T-The beach?”

You nodded. “The quiet. The breeze. The water…All of it. It’s peaceful.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching your profile.

“D-Do you think about that a lot?” He asked softly, “L-Leaving the Thunderbolts and just h-having a normal life?” Your fingers curled into the sand.

“Sometimes,” You admitted. “Not in a running-away kind of way. Just in a…‘What would life be like if it wasn’t chaos all the time’ kind of way.”

He nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah…”

You turned your head toward him, the wind catching the tips of your hair. “You ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t on the team?” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, shifting a little bit so he was a bit closer to you.

His shoulders rose with a breath, and he let it out slowly–like he was weighing something, choosing the words carefully before letting them go.

“Well…” He said quietly, “I-I think…if I never met you guys, I probably would’ve still been in that b-box in the vault…”

You turned your head to look at him. His voice didn’t shake, but the words held a kind of weight that settled between you, soft but immense. “O-Or most likely dead and forgotten,” He added, more gently now, like the thought had been lingering for a long time. “But…If I wasn’t trapped in that b-box, or if I didn’t volunteer for the Sentry serum… I probably still would be on meth. S-Still strung out. N-Not really contributing to the world l-like I am now.” He gave a soft laugh, small and humorless, but not bitter. Just…real. Then, without another word, Bob leaned back into the sand, stretching his long limbs out with a soft grunt, his eyes fixed on the sky overhead. He looked younger like this–bathed in moonlight, barefaced and barefoot, his silhouette framed by starlight and the faint shimmer of ocean spray.

You followed him down, shifting to lay beside him so your heads were level, your hair brushing the edge of his shoulder. You turned your face toward his, and after a moment, reached for his hand. He gave it willingly–alway-sand your fingers threaded easily through his. The warmth of him, even now, pulsed steady and grounding against your skin.

There was a pause before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable.

“But I… I’m glad everything happened the way it did,” He whispered, eyes still on the stars, “C-Cause I wouldn’t have met you.”

Your heart squeezed. His thumb was trembling slightly against your palm, like the gravity of what he was saying was pushing through his whole body. And still, his voice held that stunned sort of wonder, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You turned to him fully, propping yourself on your elbow as you leaned over, brushing his light brown hair gently back from his forehead. He blinked slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dark, and you saw everything in them. The gratitude. The ache. The awe.

Then you kissed him.

Soft. Gentle. Like the moonlight itself had dipped between you and pressed your mouths together.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t lustful. It was slow and full–like every word he couldn’t find was poured into that one, quiet connection. And when you pulled back, you kept your hand against his cheek, letting your thumb brush along the high arc of it, just beneath his eye.

“I’m glad too,” you whispered, your voice low, full of a warm, aching kind of honesty. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you found us. And I’m really…really glad you found me.”

His breath hitched. You felt it under your fingertips. But his smile was soft, full of something steady and glowing.

“I’d choose you,” You added, gently. “In any timeline. On any team. With or without the serum…I’d still fall for you.”

Bob turned his face into your hand a little, eyes fluttering closed, as he whispered back:

“I’d fall for you too. A-Again and again.”

You lay down beside him fully now, your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his. The waves whispered in the distance. The stars blinked above you. And for a little while, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you–quiet, safe, and absolutely seen.

——————

The room was still dark, kissed only by a faint, early gray light leaking in through the slats of the blinds. Outside, the sound of the tide had softened into something gentler–just the hush-hush rhythm of saltwater sliding over sand.

Inside, the air was warm. Heavy with body heat. Still.

You blinked slowly awake, muscles stiff from sleep, and realized almost instantly that you hadn’t moved in hours.

Bob was wrapped around you like a blanket.

One long arm curved over your waist, the other curled under your head like a makeshift pillow. His chest was pressed to your back, bare and slow with each breath, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the sun-dried quilt. His forehead rested against the top of your shoulder, and his mouth was half-open against your skin—breathing hot little puffs that clung to your collarbone, sticky with sleep.

You let out a quiet sigh, shifting just enough to test the weight of his grip.

He didn’t stir.

You tried again, this time with a little more effort–attempting to slide your leg out from between his–but the second you moved, his arm tightened around you instinctively. A low, sleepy sound rumbled from his throat, not quite a groan… more like a murmur. His hips shifted a little, like he was seeking you out.

That’s when you felt his erection through his soft jersey sleep shorts, pressed flush against your lower back. He didn’t even seem aware of it yet–he was still snoring lightly, his mouth sticking slightly against your skin with each breath–but the heat of it, the weight, was undeniable. And growing.

You let your eyes slip closed for a second and tried to breathe through the flare of arousal that pulsed low in your core.

Then you felt his nose nuzzle against your shoulder.

Followed by a kiss.

Slow. Barely-there. Like his body was already making decisions his mind hadn’t caught up with yet. Another kiss came next, right where your shoulder met your neck–and this time, his hips twitched forward, just a subtle roll, like instinct.

You let out a soft, accidental sound–something between a sigh and a quiet gasp–and felt him tense behind you.

Bob’s breath caught.

And then you felt his erection twitch against you, pulsing hot through the barriers between you both.

“…Crap,” He whispered hoarsely, voice thick with sleep. His hand flexed against your stomach, like he just realized he was holding you that tightly. “S-Sorry…”

You smiled softly, still facing away, voice barely audible. “Don’t apologize.” You turned your head slightly, just enough for your nose to brush his cheek. His breath stuffered, and he let out a quiet, fragile sound–a mix between a sigh and a groan–as his hips rolled forward again. The heat of him pressed fully into the curve of your backside this time, unmistakably eager now, and definitely awake.

His hand slipped up your torso, fingers smoothing gently along your stomach.

”Y-You know, I was just d-dreaming about you…” He rolled his hips again–slow, sweet pressure that sent a flush of heat straight through your belly. You hummed.

”Well…Now I’m right in front of you, so what are you going to do?” You asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth. He groaned and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, kissing just below your ear as his hand slid lower, gently tugging at the waistband of your sleep shorts.

”I-I’m gonna take care of you.” He replied, breath catching as he pulled them down slowly, being extra careful not to pull away from the heat of your body. You lifted your hips slightly to help him, and the material slipped down over your thighs, pooling beneath the covers.

Then you felt him shifting behind you–his own sleep shorts sliding down just enough for skin to meet skin. He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades as he brought your leg over his thigh, guiding you open with gentle, trembling fingers.

You could feel the tip of him, hot and slow, sliding through your wetness–teasing, and patient. And then, with a quiet exhale, he eased himself in.

The stretch was slow and aching–every inch of him pressing deeper until he was fully buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breathing shallow and unsteady.

You gasped, eyes fluttering, and he immediately reached up, covering your mouth with his hand. His palm was warm, a little shaky, but careful–pressing just enough to muffle you without smothering.

“Shh…” He whispered, kissing your neck as his hips began to move, slow and deep, “Y-You’ll wake the whole house…”

His voice was wrecked already–raspy and breathless, full of longing. His movements were steady but aching with restraint, his body coiled tightly behind yours as he rocked into you with each measured thrust.

“You f-feel so good,” He cooed against your shoulder, voice almost broken, “So warm…So soft around me…”

Your back arched involuntarily, your body melting into his as he moved inside you, breath brushing over your skin like a prayer.

“I–I dream about this,” He confessed, his hand tightening just a little over your mouth when he felt you moan. “Every night, I dream about being inside you like this…” His other hand gripped your thigh where it was draped over his, holding you open for him as he pressed deeper, grinding instead of thrusting, like he needed every second of contact.

“You’re my favorite feeling in the world,” He breathed, voice cracking as he kissed the curve of your shoulder, “N-Nothing else even comes close…”

You whimpered behind his hand, and he felt it–your sound against his palm, your body trembling as you clenched around him. It made him groan, a soft broken sound he buried against your skin.

“G-God,” He gasped, “You’re perfect, you’re everything…”

His hips stuttered, and you felt him shiver behind you–he was close. So close. And trying so hard to keep it together.

But the way you felt around him, the way your body rocked back to meet him with each slow push, the way your legs trembled and your hands clenched the sheets…

It was unraveling him.

“Come for me,” He whispered, muffling another moan against your skin. “P-Please… Let me feel it…”

You didn’t need much more.

The combination of his voice, the press of his hips, the hand over your mouth holding you in that secret, quiet space–it sent you over the edge. You arched into him, muffled cries caught in his palm as your body clenched and shuddered with pleasure.

He groaned when he felt you fall apart, hips jerking as he buried himself deeper one last time, then stilled–shuddering, gasping softly into the hollow of your shoulder as he let go filling you up with warm hot ropes of cum. The room was silent, save for the sound of your breath mingling with his.

He didn’t move for a long moment, he just stayed there, inside you, holding you close with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other still gently covering your mouth until your breathing slowed.

Then, with a soft hum, he kissed your shoulder one more time, and pulled out slowly, hearing a muffled gasp leave your throat. His hand dropped from your mouth, and his fingers brushed your cheek gentle before going down to rest on your waist. You turned in his arms, curling toward him, and he shifted back instinctively, giving you space–but not distance.

His face was flushed, glowing faintly in the dim early light. His lips were kiss-swollen, his hair a mess of soft strands sticking to his forehead. And those eyes–half-lidded, shining, still dazed with the echo of your body around him–blinked slowly as he met your gaze.

You leaned in, brushing your mouth against his, slow and sweet, lingering just long enough to taste the sleep still on his lips. When you pulled back, your voice was low, your words tinted with something warm and teasing.

“Y’know,” You murmured, “It sucks we can’t do that more often.”Bob huffed a quiet laugh, cheeks tinting even deeper pink.

“Y-Yeah…” He mumbled, then kissed you again, quick and tender. “H-Hopefully when we’re ready to t-tell them…It’ll give us more time to do this.”You smiled against his mouth and reached up to brush your fingers along the side of his face, thumb stroking just beneath his cheekbone.

“You’ll be moving your stuff into my room, I hope.” He nodded immediately, voice barely a whisper.

“O-Of course. A-All of it.” You tucked your head beneath his chin, letting your fingers trace light circles across his bare chest.

“Good,” You whispered. “Then maybe we won’t have to sneak around anymore. Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, and tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“I-I don’t mind sneaking around, but having more mornings like this with you would be so much b-better.” You sighed contentedly into his chest, then tilted your head up and kissed the underside of his jaw.

”As romantic as that is,” You started, “I have to pee.” A groggy whine escaped his throat the moment you tried to wiggle out of his hold, but he released you–albeit reluctantly–letting his arms fall away with a dramatic sigh.

“Such a sour puss,” You teased, with a smile as you stood and grabbed a fresh pair of shorts from your bag. He mumbled something incoherent into the pillow, as you disappeared into the small adjoining bathroom, flicking on the light before sitting down on the toilet with a sigh. You stayed there for a moment, letting his cum drip out of you, while your muscles began to ache slightly in the most satisfying way. You waited a few minutes there, until you wiped, flushed, slipped on your fresh pair of shorts and went to wash your hands, splashing some cold water on your face to shake the sleep off of it. When you glanced in the mirror, you saw your reflection looking flushed and soft, your lips swollen and your hair slightly mussed.

You smiled.

Moments later, you tiptoed downstairs barefoot, the old wooden steps creaking softly beneath your weight. The morning light was barely creeping into the beach house, casting long shadows through the kitchen windows and illuminating the dust in the air like glitter suspended in water.

You were alone for about ten seconds.

Then–

“Morning.”

You startled a little, glancing toward the living room, where Bucky sat slouched at the edge of the couch, already halfway through a mug of coffee. His hair was tied back, a few loose strands falling around his face, and his voice was scratchy with sleep. He was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt which allowed his vibranium arm to refract the morning light that shined through the windows.

“Morning,” You said smoothly after you caught your breath, opening the cupboard to grab a mug and filling it at the tap before reaching for the coffee pot. The smell was heavenly–dark and rich and blessedly bitter. He watched you for a moment, then cleared his throat.

”Long night?” You froze with the coffee pot tilted halfway to your mug.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly—calmly—you finished pouring, set the pot back on the burner, and turned around, your mug cradled casually in your hands.

“Yeah,” you said, letting your voice stay light, breezy. “A little. Bob and I stayed up for a bit after everyone went to bed.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. He took another slow sip of his coffee, and when he lowered the mug, there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“I saw you guys on the beach, actually.” You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Because you didn’t know what he meant by that, was he watching for long? Or did he just catch a glimpse of the both of you? Those were the burning questions that lingered in your mind. But your poker face didn’t falter. Not yet. You took a slow sip of your coffee.

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm,” He nodded, swirling the liquid in his mug. “You were sitting real close. Talking. Then lying down together for a while.” His voice was still scratchy with sleep, but his tone was deliberate. Easy. Controlled. Testing.

“I figured it was one of those ‘Thunderbolts trauma-bond’ kind of talks,” He added, voice edged with amusement. “Until you kissed him.” The heat in your cheeks crawled down your neck like a slow steady burn, and you swallowed hard, eyes flicking away from Bucky’s unreadable gaze, attempting to play it off.

“Chalk it up to…a heat of the moment thing,” you said lightly, forcing a shrug as you stared down into your coffee. “It was a nice night. Things just…Felt right, and we y’know kissed, that’s all…”

But Bucky didn’t budge.

He just stared at you–calm, patient, eyes sharp even through the softness of morning light–and took another sip of his coffee.

“Y’know…” He started, tone deceptively casual, “I had my suspicions for a while, especially with the way he gets all boyish and giddy around you…But I never had proof, though…Till I saw your location yesterday when you two were supposedly stuck in traffic.” You glanced up sharply, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. He didn’t look angry, it was just a glance of knowing.

”And I saw you weren’t on the highway anymore, you’d pulled off. And about twenty minutes went by before your pin started moving again…Then with the kiss, everything really clicked…” You felt the blood drain from your face only to rush back hotter than before. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Slowly, shakily, you set your coffee mug down on the counter with a quiet clink, hands trembling slightly.

“So…How long have you and him been seeing each other like that?” He asked.

”…Two months,” You admitted, barely above a whisper. Bucky nodded once, taking that in. His jaw ticked, and he exhaled through his nose.

“How long are you planning to hide it from us?” He asked, not accusing–just…Curious. Honest. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.

“We just wanted to keep it a thing between us…Until we were ready,” You said, your voice thin, your throat tight. “Until it wasn’t so new. Until we weren’t worried that…If it went public, people would start treating him like a bomb again.” Bucky’s shoulders sank a little, his eyes flicking away for just a second–guilt passing like a cloud over his expression. He nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I get that,” He said finally. Then he sighed, the weight of it long and tired. “But…Are you gonna tell the rest of the team?” You hesitated.

”Are you?” You retorted, which made him shake his head.

”That’s not my call…That’s up to you two. I just…I feel bad that you think you can’t tell us. That it’s something you gotta hide.” He set his mug down, bracing his hands loosely on the counter.

“I mean, most of us have our suspicions. Hell, Ava’s been keeping score on who catches the most looks between you two. But that’s different than hearing it straight from you.” His eyes flicked to yours again, gentler this time. “It’s different when it’s confirmed.” Your mouth was dry. Your heart still raced. But something in your chest eased–just a little.

“…Are you mad?” You asked softly.

He shook his head again. “No. Just…I wish you felt like you could trust us with something that clearly means a lot to you.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “It does,” You whispered. “He does.”

“Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending,” He said, pushing away from the counter. “Because if he’s yours…Then you deserve to be honest about it and be proud about it.” You nodded, staring down at your mug again. Bucky turned to head back toward the living room, then paused.

“For what it’s worth…” He said without looking back, “I think you’re good for each other. Might even be the first damn bit of softness either of you has ever had.” Then he left the conversation.

——————

The sun was already high by the time the house started to stir again. Someone had opened the screen door to let the breeze through, and the smell of sunscreen and brewing coffee lingered in the warm air.

Back upstairs, you stood near the dresser, slipping into your bikini with your back to the bed. It was a modest one–navy, with a soft scoop neckline and high-rise bottoms. Comfortable. Secure. Practical. And Bob was watching you like you were peeling the sun itself from the sky.

He sat propped against the pillows, his soft black t-shirt wrinkled, his bare legs still stretched out across the quilt. He didn’t speak at first–just blinked slowly, jaw slack, like he hadn’t quite recovered from waking up with you in his arms. But then he smiled. A slow, crooked thing.

“You look…” He started, then cleared his throat, his voice catching a little. “R-Really good in that.”

You slipped your coverup over your head–a breezy white linen thing that barely touched your thighs–and turned to face him with a raised brow.

“You mean I don’t look like a walking sunscreen ad?” You teased.

He shook his head, grinning. “Y-You look like a goddess…In a very modest disguise.”

You chuckled, padding over to the bed and grabbing your sunglasses. “Well, modest disguise or not… I was thinking,” You said, more seriously now, “Maybe we should tell them tonight…About us…” Bob’s smile softened.

“If you feel like that’s what you want to do,” He said gently, shifting to sit upright. “I’ll follow your lead…Whatever you want.”

You stepped closer, and he leaned up, brushing a kiss over your lips–slowly mirroring the softness of yours. Just enough to make your shoulders melt a little.

“B-But if you’re feeling off about it,” He murmured against your mouth, “We don’t have to. We can w-wait.” You sighed, resting your forehead against his for a beat.

“Well…There’s no point in keeping it a secret if Bucky already knows.” Bob nodded, fingers brushing lightly over your hip.

“Okay. So…We’ll tell them tonight. O-Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. Like I said.”

You gave him a small smile, kissed his cheek, and grabbed the sunscreen from the nightstand.

”This is why I love you so much.”

—————————

Outside, the beach was a sun-drenched haze.

The heat was intense–sharp and golden, radiating off the sand in visible waves. Everyone had already claimed their spots along the shore: Ava and Yelena were sprawled on towels like lizards, Walker was playing a vaguely competitive game of paddle ball with Alexei, and Bucky had parked himself under a battered umbrella with a book and a massive bottle of water.

You and Bob set up beneath a second umbrella, tucked in the shade where the breeze still managed to kiss your skin.

Bob flopped down beside you on the oversized beach towel, already tugging at the collar of his shirt. “T-The heat is already too much for me,” he muttered, sweeping his damp hair off his forehead. “A-Add the sun on top of it all though? It’s like I’m going to suffocate.”

You laughed, sipping from your bottle of water. “You literally have a sun god in you. I’m not surprised you haven’t gotten heat stroke yet.” He shook his head solemnly. “D-Don’t take it off the table. That might still happen.” You both laughed, your heads tilting together like magnets. After a few quiet moments of comfortable lounging, you stretched your legs out and let your head tip back.

“Hey,” You said casually, offering him the sunscreen. “Think you could do my back?” Bob took the bottle without hesitation, twisting the cap and squirting some into his palm before warming it between his hands. You pulled your coverup off slowly, letting it pool behind you, and turned so your back faced him. His hands were warm–steady as ever–as he spread the lotion across your shoulders, down the length of your spine in slow, tender strokes.

Then, as he leaned in to reach the small of your back, his breath ghosted over your ear.

“You know…” He murmured, his voice low and teasing, “If we weren’t out in public…I’d be making you moan into the sand right now.” You froze, eyes widening slightly. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned just enough to glare over your shoulder.

“You can’t say that out here,” You hissed, cheeks flushing with warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. “You’re being a horn dog.” Bob smiled, slow and wicked, his hands still dangerously close to your hips.

“C-Can’t help it,” He whispered, secretly brushing his lips against your shoulder, a move that nobody noticed before pulling back like he didn’t just say something absolutely filthy, “You s-started it with the modest disguise.” You reached for the sunscreen and smacked him lightly in the chest with it.

“Keep it up,” you warned, “And I’m gonna make you wrestle Walker in the sand just to get all that energy out.” He grinned.

”I-It wouldn’t be the same as rolling around in it with you though…” You laughed again–loud and bright–and tucked yourself into his side as he pulled the umbrella down a little lower to block the worst of the glare. And for a moment, you just sat there–hidden in the shade, hidden in plain sight–wrapped in sunscreen and secrecy and a kind of love you both knew wouldn’t stay secret much longer.

———————

Dinner that night was loud.

The long driftwood table was crowded with mismatched chairs, benches, and half-sand-dusted Thunderbolts wearing tank tops and oversized hoodies. The sky outside had softened into a dusky lavender, and the kitchen was warm with the scent of grilled shrimp, charred corn, and garlic butter. Ava had taken the lead on the stove this time, refusing help and swatting away every wandering hand that got near her skillet. Alexei had uncorked a bottle of cheap white wine and was pouring it generously for everyone, and Walker was arguing over playlist control with Yelena, who had threatened to smash his phone with a meat tenderizer if he didn’t leave the music alone.

You sat beside Bob, as usual.

Close enough that your thighs brushed when you shifted. Close enough that your elbows bumped whenever you reached for the same thing. You waited until the table was full–until everyone had food and was midway through their first drink. Then you reached over, slid your hand into Bob’s under the table, and gave it a quick squeeze.

He looked at you with wide eyes, his fingers instinctively curling around yours, and you offered him a soft, steady nod.

He cleared his throat.

“I–um.” He glanced around the table. “S-Sorry to interrupt, I just–uh, w-we had something we wanted to tell you.”

The table quieted. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations slowed. All eyes slowly turned toward you both. You exhaled, heart thudding, and looked around the room.

“Bob and I are together,” You said simply. “Like…For real. And we have been…For a couple months now.” The silence lasted for a full beat.

Then—

“Thank God,” Ava groaned, tossing her napkin onto the table. “I thought I was going insane watching you two eye-fuck each other every day like nobody was noticing.”

“Finally!” Yelena barked, pointing a chip at you. “I said it three missions ago. I said, those two are absolutely sneaking off during recon debrief, and everyone thought I was being dramatic.”

“You are dramatic,” Walker muttered into his glass.

“But also right,” Bucky added, voice dry. “It was obvious.” Alexei beamed and reached across the table to smack Bob’s shoulder.

“You little sneaks…I respect dedication.” Bob flushed crimson from the ears down.

“Y-You guys are not…Mad?” He asked, looking around the table, voice tentative. Yelena rolled her eyes at him.

”Bob. Come on…You think we wouldn’t accept you dating someone who clearly loves the shit out of you?”

Walker pointed his fork at you. “Honestly, we’d have accepted it even if we had doubts. But we don’t. You’re good together. It’s obvious.”

You felt your chest tighten with sudden emotion. Bob’s hand was still wrapped around yours under the table, his thumb rubbing slow, nervous circles against your palm, but now…It felt steady. Reassured. Warm in a way that made your ribs ache.

“W-We just wanted to keep it between us until we were sure,” He said softly. “Until it felt…safe.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “We get that. But for the record? It was always safe.”

Yelena leaned in, smirking. “Okay but we need details now.”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Absolutely not.”

“Wait, wait–who made the first move?” Ava asked, chin propped on her hand like she was taking notes.

“I bet it was you,” Walker pointed his fork directly to you, “You seem like the type who would take the reins.” You rolled your eyes.

”It was actually a fairly mutual decision.” And everyone bursted out into an array of other questions.

——————

The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind you.

Outside, the house had finally settled into silence–punctuated only by distant waves and the creak of cooling floorboards. Inside, the room was wrapped in that velvety kind of darkness only a summer night could offer, lit just barely by the moon spilling through the open window, catching on the rumpled folds of the quilt and casting the softest glow across Bob’s bare chest.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, with his legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. His fingers intertwined loosely between them. He glanced up as you entered, eyes soft, tired, and full of something that you were still processing. You padded over, barefoot and warm from the day, and settled beside him.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the quiet, breathing the same salt-laced air.

Then Bob exhaled slowly.

“T-That went…way better than I thought it would,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from wine and nerves.

You nodded, leaning your shoulder into his. “Told you.”

He gave a soft laugh–one of those short, breathless ones that still sounded like disbelief. His hand reached for yours, fingers curling around your knuckles.

“I-I’m still not used to people reacting like that…Like I’m not something they have to tiptoe around.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’re not a liability, Bob. You’re ours. And you’re mine. That means something to them.”

His lips parted slightly, like he didn’t have the right words.

“I’m serious,” You whispered, turning more fully toward him. “They saw how happy you are. And maybe…They saw how much I need you too.”

His throat bobbed. He blinked slowly.

“You make everything feel easier,” He said finally. “T-Talking. Existing. Being me.” His voice cracked just a little on that last word, and his eyes dropped to where your hands were still joined.

“Y-You’ve handled everything so well. Hiding us, balancing missions, b-being my anchor even when things get hard…” He glanced up again, his gaze glassy but steady. “I’m just…I can’t stop being a-amazed by you.” You leaned in and kissed him–soft and slow, your nose brushing his cheek.

“I love you Bob.” You whispered, against his lips, as he gently kissed yours.

”I love you too.” He replied, before kissing you again. It deepened before either of you could take another breath. It started soft–gentle and reverent, like the words that had just passed between you–but it didn’t stay that way.

Bob groaned against your mouth when you pushed him back gently by the shoulders, guiding him down until he was flat on his back against the cool quilt. His hands instinctively found your hips as you climbed over him, settling on his lap. Your thighs bracketed his, and the weight of you on top of him made his breath hitch, chest rising hard beneath his thin shirt.

“God,” He whispered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “Y-You look…”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. You kissed him again–wet, open-mouthed, and slow–licking into his mouth until he gasped. You swallowed the sound eagerly, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. His fingers gripped your waist tighter, already trembling.

“I want to go down on you,” You murmured against his lips, voice low and teasing. His whole body jolted.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice broke like it couldn’t contain the need. “P-Please–I mean–y-you d-don’t have to but I–” He nodded too fast, already breathless, already desperate.

You smiled as you slid down his body, leaving a trail of kisses over his clothed chest, and his stomach, pausing just above the waistband of his boxers. You could feel how hard he was–thick and twitching beneath the fabric–and when you pulled the waistband down, he nearly whimpered.

He was flushed and already leaking.

”All this…From just a little kissing hmm?” You whispered, your voice thick with play, with hunger, with affection.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat as your hand wrapped around the base of him, slow and deliberate. You gave him one lazy stroke, then another, your thumb swiping over the bead of slick at the tip. He trembled beneath you–hips twitching slightly, fingers knotted in the quilt beside his thighs.

And when you leaned in and dragged your tongue up the underside of him again, he gasped–loud and sharp–his body tensing so hard you could feel the pulse hammering through him.

You wrapped your lips around the head, sealing him in the wet heat of your mouth.

Bob choked on a moan.

“F-Fuck–oh my god–” His voice cracked, ragged and breathless.

You eased down slowly, taking more of him in, letting your tongue glide along every ridge and vein as your lips slipped lower. He was big–too big to take all at once without effort–and your jaw ached almost instantly, but you didn’t stop. You wanted this. You wanted to see him fall apart.

You bobbed your head with slow precision, using your hand to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach, slick and steady. The sounds he made–desperate, soft groans and whispered gasps–were the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard. He was so sensitive, so responsive, his hips jerking up involuntarily every time you took him deeper.

One thrust caught you off guard–sharp, too sudden–and you gagged softly around him.

Bob froze.

“I-I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to–”

You moaned around him, eyes flicking up to his, and kept going.

The moment your throat relaxed and you pushed yourself lower, he completely lost it.

“F-Fuck, baby–oh god, please–” His hand came down, gripping your hair gently but tight enough to anchor him. His voice was wrecked, trembling with need. “D-Don’t stop–I’m s-so close–”

Your lips slid over him faster now, your mouth a mess of spit and warmth, your hand stroking him in rhythm as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder. You could feel him twitching, his thighs tensing, his hips stuttering as he neared the edge.

“G-Gonna–oh fuck, I–” He cried out suddenly, loud and sharp as his hips jolted once, then again–

He came hard, deep down your throat, his whole body arching off the bed as you swallowed him greedily.

You didn’t pull away. You stayed there, lips sealed tight, swallowing every hot pulse of him as it spilled into your mouth. He was shaking beneath you–his thighs trembling, his fingers tangled in your hair, a broken litany of your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

Only when he finally sagged back against the mattress, panting, did you ease off of him–your lips slick, your mouth swollen, and your eyes dark with want.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, then crawled back up his body–slow, deliberate, predatory.

Bob’s chest was still heaving when you kissed him.

The moment your mouth met his again, he groaned deep in his throat–like the taste of himself on your tongue shattered whatever composure he had left. His hand slid into your hair and pulled you closer, kissing you hard, deep, messy. Your lips crashed over each other, mouths open and slick, breathing each other in like you couldn’t get enough.

“F-Fuck,” He whispered against your mouth, still panting. “You’re…You’re u-unreal.” You kissed him again–slow this time, letting your tongue slide over his, letting the aftertaste of him linger between you as his hands moved up your sides. Your hips rolled instinctively against his, your shorts damp and clinging between your legs, your whole body strung tight with need.

Bob pulled back just enough to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen. “Y-You’re soaked,” He said, voice gone low and reverent as his hand slid down your side. “I didn’t even…D-Do anything..”

You smiled, almost smug, still straddling his lap. “Well,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his, “Maybe you should fix that.” That wrecked little breath he let out made your whole body thrum.

His hand slipped down, trailing over your waistband, fingers playing at the hem of your shorts. And then–slowly, teasingly–he dipped inside. You gasped at the contact, your hips jolting forward slightly. Bob groaned, head tipping back for a second as his fingers found you.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered. “You’re dripping.” You bit your lip, breath catching as he stroked through your folds, spreading your arousal around on his fingers. “Y-You’re already m-making a mess…” You whimpered against his mouth, “But I know w-what to do to really make things even messier.” And with that, his fingers plunged inside you.

You gasped–a raw, breathless sound–arching hard into his hand as he filled you deep and fast. His fingers were thick and curled just right, stroking against that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

Your hips rolled down onto his hand, grinding against his palm.

“Th-That’s it,” He breathed, curling his fingers harder, faster. “There you go…You feel that?”

You nodded, breath shallow. “Bob–f-fuck–!” Your body clenched around his fingers as he pumped them fast, unrelenting, his palm dragging over your clit with each thrust. He leaned in and kissed you again, tongue deep and messy in your mouth as you moaned into him.

Then he pulled back just slightly, his breath brushing over your lips.

“I wanna see it,” He whispered. “Wanna see you fall apart for me. Right here. I want you to make a mess in these shorts.”

The words alone nearly made you come.

His fingers slammed into you faster, harder, his hand relentless, your shorts now completely soaked as the squelch of wetness grew louder–filthy and raw and so intimate in the silence of the room.

“I can feel you—Y/N, you’re s-so close, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes–yes!”

“C-Come for me, baby. Let go.”

And you did.

You cried out as your body convulsed, thighs trembling violently as you squirted into his hand, soaking your shorts and his wrist. Your vision went white around the edges, your breath punched out of your lungs, and Bob never stopped–working you through it, whispering praise the whole time.

“That’s it,” He gasped. “That’s my good g-girl–god, look at you.”

You collapsed forward against his chest, trembling, dizzy from the intensity.

But Bob–sweet, soft, ravenous Bob–pulled his fingers from your soaked shorts and stared at them for half a second, glistening and slick with you.

Then he licked them clean, keeping his eyes on you as he did it. Like he was entranced by the way you were breathing.

And his voice dropped lower.

“I need more.”

He laid you back against the bed before you could recover, tugging your shorts off in one smooth pull, your panties with them. You were still shaking when he dropped to his stomach and spread your legs with both hands.

He groaned at the sight of you.

“Messy little thing,” He murmured, and then he buried his face between your thighs.

His tongue was everywhere–lapping, sucking, tasting you with frenzied devotion. You were already oversensitive, your thighs twitching, your whole body squirming as he licked through the aftermath of your orgasm like a man starved.

He groaned into you, licking deeper, and you realized–

He was touching himself. You could tell by the rhythmic movements of his arm, matching the way his tongue moved against your clit.

“I-I can’t–I’m too sensitive–”

“You c-can,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your cunt. “You’re gonna come for me again. I-I can’t stop. Not when you taste this f-fucking good.”

He sucked hard, tongue circling your clit, and your hips shot up off the bed with a cry.

Your hands fisted the sheets, your body completely out of your control, twitching and writhing beneath him as he groaned and licked harder, dirtier, hungrier.

You sobbed his name as the second orgasm crashed over you–violent and wet, your body spasming as he licked you through it, relentless.

Even when you pushed at his shoulders weakly, begging for a pause, he didn’t stop until he’d wrung every drop from you and licked it from your skin.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips and chin were soaked with you. His hair was tousled, damp with sweat at the temples, and his eyes were completely blown-dark blue and glistening. like something unholy had just been fed and still wasn’t satisfied.

But when he looked at you–shaking, flushed, chest rising in uneven bursts–something softened.

Something melted.

He crawled up slowly, body moving over yours with a reverent kind of slowness, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hands slid under your back, easing you up into his lap until your legs curled around his waist again, your head tipping forward into the crook of his neck.

You were gasping. Trembling. Boneless.

And then–he kissed you.

Soft at first. Warm. Just his lips pressing into yours like he needed you more than breath.

But then you tasted yourself on him–sweet and raw–and something in you twitched.

You whimpered, and he smiled against your mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, tongue licking softly into you, savoring you again in a whole new way.

You couldn’t help it–you started giggling.

It broke out of you mid-kiss, breathy and trembling, one of those dazed, overwhelmed sounds that bubbled up from somewhere so exhausted it had no filter.

Bob pulled back immediately, wide-eyed.

“Did I–? D-Did I hurt you?” He asked, instantly concerned, his hands coming up to frame your face.

You shook your head, still laughing, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “No–no, you didn’t, I just–Bob, I can’t feel my legs.”

He let out a startled breath, part laugh, part exhale of disbelief. “O-Oh,” He said, sounding sheepish. “I–I mean…Th-That’s kinda the goal, right?”

You laughed harder, still shaking.

He kissed your forehead, and then your jaw, and then your shoulder.

“I think you broke me,” You whispered dramatically, hands curled weakly into his shirt as your giggles faded into something sweeter–something more breathless and soft.

Bob tilted his head, grinning. “M-Maybe we’re even,” he whispered. “You nearly made me black out earlier. I-I think I forgot my own name for a minute.”

That made you laugh. Bob blushed–deeply–but smiled into your neck and nuzzled there. You felt his hands stroke lightly up your spine, slow and soothing now.

“You okay?” He asked, quieter this time.

You nodded against him. “Just… holy shit. That was a lot.”

He gave a quiet hum of agreement, resting his forehead to yours again.

Then, softly, “You taste like heaven. I-I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.” You bit back a whimper at that, one last full-body shiver rolling through you.

“I need a minute,” You mumbled, laughing into his skin. “Or a whole fucking hour.”

Bob chuckled. “Okay,” he murmured, laying back against the pillows and pulling you gently with him, cradling your body over his. “I-I’ll just hold y-you.” And he did.

You rested there, curled into the warmth of him, his hands smoothing gentle lines up your bare thighs, up your back, over your hair. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. His breath, soft against your temple. Bob’s fingers drew lazy, unhurried lines over you, tracing every dip, every curve like he was still mapping the miracle of you. Your head rose and fell with the rhythm of his chest. You could feel his heart–it had calmed, but not completely. Still a little fast. Still a little uneven from moments ago.

“So…” You murmured, your voice warm, sleepy, and just the slightest bit teasing. “Did you enjoy the weekend getaway?”

Bob gave a soft hum in response–one of those low, rumbly sounds that vibrated under your cheek. “C-Course I did…”

You tilted your head up slightly, just enough to glance at him. “Yeah?” You asked, voice still playful. “What was your favorite part?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he blinked up at the ceiling, lips parted, the moonlight casting shadows along his jaw. His hand stilled on your thigh.

And then–quietly, he said:

“B-Being around you the entire time…”His voice was thick with sincerity, soft like he didn’t trust it wouldn’t crack. “W-With no interruptions. No missions. No briefing rooms or restraints or… Or constantly w-wondering w-what could go wrong.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “It was just…A-All of us actually having some semblance of fun. For once.” You nodded slowly against his chest, your breath catching just a little as your eyes fluttered closed again.

“Yeah,” You agreed. “It felt like a different world for a second.”

He stroked your hair gently, fingers curling behind your ear. “I-I forgot what it was like to let loose like that, with no worries…” You lifted your head again, just enough to press a kiss over his heart. He stilled beneath you like it stopped time.

“You deserve that,” you whispered. “You deserve so much of that.”

Bob let out a shaky breath and curled both arms around you tighter.

“I d-didn’t think I’d ever have this,” he admitted, voice muffled against your hair. “Someone like you. A team that laughs more than they fight. A night where I d-don’t wake up from the dark things in my head…”

You lifted up, just barely, and reached to cup his face. His lashes were damp, the corners of his mouth pulled in that fragile way only you got to see.

“You’re not in the dark right now,” You whispered. “You’re here. With me. And no one’s going to take this from us.”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours, and leaned into your touch.

Then–soft, almost smiling–

“W-We’re gonna need another vacation after this, aren’t we?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. But next time, we’re packing before the morning of…And it’ll just be me and you.”

“D-Deal,” He whispered.

And then he tucked you close again, your bare legs tangled with his, your laughter still lingering in the air like sunlight, like the sea breeze drifting through the window.

1K notes · View notes

orcasoul · 6 months ago

Text

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrohub #pedrito #pedro pascal fic

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fear-is-truth · 6 months ago

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# SUGAR DADDY! BRUCE WAYNE — hc

synopsis — your life as bruce wayne’s sugar baby warnings — suggestive. mdni a/n — if law school doesn’t work out… this is my dream career lol (exclusively bruce wayne)

he’s strict about keeping things low-profile. no selfies, no pictures together, and definitely no talking to anyone about your arrangement. but when it’s just the two of you, behind closed doors, though, his edges softened—not soft soft, of course, but as close as bruce wayne could ever get.

bruce is every inch the gentleman when he’s out with you—always placing his hand on the small of your back when guiding you through a crowd or escorting you to his car, a subtle but firm gesture that says, you’re mine, and i’m looking after you. he opens doors for you without fail, pulls out your chair at restaurants, and always walks on the street side of the sidewalk, even if it means switching places mid-walk. if you’re wearing heels, he keeps a steadying hand at your waist when you go down stairs.

even in private, he’s super thoughtful—draping a blanket over you when you’re curled up on the couch, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passes by.

bruce isn’t overly affectionate in public, but in private, he’s tactile and tender. he’ll pull you onto his lap while he works at his desk, one arm wrapped around your waist as his free hand taps at his keyboard. “just stay here,” he’ll say when you try to move. “you’re not distracting me.” though the way his lips find your neck every few minutes says otherwise.

bruce values your mind as much as your beauty, and he shows it in the way he engages you. whether you’re discussing a book, a piece of art, or the nuances of history, he listens with genuine interest. when he occasionally challenges your points, it’s never in that dismissive, mansplaining tone that most self-assured men use—it’s thoughtful and designed to draw out your best arguments.

he’s particular about keeping things convenient for you, so he’s arranged for you to have access to one of his apartments in the city. it’s fully furnished, with a stocked fridge, top-of-the-line security, and a walk-in closet he keeps replenishing with new outfits.

bruce’s love language is acts of service and quality time, but his wealth makes gift-giving his default.

has alfred handle all the logistics of getting you the best: tickets to exclusive shows, reservations at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, and private shopping appointments where he foots the bill without a batting an eye.

sends you on luxurious trips during your breaks—paris, tokyo, the maldives. you’re not sure how he pulls it off without anyone finding out, but bruce wayne always has his ways.

he pays attention to your interests and hobbies, subtly encouraging you to indulge. if you mention liking a certain author, musician or a brand, you’ll find their newest release or collection waiting for you the next day.

leaves his black card with you whenever he has to leave on business. “buy yourself something nice,” he says like you don’t already have everything you could possibly want.

bruce has an almost masochistic appreciation for how deeply you affect him. when you tease him. the first time you call him daddy, it’s in that girlish, playful tone, meant to test how far he’d let you get away with. bruce freezes for a millisecond, his face carefully blank, but the dark glint in his eyes gives him away. he exhales slowly, but the extra time he spends adjusting his cufflinks is a tell—you’ve gotten under his skin.

has a love-hate relationship with the short, tight skirts you wear around him. on one hand, he can’t deny how much they drive him mad, how his eyes inevitably linger on the curve of your ass, like he’s entertaining the idea of ripping the skirt off. on the other hand, he hates the idea of anyone else seeing you like that. he’ll chide you in that authoritative tone of his, maybe even smacking your pert ass for extra emphasis (when in private)

despite the chastising, the next day, he’ll gift you a collection of couture skirts and dresses that fit his exacting standards—form-fitting but elegant, sexy but understated. if you insist on being a distraction, you’ll do it his way.

he loves when you wear his clothes—especially his shirts. seeing you in something oversized and smelling faintly of sex and his cologne drives him insane. but he also loves taking it off you.

he’s not above making you jealous, though it’s very rare. if he senses you’ve been a little too independent lately, he’ll let a socialite or two flirt with him at a party just to see your reaction. when you glare at him from across the room, he’ll flash that infuriatingly charming smile and mouth, “come here.” the second you’re alone, he’ll have you pressed tightly against the wall. “you know there’s no one else for me,” he mutters between hot kisses. “but i like seeing you fight for it.”

has an infuriating habit of teasing you in public, keeping you just on the edge of propriety. he’ll whisper filthy things in your ear during a black-tie gala, his hand resting on your thigh under the table. “be good for me,” his thumb grazes discreetly beneath the hem of your dress, and when your cheeks heat up, he just smirks and kisses the spot beneath your ear.

the car rides are his favourite indulgence. he tells the chauffeur to take the long way home, windows darkened, privacy partition up, while fucking you in every position possible.

has a weakness for seeing you in pieces he’s chosen himself. the delicate lace, silk, and satin he picks out always feel indulgent, tailored to fit your body and his preferences. he leaves boxes for you to find, with a note in his neat handwriting: this one tonight

he buys you diamond necklaces and earrings so extravagant they could rival museum pieces. every time, he insists you model them for him—alone, in the privacy of his bedroom. “just the necklace,” he’ll say with a smirk, his tone leaving no room for argument. the sight of you standing there, bare except for the glittering gems, leaves him utterly speechless. and then he’ll step closer, eyes trailing over the diamonds on your neck before his hands wander elsewhere.

sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly indulgent, bruce will forgo sleep altogether just to spend the night making love with you.

he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom. he’s meticulous about learning what makes you tick, and takes immense pride in knowing your body better than you do. precisely which spots make you gasp, which areas make you arch your back. steady and precise, he’s always tuning in to your reactions. he doesn’t rush, taking his time to explore, kiss, and touch in a way that makes you feel completely cared for.

he can go for hours, but he’s patient, too. enjoying the process as much as the end result—taking his time to kiss, to touch, to indulge in every inch of your body.

bruce is insatiable, but he’s also deeply considerate. though he’s always hungry for you, there’s never a moment where he isn’t attuned to your needs, making sure you’re enjoying yourself, always ready to slow down or adjust if you need him to.

loves leaving marks on your body, but he’s careful about where—always hidden, tiny traces of his presence on your skin that only he gets to see.

still, when he notices you wince as you shift in your seat, he puts on a somewhat sheepish expression, offering a murmured, “sorry about that.” but you can see the faint smirk gracing his lips, the flicker of pride in his eyes. it’s all a front—he’s anything but apologetic.

he watches you drift off in his arms, your breathing steady and soft, the rise and fall of your chest lulling him into a rare moment of peace. his lips brush against your bare shoulder, the small gesture as fleeting as the thought that follows—he doesn’t deserve you—but he’s selfish enough to keep you anyway.

tagging — @suumaer

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cherrygirlfriend · 17 days ago

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── NON-BABY BLUES ☁️

☁️ pairing: ceo!rafe x housewife!reader

☁️ summary: rafe finds out something you've been keeping from him.

☁️ warnings / tags: fluff, angst, comfort, mentions of infertility & body image issues. wc: 1.2k

☁️ author's note: another 5k celebration fic! consider this me kissing the brick before i throw it at you.

HOUSEWIFE MASTERLIST ☁️ 5K MASTERLIST

volunteering at the kindergarten you'd been enrolled in when you lived back on the cut when you were just a little girl yourself was your favorite way to spend your free time. You knew all the kids by name, all of them referring to you as 'auntie'; one of them had started it by calling you that as a joke, and somehow it just stuck.

you always brought them baked goods and gifts, reading them books, and playing games with them. spending time with kids was one of the times you were at your happiest.

"you ever think about it?" one of the kindergarten teachers, lila, a few years your senior asked, nudging your shoulder with a playful smile on her face after you'd just finished story time with the kids who'd gone off for a nap, "having some of your own. you'd be amazing at it."

you smile softly, "i have. i want a huge family one day. my husband feels the same way." "really? how many were you thinking?" "hmm, how much is a kindergarten class?" you playfully quipped, making the woman laugh.

you were buzzing with excitement as you drove home; today marked the fourteenth day since your period was supposed to start, still nowhere to be seen, and you couldn't stop thinking about the boxes of unused pregnancy tests in the drawer under the master bedroom sink. you sang along to your favorite song, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.

as soon as you got to the home you shared with rafe, you immediately made your way to the bathroom, unboxing one of the tests and taking it; a wide smile on your lips as you took the test, putting the cap back on and setting it onto the sink to wait for the result.

but you got your answer before the usual three-minute wait. because when you went to wipe, the toilet paper came out red.

rafe loved coming home early and surprising you; his meeting had ended early, and he'd picked up a gorgeous bouquet of lilies, your favorites, along with food from your favorite ramen place. he walked into your shared home, expecting to hear music or the tv, only for the house to be eerily quiet.

"babe?" rafe called out with slight worry, peeking into the living room to see that you weren't there, but as he got closer to the kitchen, the noise of soft sniffles got nearer.

as rafe got to the doorway, he saw you sitting at the kitchen island, eyes red-rimmed as your thumb tapped on the base of an empty glass of wine, next to it a half-empty bottle of red, your lips perpetually downturned. "babe?" rafe took tentative steps towards you, placing the bouquet of flowers and bag of food onto the island, "what-"

before he could finish his sentence, you'd gotten onto your feet and crashed into his chest, heavy sobs leaving your chest, rafe's arms automatically wrapping around you, his chin resting on top of your head, his hand starting to stroke your hair, mumbling soft words of comfort.

when your sobs finally started subsiding and you started to detach from his grip, rafe looked down at you, bringing his finger to your chin and lifting your head up so you were looking up at him even though you avoided gazing at him. "what's wrong, baby?"

you bit down on your lower lip so harshly it was shocking it wasn't bleeding before finally letting go and finally looking rafe into his ice-blue eyes, glistening with worry.

"i got my period."

oh.

rafe moved his hand so he was cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin, "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." "i actually had hope it had worked this time." you chuckled bitterly, "i was two weeks late. i'm so stupid."

"hey, don't talk about my wife like that." rafe furrowed his brows, bringing his other hand to rest on the other side of your face, "we'll just try again. it's no big deal."

"it's a big deal for me!" you exclaimed in frustration, detaching from him and turning around, starting to pace. you ran a hand through your hair, "all i want is to have a baby with the man i love, and for some reason i'm unable to do something most women are able to do. that some people have happen to them without even trying, without wanting it! we've been trying for almost a year!"

"i know, and i know how much it frustrates you, but there are things we haven't tried yet, and you shouldn't lose hope-"

"what if i'm infertile?" your voice broke with the last word.

"you're in your early twenties and you have regular periods, i know that it's possible but i doubt that it's that likely you're infertile. some couples just have a more difficult time to conceive."

you swallowed, taking a deep breath as you turned back to face rafe, your voice raw with emotion, "i didn't... always have regular periods."

"what... what do you mean?"

"when i was around sixteen..." you looked down at the floor, "i had... amenorrhea. which is the medical term for... pretty much the lack of a period. it lasted for almost a year."

"what? why haven't you told me about this before?" rafe stepped towards you, putting his hands on your shoulders, looking down at you in worry.

"it was the darkest, most miserable time in my life." you sighed, letting out a soft sniffle as a tear rolled down your cheek, "it was because... i had problems with my body and eating." "your body?" "i... i didn't like myself. any part of myself. but... i thought that once i got better and once i got my period back and i was at a healthy weight, every side effect i was having would go away too." you swallowed, looking down, "but i read that not getting your period for a long time could affect your fertility in the long term."

one of rafe's hand's moved to cup your cheek, "why didn't you tell me about this...?" he asked softly, "i just... i didn't want you to think i was fragile. that there was something wrong with me. that maybe if i really am infertile, you'd... you know."

"don't you dare think i'd ever leave you for something like that. leaving you isn't an option i'd think about in a million years. and i don't think you're fragile, or that there's something wrong with you. i think you're an incredibly strong woman, and you're going to be an amazing mother. and you will become a mother. okay?" "okay..." you mumbled, and rafe pressed a kiss on your forehead.

"we can go see a doctor if you want, run some tests, see if we can figure out if there's a medical reason for this, or if we have the crappiest luck in the world."

you smiled softly, your sniffles starting to quieten, "alright. we'll go see a doctor."

rafe pulled you into his arms once again, squeezing you tightly, "you're gonna be an amazing mama. trust me." your husband mumbled, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

taglist: @raahosh, @nemesyaaa, @purpleplumpudding, @littlelamy, @dollyfiles, @esotericcangel, @mattyskies, @bakugouswaif, @nonietosay, @my-name-is-baby, @tinythebunni, @fratbrochrisgf, @ariieeesworld, @silkylovey, @izumis-salty-penis, @flow33didontsmoke, @cameronsbabydoll, @love-ella333, @haylorbestie, @k4yr14, @harringtonsbowgirl, @lacelottie, @st8rkey, @lunaleah, @cicicavill7, @lillied31, @doremimosasol, @lerclec

click here to join the taglist! 💌

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: a wealthy older man with a starry-eyed younger woman — it’s a tale as old as time and a scene the saleswoman has seen countless times before … or is it?

The showroom gleams under harsh fluorescent lights, every surface polished to a mirror finish. Cars, sleek and expensive, are lined up like jewels in a case. The hum of quiet conversation fills the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of champagne glasses.

It’s another day at the auto show, and the saleswoman, tall and sharp-eyed, watches it all with a thin veneer of polite disinterest. She’s been here long enough to know who’s serious and who’s just here to gawk.

She spots them before they even step into her section. The man is hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that makes people step aside without even realizing it. His suit is tailored to perfection, probably costs more than her monthly salary.

And then there’s the girl — no, the woman — beside him. You’re much younger, that’s clear. You look out of place, wide-eyed and excited like a kid in a candy store, dressed in something trendy but understated, a deliberate contrast to the man’s sophistication.

The saleswoman’s eyes narrow as she watches you both approach. She’s seen this before — older man, younger woman, the kind of relationship that’s all too common in these circles. She doesn’t have to guess who’s footing the bill here.

“They’re all stunning,” you say, your voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as you walk beside the man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” the man says, his voice low, accented, and rich with an authority that’s clearly second nature to him. He’s smiling at you, and there’s a warmth there that the saleswoman finds almost disarming. Almost.

She steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place, and approaches the two of you. “Good afternoon,” she says, her tone perfectly neutral, though there’s an edge to it, just enough to make her feel superior in this little interaction. “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in today?”

You look up at the man, a slight question in your eyes, as if asking for permission to speak. The saleswoman notices this, of course, and it only confirms what she already thinks.

“The Porsche 911 S/T,” you say, your voice gaining a little confidence as you look back at her. “It’s — wow, it’s incredible.”

The saleswoman allows herself a small, condescending smile. Of course, you’d go for something flashy like that. “A beautiful choice,” she says smoothly. “Though it’s not currently available for sale. It’s more of a display model for now.”

You look disappointed, but before you can say anything, the man steps in. “Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite but firm. “And when will it be available?”

“Not for a few months, I’m afraid,” she replies, keeping her smile in place even as she feels a flicker of unease at the intensity in his eyes. “But we can certainly take your information and let you know the moment it is.”

You’re distracted by another car nearby — a sleek, silver Audi R8 — and the man follows your gaze. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says to the saleswoman, already moving toward the car that has caught your attention. She watches him go, a tightness forming in her chest.

You’re bending slightly, peering into the Audi’s interior, running your fingers over the smooth leather seats. The man is right behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a gesture that’s both protective and possessive.

“What do you think of this one?” He asks, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You smile, and it’s a real smile, the kind that makes your whole face light up.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice soft, almost reverent. “But I think I’m still in love with the Porsche.”

He chuckles, and the sound is deep, genuine. “You have good taste.”

The saleswoman doesn’t hear what you say next, but she sees the way you look up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. She almost rolls her eyes. Of course, you’re infatuated. Who wouldn’t be, with a man like that?

But there’s something else, something in the way he looks at you that makes her pause. There’s affection there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s something deeper, more complicated.

He straightens up, leaving you to admire the Audi, and makes his way back to the saleswoman. She steels herself, ready to resume the dance of negotiation, but his next words take her by surprise.

“I want to buy the Porsche for my partner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinks, momentarily thrown. “As I mentioned earlier, sir, it’s not for sale at the moment. But we can-”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. “I’m not asking if it’s for sale. I’m telling you I want to buy it.”

The saleswoman feels a prickle of irritation, but she keeps her expression neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr …”

“Wolff,” he says, his voice steady. “Toto Wolff.”

The name rings a bell, and she stiffens slightly. Of course, she’s heard of him. Everyone in this business has. But she’s not about to let him walk all over her just because he’s some big shot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolff, but even for you, the car isn’t available. It’s a prototype, and it won’t be released for sale until-”

He cuts her off with a low laugh, and there’s something almost dangerous in the sound. “For me,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child, “they’ll make it available.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. There’s a look in his eyes that makes it clear this isn’t a man who’s used to hearing the word no. And she realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s right. If Toto Wolff wants that car, he’s going to get it.

The saleswoman swallows hard, her professional composure beginning to crack around the edges. “I’ll need to speak with my manager,” she says finally, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence.

“Please do,�� he replies smoothly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re still admiring the Audi, completely unaware of the tension playing out behind you.

She turns on her heel, making her way to the back office with quick, clipped steps. The nerve of him, she thinks, but even as she seethes, she knows what the outcome will be. No one says no to someone like Toto Wolff.

As she waits for her manager to confirm the inevitable, she casts a glance through the glass wall of the office, watching you and him from a distance. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand resting on his arm, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels a strange, unwelcome pang of something close to envy.

It’s not just the money or the power that he has — though there’s plenty of that — it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he would move mountains just to see you smile.

The manager finally appears, a mix of excitement and nerves on his face as he hurries over to speak with Toto. The saleswoman stays back, watching as they exchange words, her earlier confidence completely drained. She knows what’s coming, and sure enough, after a few minutes, the manager gestures for her to come forward.

“Mr. Wolff,” the manager says, his tone obsequious, “we’d be more than happy to arrange the purchase of the Porsche for you. It’s not something we typically do, but in your case, we can make an exception.”

Toto gives a small nod, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Good,” he says, then glances over at you, still absorbed in the Audi. “I’ll take care of the details later. For now, I’d prefer if my partner remains unaware of the purchase.”

The manager nods quickly. “Of course, of course. Discretion is our priority.”

The saleswoman feels a fresh wave of irritation as the manager all but trips over himself to please Toto. But what bothers her even more is the realization that she was wrong. This isn’t a simple sugar relationship, despite what she first thought. There’s something real here, something that makes her uncomfortable in ways she can’t quite put into words.

As Toto walks back over to you, the manager gives the saleswoman a sharp look, silently instructing her to follow his lead. She pastes on her best smile, swallowing her pride, and follows after him.

You don’t notice the shift in the atmosphere when Toto returns to your side. You’re too engrossed in the car, asking him questions about its specs and design, your enthusiasm infectious. The saleswoman watches the two of you interact, trying to reconcile the easy, genuine affection she sees with her initial assumptions.

“So,” Toto says, leaning in a little closer to you, “if you could choose any car here, which one would it be?”

You bite your lip, clearly torn, but finally, you sigh. “I know it’s silly, but I keep coming back to the Porsche. It’s just … it’s perfect.”

His smile widens, and the saleswoman feels a pang of something she refuses to name. “Then the Porsche it is,” he says softly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. "Toto, you can't just buy it because I like it. It's not even for sale."

He chuckles, a warm, deep sound that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “You’d be surprised what’s possible.”

The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably, watching as Toto brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long to be purely casual. You smile up at him, oblivious to everything except the man in front of you.

She clears her throat, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Actually, we can make arrangements for the Porsche. If you’d like, we can finalize the details and set up delivery.”

You blink, surprised. “Really? But I thought-”

Toto smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Then you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you mumble a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The saleswoman watches, the professional smile on her face feeling more like a grimace now. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand you or him, but she knows she was wrong.

You pull back, looking up at Toto with a softness in your eyes that’s almost too much to bear. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper.

“Just be happy,” he murmurs back, his voice tender in a way that makes the saleswoman want to look away.

And for a moment, she does. She turns her gaze to the gleaming cars, the reflections of the showroom lights bouncing off their polished surfaces. When she looks back, you’re both still there, lost in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The saleswoman feels a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest as she turns to finalize the sale, realizing that perhaps, despite everything, this wasn’t about money or power at all.

Perhaps it was just about love.

***

The estate in Oxfordshire is nothing short of palatial, its sprawling grounds stretching out in every direction, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oaks. The driveway is long and winding, leading up to a mansion that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a Jane Austen novel — grand, elegant, with an air of timeless sophistication.

The saleswoman sits in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. She’s never been nervous about a delivery before, but then again, she’s never delivered to someone like Toto Wolff before.

Beside her, the driver is humming along to a tune on the radio, completely at ease as they turn onto the estate’s private road. She glances at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Porsche 911 S/T, pristine and gleaming, with an oversized red bow affixed to the roof. It looks absurd, she thinks, a toy fit for a princess.

It takes several minutes to reach the front of the house, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. The saleswoman feels a knot tighten in her stomach as they pull to a stop.

She’s here to oversee the delivery, to make sure everything goes smoothly, but part of her wonders if this is all a colossal waste of time. Surely, she could’ve sent someone else. But she’d insisted on coming herself—perhaps out of some twisted sense of curiosity, or maybe it was just her bruised pride.

The driver cuts the engine, and there’s a brief moment of silence before the door to the mansion opens. Toto steps out first, his movements unhurried, as if he’s in no rush at all. And then you appear beside him, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you walk out together.

“Here we go,” the driver mutters, giving her a nod before he hops out to start the unloading process.

The saleswoman takes a deep breath, composing herself before she steps out of the truck. Her heels sink slightly into the gravel as she approaches, her professional smile back in place. Toto greets her with a nod, his expression unreadable, while you give her a warm, if somewhat shy, smile.

“I hope the drive wasn’t too difficult,” Toto says, his voice smooth and polite, but there’s a hint of something more behind his words. An expectation that everything will, of course, be perfect.

“Not at all, Mr. Wolff,” the saleswoman replies quickly, her smile tightening. “It was a pleasure, really.”

You step forward, your eyes wide with excitement as you look past her to the truck. “Is it …” you ask, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

The driver is already lowering the truck’s ramp, and as the Porsche comes into view, you let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, taking a step closer, your hand still clutching Toto’s arm. “I can’t believe it’s really here.”

Toto watches you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that the saleswoman has started to recognize as reserved only for you. “I told you it would be,” he says quietly, as if this moment is just as special for him as it is for you.

The saleswoman clears her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “We took extra care during the transport,” she says, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Everything is exactly as it was when it left the showroom.”

“Thank you,” Toto says, but his focus is already back on you as you approach the car, your fingers brushing over the sleek lines of the Porsche as if you’re afraid it might disappear if you touch it too firmly.

You circle the car slowly, taking it all in, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels like an intruder in this private moment. She watches as you turn back to Toto, your eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be happy.”

The saleswoman averts her gaze, the tenderness of the moment making her uncomfortable. She’s seen plenty of couples over the years, but there’s something about the way you and Toto interact that feels … different.

It’s not just the age difference, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and the way you look at him, like he’s your anchor in a storm.

The driver interrupts her thoughts as he finishes unloading the car. “All done here,” he says cheerfully, handing the keys over to Toto with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Toto takes the keys with a nod of thanks, but instead of pocketing them, he holds them out to you. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, a light, joyful sound that echoes in the evening air. “Now? I haven’t even driven a car like this before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replies, his tone teasing yet encouraging. “And I trust you completely.”

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the car and then back at Toto. The saleswoman can see the internal debate playing out on your face — excitement warring with nervousness. But then, with a deep breath, you take the keys from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do.

“Okay,” you say, your voice firming with determination. “Let’s do it.”

The saleswoman watches as you climb into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and running your hands over the steering wheel like you’re trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the car. Toto takes the passenger seat beside you, and for a brief moment, the saleswoman catches a glimpse of his hand resting on your knee, a gesture that’s both reassuring and intimate.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the driver nudges her, motioning toward the truck. “We should get going,” he says, glancing over at the car. “Looks like they’ve got everything under control.”

But the saleswoman doesn’t move. She’s rooted to the spot, watching as you and Toto pull away from the estate, the Porsche purring softly as it glides down the driveway. There’s something about the scene that feels almost cinematic, like she’s watching a moment that she’s not supposed to be a part of.

The car disappears around a bend in the road, and the saleswoman finally exhales, not realizing she’s been holding her breath. She turns back to the driver, who’s looking at her with mild curiosity.

“Everything okay?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

She forces a smile, pushing down the strange mix of emotions churning in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, though the word feels hollow. “Everything’s fine.”

They load back into the truck, the engine roaring to life as they begin the long drive back to the showroom. The saleswoman stares out the window, her thoughts racing, replaying the scene over and over in her mind.

She tries to tell herself that it’s just another delivery, just another rich couple flaunting their wealth. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the image of the way Toto looked at you, like you were his entire world.

The driver’s voice cuts through her thoughts as he asks, “So, you think they’re the real deal?”

She turns to look at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, a guy like him, a girl like her … you think it’s more than just the money?”

The saleswoman hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. She wants to dismiss it, to laugh it off and say that of course it’s just about the money. But the words stick in her throat, refusing to come out.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended. “I think it is.”

The driver nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they fall into silence once more. But the saleswoman can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that this delivery has left her with more questions than answers.

As they drive away from the estate, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the road. The saleswoman stares at them, lost in thought, wondering what it must feel like to be loved the way Toto loves you.

She knows she’ll never have an answer to that question, but as the truck rumbles down the road, she can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — there’s more to life than the things she’s always taken for granted.

And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself longing for something she can’t quite put into words.

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stylesispunk · 4 months ago

Text

"Blind Faith" | part i

Priest!Joel Miller x nightclub dancer!reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: Running away from your home, you found a small town to stay. Once there, you met people and the priest, Joel.

wc: 5,2 k

warnings: age gap (Joel is in his late 40s, reader in her late 20s), religious conflict, a crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut, social expectations, nightlife themes, the contrast between joel's and your world, protests, mentions of exile, mention of politics. For clarification, reader is Latina on this one.

a/n: Hello. I wanted this story to be something beyond a forbidden romance between two people, after reading books and watching things I wanted to recall that reader's background comes from her being an activist. I want to approach all the topics with all due respect and I hope you do too, nevertheless, those are not going to be the main center of the story.

Happy reading and please tell me what are your thoughts about this one.

You had built a life most people only dreamed of. A life filled with passion, purpose, and the kind of joy that comes from doing what you love. You were surrounded by friends who understood you, a family you cherished with every fiber of your being, and a career that made waking up every morning feel like stepping into a dream.

You had studied dance at university, dedicating years to perfecting your craft until movement became your language, your art, your very identity. But you didn’t see yourself just as an artist, you were educated. You had spent your life asking questions, seeking answers, and standing for what was right. Politics fascinated you, not as a distant game played by men in suits, but as something alive, something that shaped the world around you. You were drawn to justice, to fairness, to the fight for those whose voices were drowned out by oppression.

Protests became as much a part of your life as well as performances. You had stood in the streets, chanting until your voice was hoarse, raising signs, raising awareness, raising hell when it was necessary. You believed in change, in the power of people united. But belief alone was never enough to stop what came next.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment power fell into the wrong hands. The men who took control of your country did not tolerate opposition. They did not welcome free thought or voices that questioned their authority. People like you, the educated, the artists, the teachers, all who had seek justice, were dangerous but because you couldn’t be controlled. Because you saw through their lies.

You remember the night your world collapsed. The hurried whispers in the dark. The fear in your mother’s eyes. The way your brother’s hands shook as he cut your hair, disguising you in a desperate attempt to buy you time.

He drove you to the airport as your heart pounded, then, you boarded that plane, leaving behind everything you had ever known. Your home. Your family. The life you had built.

And that is why you ended up here, in a bus driving to a foreign city located in California. The bus rattled as it rolled into town, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the nearly empty cabin. You sat near the window, watching the Californian sun stretch across the dry fields, golden and endless, nothing like the dense, humid air of home.

Home.

The word sat heavy in your chest, a place you could no longer name without feeling the weight of exile pressing against your ribs.

This town was small, quieter than you expected, but that was good. You needed a quiet, a place to disappear, to become no one, to not be recognized. You stepped off the bus with only a battered leather suitcase and a name written on a slip of paper.

The paradise, a nightclub where a friend of a friend had said you might find work.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, though the air was warm. You must have learned to move carefully, to keep your eyes down, to not be recognized. But you couldn't help glancing up at the church as you stepped off the bus.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing on the steps, speaking to a woman holding a little baby in her arms. There was, a priest, dressed in black, with tired eyes and a kindness in the way he bent his head to listen. He looked up, meeting your gaze for the first, just for a fleeting second. Then, his gaze left your eyes, leaving you with a weird feeling, warmth rising up to your cheeks.

You pulled the slip of paper from your pocket, staring at the name scrawled in fading ink staring at the name scrawled in fading ink. The paradise.

When you lifted your gaze again, the priest wasn't there anymore.

You sighed and adjusted the trap of your suitcase over your shoulder, feeling anxious creeping upon your skin as you try to picture your life in a foreign place.

You looked towards the church in the front of the street, where the priest had stood minutes before, perhaps trying to look and answer to your questions. You weren't a religious person, but you did believe in calls, and you felt the pulling thread forcing you to walk towards the church, as if something were calling you, perhaps someone.

Your feet found their way to the old church at the edge of town, its stone walls worn and cracked from years of standing against the wind. It loomed tall and hollow, the kind of place that had seen more sorrow than joy. You hesitated at the entrance, your heart beating faster than you liked.

Why am I even here? you thought. But the pull wouldn’t let you turn away.

You stepped inside.

The stained glass cast soft, fractured colors onto the worn wooden pews, painting the empty space in hues of crimson, gold, and deep blue. The scent of burning wax and old books filled your senses, grounding you in a place that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, the vast silence of the church swallowing every sound. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, an answer, a sign, something to tell you that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

The priest where nowhere to be found, so you took seat in one of the wooden benches, perhaps waiting, perhaps resting.

You got yourself comfortable, the sleep catching upon you. Your body felt heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones the moment you allowed yourself to rest. The weight of the suitcase by your side, the long journey that had brought you here, it all pressed down on you at once. The church, with its quiet stillness, felt like the safest place you’d been in weeks.

That was where Joel Miller found you.

On a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

You smirked, rubbing your eyes. "Didn’t know God kicked people out."

Joel exhaled sharply. The world outside was changing, rock ‘n’ roll, free love, protests, women in miniskirts. But in this town, in this chapel, things were supposed to stay the same.

This town hadn’t met those changes.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse, too low-cut for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm and final, as if you were done, but there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness. "I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go. At least not tonight."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening."Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

“Why?” You asked

Joel exhaled slowly, shifting on his feet. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, something he was holding back.

"You can’t stay here," he said again, voice firm but not unkind.

You sat up properly this time, stretching your legs out in front of you, your boots scraping against the floor. His eyes flicked to them, brief, barely noticeable, you caught it, but you chose not to say anything.

"Didn’t mean to cause a problem," you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"You’re not a problem," he said, then hesitated. "But this isn’t a place for…"

You arched a brow. “For what? For a woman like me?”

For someone wearing boots and a blouse that clung a little too tight, a skirt that rode too high when you stretched out.

He didn’t utter that the sentence. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Where you planning on staying tonight?" he asked.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Haven’t figured that part out yet."

Joel frowned. "You got family here?"

"No father, I don’t."

"Friends?"

"No."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. So, you’re alone.

You weren’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was something else.

He shifted again, exhaling through his nose like he was about to say something he’d regret.

"There’s a place near the church," he finally said. "A small guesthouse. Church used to use it for traveling pastors, but it’s empty now. You can stay there tonight."

You studied him. "Why?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why help me? You don’t know me."

Joel was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That doesn’t mean I should turn you away."

You held his gaze, searching for something in it—hesitation, reluctance. But there was only conviction.

And yet you could feel something else there, buried beneath all that righteousness behind his clothes.

Something you hadn’t named yet.

"Alright, Father," you said finally, standing up. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, he turned, stepping toward the chapel doors, and you followed.

Back at his house behind the church, Joel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The wooden beams above cast long shadows in the dim glow of the lamp beside his bed. He should’ve been sleeping, his body was tired enough for I, but his mind refused to settle. It was noisier than ever.

His thoughts kept drifting back to something else, to you. To the way you’d looked at him when you stood up from that pew, like you already knew he wasn’t as correct as he pretended to be.

To your voice, husky with sleep, the way you stretched without a care in the world. To your legs.

Joel shut his eyes. Lord, give me strength.

It had been a passing glance, barely a flicker of a thought, but now it gnawed at him.

He had seen a lot of things in his years as a priest. A lot of people in need, a lot of wandering souls. But he wasn’t blind. He could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just his faith speaking.

It was something else. It felt dangerous.

He turned onto his side, sighing through his nose. This was just another test. He’d seen men struggle with temptation, had guided them through it. This was no different.

You were just a woman in need. That’s all. That’s all.

And yet, sleep never came easy that night.

The early sun cast long golden beams through the chapel windows as Joel made his way to the guesthouse. He carried a small plate of toast and eggs, as a gesture of hospitality. He thought about last night, on how he hadn’t offered food or a cup of tea.

He wanted to show kindness, but the second he stepped inside, he knew.

The bed was made, the blanket neatly folded. No sign of anyone.

And on the small wooden table by the window, a note.

Joel set the plate down and picked it up, his fingers tightening around the paper.

"Thank you for your help, Father."

That was it. No name, no explanation. Just a quiet departure, as if you’d never been there at all.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the empty room.

Something settled deep in his chest, something that felt too much like disappointment.

He was afraid of the fleeting feelings coming to him. Because last night, he’d told himself you were just passing through. But now, standing here, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You were strong and brave enough this day. When you found yourself in the front of the paradise, the neon light flickered weakly in the daylight, music pulsed behind the doors, muffled but steady, a heartbeat beneath the night.

You inhale deeply, pushing the door behind.

The club smelled of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t alive as you expected to be during the day, but there were men in tight pants, women in flowing skirts, people who existed somewhere in between, all shining under the low, colored lights of the place.

This wasn’t the kind of stage you were used to. But it was something.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard was pouring whiskey into a glass, his gold rings catching the light. He spotted you instantly, eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, voice thick with an accent she couldn’t place.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded.

The man wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned over the counter, studying you.

“You dance?” He asked.

You lifted your chin. “Yes.”

He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A warm hand touched your back.

Your turned to find a woman at your side, tall, dark-skinned, with a shimmering dress that clung to her curves. Her lipstick was deep red, her eyes lined in black.

“Come on, cariño,” the woman purred. “Let’s get you ready.”

You swallowed, but you followed her backstage.

Backstage was a blur of colors, perfume, and laughter. The other dancers moved around you effortlessly, adjusting their costumes, fixing their makeup, teasing each other in rapid-fire whispers. You stood still, taking it all in. People here were wild, free and beautiful, and you smiled at that.

The woman who had led you back, Carmen, handed you a black slip dress. It was simple, barely more than a tiny thing of fabric, with thin straps that draped off your shoulders.

“You need shoes?” Carmen asked, watching as you slipped it over your head.

You shook your head “I’ll dance barefoot.”

Carmen raised a perfectly sculpted brow but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself.”

The music outside shifted, growing louder. Your stomach tightened.

You had danced for crowds a thousand times before, but never like this. This wasn’t a stage with velvet curtains, with polished floors and orchestrated movements. This was something raw and new for you, something meant to be felt rather than admired.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve already lost everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

A hand touched your shoulder. She turned to find Carmen smiling. “You’re up next, estrella.”

The lights were dim when you stepped onto the small, elevated platform.

The club wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make the air thick with murmurs and expectation. A few heads turned, eyes gliding over you as you took your place.

You closed your eyes.

The music started, a slow, sultry rhythm, deep bass vibrating through your bones.

And then you moved. At first, it was instinct. The slow bend of your knees, the gentle sway of your hips. You let the music guide you, feeling it the way you once had in the studio, back when you were still the dancer, before you became the fugitive.

Your arms lifted, fluid and controlled, your body following in careful, deliberate motions.

And then you forgot to be careful. You turned, arching into a spin, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. You let your feet move the way they had been trained to—pointed toes, precise steps, every motion a whisper of the ballerina you once were.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Someone murmured, “Mierda… she can dance.”

You barely heard them. For the first time in months, you felt like yourself again. Not a girl running, not a girl hiding, but a girl who had been born to dance.

You let yourself go. By the time the music ended, a hush had fallen over the club.

And then—applause. You stood there, breathing hard, your skin glowing under the soft red lights.

When you stepped down from the platform, Carmen was waiting, grinning.

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from?”

You just smiled. You didn’t have an answer for that. But for the first time since you had arrived, you felt like you had found a piece of home to stay in.

The night air was warmer as you made your way back to the church, the scent of warm pastries wrapped in cloth filling your hands. The applause from the club still echoed in your ears, the feeling of movement still lingering in your limbs. You felt light. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less lonely.

You paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering stone structure, its stained glass barely illuminated by the sunlight. The contrast was almost laughable.

The dancer and the priest. A contradiction in itself.

With a breath, you stepped inside.

He was there, seated at one of the pews, his back turned to you. His posture was stiff, as if he’d been deep in thought, or perhaps in prayer.

“Father.”

He turned sharply at your voice, his dark eyes immediately landing on you. For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you as if trying to figure out why you had come back.

You held up the bundle in your hands. “I brought you something.”

His gaze flickered to the wrapped pastries before settling back on your face. Slowly, he stood, walking toward you with careful, deliberate steps. When he got close, the faint scent of smoke and candle wax clung to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, but he still took them from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, warm, rough, calloused. The hands of a man who had worked long before he had ever been a priest.

You shrugged. “It’s a thank-you. For helping me yesterday.”

He watched you for a beat before nodding. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“I did.”

He didn’t ask where. He just looked at you, waiting. Maybe he wanted to know. Maybe he already had an idea.

You weren’t going to tell him either. Instead, you smiled. “Don’t eat them all at once, Father.”

Joel’s eyes flickered down, lingering for a second longer than they should have. You noticed.

It was brief, so brief you might have convinced yourself you imagined it. But you didn’t. His gaze had traced over the curve of your waist, the way the fabric of your blouse rested against your skin, the gentle swell of your collarbones. The flicker of something unreadable in his expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Do you—” He hesitated. “Would you like to talk?”

You raised a brow. “Talk?”

He nodded, tilting his head toward one of the wooden pews. “If you want.”

A small part of you wanted to tease him, ask if priests usually invited strange women to talk in dimly lit churches. But you swallowed the thought.

Instead, you sighed, walking past him and settling onto the worn wooden bench. You crossed one leg over the other, tapping your fingers idly on the surface. Joel sat beside you, close, but not too close.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Is this the part where I have to confess my sins?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joel exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Only if you want to.”

You studied him for a moment. The way his hands rested on his lap; fingers curled slightly as if he wasn’t quite at ease. The tension in his shoulders, the quiet restraint in his posture.

You tilted your head. “What about you, Father?”

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

“What do you believe in?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, something shifting in his expression. He looked away, staring at the rows of empty pews, at the altar beyond. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

You blinked at him. “Here? To the church?”

He nodded. “Last night”

You considered lying. It would be easier. But something about the way he was looking at the altar, like it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted, made you tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just… felt like I had to. Like, something just called me, you know?”

His gaze flicked to you then, studying, searching. “You’re not religious.” It wasn’t a question.

You smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

Joel didn’t return the smile. He just kept watching you, unreadable. “Then what are you looking for?”

That was a harder question. Peace? A sense of belonging? A place to rest? You weren’t sure.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Something different. A fresh start.”

Joel hummed, thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And you think you’ll find that here?”

You sighed, tilting your head toward him. “What’s with the interrogation, Father? Trying to save my soul?”

This time, he did smile. Barely. Just a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I think your soul is doing just fine on its own.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter the way it did.

Joel shifted, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You got people looking for you?”

Your breath caught. There it was. The question you’d been dreading.

You glanced away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the wooden pew beneath you. “No,” you said eventually. “No one’s looking.”

Joel didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he had believed you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The church was silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling, the distant sound of footsteps from somewhere outside.

Then Joel inhaled, shifting beside you. “You should be careful.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. He hesitated, then sighed. “This town—it’s small. People notice things.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what have they noticed about me?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands resting in your lap, then back up to your face.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Yet.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than the silence that followed.

“What about?” you asked, “What do you notice about me?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, eyes unreadable, something working behind them, something you couldn’t quite place.

You held his gaze, waiting, heartbeat steady but slow.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “I noticed you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Your lips quirked. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to priests.”

That got the barest huff of amusement from him. “Could be.” His fingers tapped lightly against his knee before he added, “But I think it’s more than that.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

Joel nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I think you’ve been running from something”

That made your stomach tighten.

Your first instinct was to deny it, to smirk, roll your eyes, brush it off like he was just another man who thought he had you figured out. But Joel wasn’t just another man. And the way he was looking at you, like he could see past whatever mask you were wearing, made it harder to lie.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. “And what makes you think that?”

Joel leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the pew. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “The way you don’t settle,” he said simply. “Not even when you’re sitting still.”

The words sent something sharp through your chest.

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed. “Maybe I just don’t like these wooden benches.”

Joel hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push, instead he smiled at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty church.

Then, finally, Joel shifted beside you. “Did you eat?”

The abrupt change caught you off guard. You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was casual when he repeated, “Did you eat?”

You frowned. “Why?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Because if you haven’t, I got food in the back.”

You tilted your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Are you asking me if I want to eat these pastries with you, Father?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the bag of pastries still resting between you. “You brought them” he said gruffly. “Seems only fair.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your knee. “Well, I supposed I must take you for a man who shares.”

He shot you a look, one that might’ve been stern if not for the flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered.

You bit back a grin, shrugging as you reached for the bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Joel stood, nodding his head toward the back of the church. “Come on. I’m not going sit out here and eat in the dark like some kind of—” he gestured vaguely before shaking his head. “Just come on.”

You followed, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The air was warmer in the back rooms, less hollow than the empty church.

Joel pulled out a chair for you at a small wooden table, and you sat, watching as he grabbed a couple of plates and a knife.

“Tea?” he asked.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

Joel shot you another look. “Or coffee. Pick one.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Tea.”

He nodded, setting a teapot on the stove before sitting across from you. The candlelight flickered between you, soft and warm.

You broke off a piece of pastry, popping it into your mouth. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Joel took a bite himself, chewing slowly. Then, he glanced at you,

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the pastry in your hands, the way the flaky crust crumbled against your fingers. But he was looking at you.

He hadn’t meant to, not like this, not for this long. But there was something about the way you sat there, elbows on the table, the candlelight casting soft golden hues over your skin. Something about the curve of your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

You were different. A fresh breath in a town that had long gone stale, where faces blurred together, where days passed without change. But you—

You weren’t part of this place. Not yet. And maybe that was what drew him in.

His gaze flickered lower, just for a second. The delicate slope of your collarbones, the soft neckline of your blouse that dipped just enough to hint at what lay beneath. He swallowed, jaw tensing, and forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, the flickering candle, the steam rising from the kettle.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice pulling him back.

Joel cleared his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head, studying him now, those sharp eyes of yours peeling away layers he hadn’t realized were there. “About what?”

He could’ve lied. Could’ve told you something simple, something easy.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nothing important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t push, just took another bite of pastry.

And Joel? Joel tried not to look at your lips when you did.

The teapot whistled, breaking the silence. Joel pushed back his chair, a little too fast, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. He muttered something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe just an exhale—as he stood and turned toward the stove.

You watched him, chin resting in your hand, fingers tapping absently against your cheek.

He moved with quiet fast, pouring the hot water into two mismatched mugs, the steam curling up between you like an unspoken thought.

“Sugar?” he asked.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Do you have honey?”

Joel shot you a dry look but opened a small cupboard, rummaging until he found a half-used jar. He set it down in front of you, his fingers brushing the edge of your mug as he did.

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, taking a slow sip.

Joel sat back down, quieter this time, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

You tilted your head. “So, do priests always offer tea and pastries to strangers passing by?”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No.”

You raised a brow. “Just me, then?”

Joel held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he looked away, took a slow sip of his own tea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just you.”

You set your cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly against the table. "Thanks for being so kind to me." you said, your voice low, more than just for the tea and pastries. It was for the quiet, for the refuge, for something you couldn't quite explain.

Joel didn’t respond right away, but you saw the faintest shift in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little. His eyes flickered back to yours, and there was something different about the way he looked at you now, less guarded, almost as if he’d let a small part of himself slip into the space between you.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then reached for the teapot, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's... it’s nothing."

But you both knew it wasn’t nothing. It never was.

Behind his intentions there was always kindness, but now something new flickered.

A temptation threatening his faith, like the world had set on fire the moment you glances met for the first time and he wanted the flames to catch him to be saved by you.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

@jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @myownwholewildworld @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

@drewharrisonwriter @hjzghi-blog @picketniffler @nobodyssfool @pedritosgirl2000 @koshkaj-blog @cigarxttxs @sweetpeakarolinaaa @wandasimp-69 @canteenee4 @obivari @shortandderanged @casualbananapatrol @stevie75 @hammerhead1776 @brittmb115 @strangersdotmp3 @goodvibesonly421 @jackie923 @lunpycatavenue @capuccinodoll

@iamtoriasworld @priincehoseok @luunarr0

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monzabee · 3 months ago

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the cold shoulder - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: hotch’s nanny has been icing him out, he can’t figure out why!

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: the word shit is used like twice, silent treatment, jack is on reader’s side, clueless hotch

Author’s Note: okay i was supposed to get out some requests tonight, but i am so sick that i can barely think, so this is my i'm sorry fic to all of you!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Ever the man of order, you know Hotch likes to have a set order in his life—and at his house. Not the military kind which would raise all the little hairs on your neck, no. But the kind where everything is set to a routine. It’s something he has asked you to implement with his son.

It’s something you’re not particularly fond of, especially being the spontaneously chaotic person you are in Hotch’s eyes, but you suppose it provides a security blanket for Jack. Jack knows his routine well. He knows that on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, he needs to get ready for soccer practice. He knows that his homework needs to be done before 6 PM, so that he can watch some TV. And most importantly, he knows that he should be in bed by 8.30 PM, even if his father is away though he also knows that his dad will probably wake him up if he’s late just to ask him about his day, but if not, he will at least give him a goodnight kiss.

And so, Aaron Hotchner likes order and routine. So does his son. You don’t particularly care for it, and so you decide to make it his problem.

The house is quiet, way too quiet when Hotch makes it home. He looks at his watch to check the time—12.07 AM. He’d expect you to be watching TV in the living room or perhaps reading one of your romance novels he likes to tease you about, but you are nowhere to be found. You are not in the kitchen, or the laundry room, or anywhere else Hotch can think of other than your room. And since barging into your room to check if you are okay or not is not an option, he retreats into his own room after giving Jack a goodnight kiss.

The next morning, however, he wonders if he’s entered an alternate universe. To start things off, Jack is giving him the cold shoulder—which is weird, considering he never does, and so are you. He watches the both of you eat your bowls of cereal and sharing Jack’s comic book. He’s telling you about the context, and what happened in an earlier issue, and you’re listening to him with your undivided attention. Secondly, you are dressed. And though Aaron Hotchner is the epitome of propriety, he is also a man. A man, who has seen you in your dressing gown every morning since you’ve started working for him. Hotch stares for a moment longer than he should. He’s not used to seeing you like this first thing in the morning—fully dressed, hair done, looking like you’re ready to walk out the door instead of lounging in your usual dressing gown, making coffee while teasing him about his stern morning face. It’s unsettling.

Hotch clears his throat, setting his coffee mug down a little louder than necessary. Neither of you look up. Jack continues flipping through the pages, explaining every little detail to you in a way that makes Hotch’s heart soften—except for the fact that it’s usually him Jack tells these things to.

He watches as you nod along, smiling at Jack’s enthusiastic explanations. “That’s pretty cool, buddy,” you say, ruffling his hair. “But what about this guy? He looks kind of shady.”

“Oh, he is,” Jack replies seriously, turning another page. “But he’s not really a bad guy, just misunderstood.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. How ironic. “Jack,” Hotch tries again, keeping his voice even. “You almost ready for school?”

Jack hums, not looking up. “Yep.” A pause. No ‘good morning, Daddy.’ No excited chatter about his day. Just ‘yep’. Hotch’s brows furrow. His gaze shifts to you, but you’re not even pretending to acknowledge his presence. He takes another sip of coffee, his mind scanning over the last few days. Had he done something? Forgotten something?

It must be obvious that he’s staring because you finally glance up, meeting his eyes for the briefest second before turning your attention back to Jack. Jack, who after a moment of silence mutters, “Actually, I want Y/N to take me to school today.” He turns to you, puppy eyes in full effect, “Can you?”

Oh, this is definitely intentional.

“Sure thing, Jack.” You agree, still not throwing even a single glance at Hotch’s direction.

Hotch’s jaw tightens, though he keeps his expression neutral. He may be an expert in profiling, but even without any specialized training, it’s painfully clear that both his son and his nanny are icing him out on purpose. And the worst part? He still doesn’t know why.

He exhales slowly, placing his mug down on the counter with deliberate patience. “Jack,” he starts, keeping his voice measured, “I always take you to school.”

Jack shrugs, flipping another page in his comic. “I want Y/N to take me today, she already said she would, so there shouldn’t be any problem,” he says simply, as if that explains everything.

Hotch’s gaze flickers between you and his son, trying to piece together the silent rebellion unfolding before him. Jack’s stubborn set of his jaw, the way you won’t even look at him—it’s all too methodical, too intentional. He’s spent years interrogating criminals and reading between the lines, and right now, the message is loud and clear: He messed up.

But how?

Jack suddenly slides off his chair, grabbing his backpack from the floor. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he announces, running off toward the bathroom.

Now it’s just the two of you.

Hotch waits a beat, watching as you casually continue eating your cereal like you haven’t been icing him out since last night. “Did I do something?” he finally asks.

You don’t look up. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hotch exhales sharply, setting his mug down again. “I would like to know, actually.”

“Hmm.” You tilt your head, as if considering it. “Too bad.”

Hotch narrows his eyes slightly. “Y/N.”

You finally look up at him, expression neutral. “Aaron.”

The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine, and not in the way it usually does. He’s used to your teasing, even occasional flirting that he so indulgently returns sometimes. But right now, your voice is cold, and even uncaring. “I get the feeling I’m in trouble,” he says slowly, carefully.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wow, you are a profiler.”

Hotch presses his lips into a thin line, his patience thinning. He watches as you get out of your place and bring both bowls to the sink. Hotch crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter. “So you are punishing me.”

You shrug, still not looking at him. “I just think it’s funny.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Funny how?”

You hum thoughtfully, finally shutting off the faucet and drying your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just funny.” You glance over at Jack in the other room, then back at Hotch, a ghost of a smirk on your lips. “You’ll figure it out.”

That is not what he wants to hear. “Y/N—”

Jack comes bounding back into the kitchen before he can press further, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Ready!”

“Let’s hit the road then,” you say, ruffling his hair before grabbing your keys.

Hotch watches as Jack slips past him without so much as a goodbye, the silent treatment continuing in full force. He clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to call his son back. Instead, his gaze flickers back to you. You offer him a parting smile—sweet, smug, and just a little too satisfied. And just like that, you and Jack are out the door, leaving Hotch standing alone in his own kitchen, frustration brewing.

He hates not knowing. But one thing is certain.

He messed up. And now he has to figure out how.

After a long day of paperwork, and Dave’s unrelenting teasing, he is glad to be back at home. Though after what happened earlier in the day, he is still frustrated because he is nowhere close to figuring out what he has done wrong to warrant a cold shoulder from not only his son, but also you. He’s not used to feeling like a stranger in his own house, but that’s exactly how he feels right now.

Jack’s school bag is tossed on the living room couch, and the TV is playing some old movie on low, the sound barely reaching him. He doesn’t see you at first, but then he hears the soft sound of your voice from the kitchen. He hesitates for a moment at the doorway, just watching. You’re standing with your back to him, rinsing out a mug, the gentle sound of water filling the quiet space between you as you continue talking to Jack about his day. He is standing on a step stool next to you, dutifully drying the items you place onto the drying rack.

You don’t turn around when you hear his footsteps, but the smallest shift in your posture tells him that you’re aware of him. Jack, at least acknowledges him by giving him a shy smile, but then he silently giggles as he hides his face on your shoulder.

“I thought you’d still be working,” you say, your tone casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes him bristle slightly.

“I finished up early,” Hotch replies, his voice coming out flat despite his best attempt at sounding normal. He steps further into the kitchen, watching you carefully, trying to gauge the situation, but you continue washing the dishes as if he hasn’t just walked in after a long day.

You let out an acknowledging hum, turning to Jack as you mumble, “Why don’t you wash your hand before dinner, buddy?”

Hotch’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything as you continue to direct Jack through the small tasks of getting ready for dinner. It’s clear that you’re not rushing to acknowledge him, and it’s starting to gnaw at him. He’s trying to keep his frustration in check, but the silence between you two, the distance, is apparent.

Jack obediently hops off the step stool, his little feet padding across the floor toward the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. The sound of running water follows Jack’s footsteps, but neither of you move. Hotch clears his throat, trying to shake off the unease that’s settling deeper into his chest. “I’ve been thinking about this morning.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you place a dish into the drying rack, your movements deliberate, a little slower than usual, as if giving yourself time to consider how you want to react. Finally, you turn to face him, but your eyes don’t quite meet his. They flicker just past him, the tension between you two growing thicker.

“I’m sure you have,” you say, your voice now cooler than it was earlier that morning.

“Have I done something wrong?” He asks, the frustration he’s been bottling up all day creeping into his voice. “Are you mad at me?”

You take a step back, leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “I don’t know, did you do something to make me mad?” You ask, confusing him even further. “Because then, I am. But if you didn’t I am not.”

“I... didn’t?” He says, though it comes out more as a question, rather than the answer you are looking for.

“Then I am not mad, Mister Hotchner.” You turn back, moving along the counter to focus on attention on the salad you’re making, but he hears the faint words you murmur under your breath.

Grump.

Hotch exhales through his nose, pressing his lips into a tight line. This is getting ridiculous. He’s interrogated criminals with less patience than this, and yet, here he is, standing in his own kitchen, being toyed with like a rookie. “You’re punishing me,” he states. It’s not a question.

You barely react, slicing a cucumber with precise, measured movements. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “And I still don’t know why.”

You hum, noncommittal. “That sounds like a you problem, boss.”

Not ‘Boss Man’. Not ‘Mister Hotchner’. Boss.

Hotch narrows his eyes. Oh, you’re enjoying this. That little smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, it’s subtle, but it’s there. You want him to figure it out, to put the pieces together like one of his cases. But unlike his cases, he doesn’t have evidence to go off of, just silence, side-eyes, and Jack’s very deliberate allegiance to your cause. He thinks back to the last few days, replaying conversations, interactions—anything that might have set this in motion. But nothing stands out.

“What did I do?” he asks again, voice lower now, controlled but edged with frustration.

You finally look at him, really look at him, and for a split second, he thinks you might crack. But instead, you shake your head with a soft, almost pitying sigh. “I expected more from you.”

Ouch. That lands harder than it should. He doesn’t know why, but it does.

Before he can press further, Jack’s footsteps echo back into the kitchen, and just like that, the moment is gone. “Can I help with anything else?” Jack asks, grinning up at you.

“Nope, we’re all set, buddy,” you reply, ruffling his hair. “Let’s get dinner on the table.”

Hotch clenches his jaw, watching as Jack pulls out plates and hands them to you, watching as you smile at his son while still barely acknowledging his presence. He watches the two of you chat jovially over dinner about your day. He can’t figure out what he did, and he can’t get answers from either of you—it's ridiculous. He’s interrogated grown people, hardened criminals, the worst of humankind, actual serial killers, yet he’s defeated by his son and nanny.

Hotch spends the rest of dinner in frustrated silence, chewing over the events of the past day like a case file he just can’t crack. You and Jack chat like normal—well, mostly normal, considering that ‘normal’ would typically include him. But tonight, it's like he’s on the outside looking in.

And he hates it.

After dinner, Jack clears his plate without being asked and, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t ask his dad to help him brush his teeth. Instead, he turns to you. “Y/N, can you help me get ready for bed?”

Hotch doesn’t miss the deliberate way his son avoids looking at him. The kid is committed. “Of course, buddy, I’ll come up,” you reply, sending Hotch a quick glance, one that carries the unmistakable glint of you still don’t get it, do you? before you follow Jack up the stairs.

Hotch exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. The interrogation tactics continue. Fine. He collects the dishes, rinsing them with the efficiency of a man who needs to do something with his hands, all while replaying every interaction he’s had with you and Jack over the past twenty-four hours.

And then it hits him.

The cookies.

More specifically, the cookie disaster. Last night, you and Jack had decided to bake cookies. From scratch. A seemingly innocent activity, except it had unfolded like an organized crime scene—flour dusted over the counters, chocolate chips everywhere, and Jack, laughing the entire time as he got more ingredients on himself than in the mixing bowl.

And Hotch… had not been amused.

He had walked into the kitchen, exhausted from case reports, only to find his once-pristine space looking like a sugar-fueled tornado had torn through it. He’d sighed, run a hand through his hair, and muttered something about how some people actually like having a clean kitchen.

Jack had immediately looked guilty. You, on the other hand, had raised an eyebrow and said, “Some people actually like to have fun, too.”

And that was it. No yelling, no actual scolding—just Hotch being the grumpy, tired, neat-freak dad, accidentally dampening the excitement of a six-year-old and the very fun nanny who was clearly keeping score. Hotch exhales through his nose, pressing his lips into a thin line. Well. That explains this little rebellion.

Later that night, when the house is quiet, he finds you downstairs in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone as you sip from your usual mug. You don’t acknowledge him when he walks in.

That’s fine. He has a plan.

Wordlessly, Hotch reaches up to the highest cabinet, where Jack can’t reach, and pulls down a Tupperware container. He sets it on the counter with a quiet thud before popping off the lid.

Inside are the cookies from last night. The ones he had, admittedly, grumbled about. The ones Jack had been so excited to make. The ones you had deliberately left untouched on the counter after dinner.

You finally glance at him, unimpressed.

Hotch picks up a cookie, inspecting it like he’s analyzing evidence. Then, he takes a slow, deliberate bite. And—okay. They’re good. Not just edible, but actually really good. But that’s not the point.

He chews, swallows, then, without looking at you, he mutters, “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“You’re full of shit.” He hides his smirk behind another bite. “You’re so full of shit,” you repeat, but your voice is lighter now.

“Language,” he murmurs, which only makes you roll your eyes. But then, finally, you smile. It’s small, but it’s there. A crack in the ice. A sign that the war is almost over. Hotch picks up another cookie, handing it to you. You hesitate for a second, then take it. “So…" he starts, feigning innocence, "does this mean you’ll stop weaponizing my own child against me?”

You take a slow bite, considering. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He raises an eyebrow.

You shrug, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends.”

"On?"

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “On whether or not you help clean next time.” You pause for a second, “And you have to apologize to Jack, too.”

Hotch exhales a laugh, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter. “Done.”

You smirk, holding up your cookie in mock cheers. "Then I suppose I could forgive you, Mister Hotchner."

The war is over.

For now.

#monzabee #requests open #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #nanny!reader

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starmaidengarden · 2 months ago

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𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 !

contexts: just some adorable headcanons about the octavinelle boys

— Azul : Jade : Floyd : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. cute headcanons. pt3! Pic: Leo08ph on twt, dividers: uzmacchiato

Azul Ashengrotto ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Azul doesn’t just fall in love—he spirals into it as if caught in a whirlpool. At first, he finds himself utterly enchanted by your quick wit and the way your eyes flicker with excitement when you discuss your passions. He admires your fearless spirit, and how you’re not afraid to challenge him, keeping him on his toes.

⭑.ᐟ He'll give you a compliment and then quickly play it down, feeling a bit shy about it. "You look absolutely lovely today," he stammers, his cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “I-I mean, not that you don’t always look great,” he quickly adds, a sheepish grin escaping as he tries to play it cool.

⭑.ᐟ He shows his love in clear and meaningful ways. He carefully organizes your busy schedule, making sure you have time to rest between classes, editing your papers and gives helpful feedback. On relaxed afternoons at the lounge, he buys you free drinks, a simple gesture that warms your heart.

⭑.ᐟ Beyond these everyday acts, he also has a thing for spoiling you with luxurious, thoughtfully chosen gifts—perhaps a rare book by your favorite author or a piece of jewelry that reflects your unique style. Each time he presents these surprises, he downplays their value, pretending they’re no big deal, yet deep down, you know they come from a place of affection and care.

⭑.ᐟ Azul is not openly affectionate in public. He gets flustered easily, and even a simple touch could send his composure crumbling. But in private? He’s incredibly soft. He loves being held, especially when he’s stressed. He’ll melt into your arms after long shifts, nuzzling into your shoulder and sighing deeply. If you run your fingers through his hair, he may just fall asleep there.

⭑.ᐟ His touches are cautious at first: brushing hair from your face, guiding you with a hand on your back. But once he grows comfortable, he loves holding hands, cuddling while reading, and soft kisses—always soft, almost reverent. Azul is old-fashioned when it comes to romance. He’ll offer his arm like a gentleman, open doors, and always insists on paying during dates. He wants to be someone you can rely on—a foundation, not just a lover.

⭑.ᐟ sometimes you doze off on his shoulder while he’s reviewing contracts. He freezes up like he’s just been struck by lightning. His cheeks go bright pink. He doesn’t dare move, even though his arm falls asleep. Instead, he watches over you with a soft, protective gaze, and when you wake up, there’s a blanket on your shoulders and a cup of warm tea waiting for you.

Jade Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ He will quietly appear at your side when you’re overwhelmed, leaning in just enough to soften the moment, and gently say, “Shall we take a walk?” His presence has a calming effect, as if he senses the tension radiating off you

⭑.ᐟ He thrives off reactions. Embarrassed? Flustered? Delicious. He’s always watching—his gaze is everywhere and observant—and a soft smile curls on his lips, as if he knows your next move before you do. He favors subtle touches too. a hand on the small of your back, brushing your fingers as he passes something to you. He enjoys watching your reactions more than the contact itself.

⭑.ᐟ When you throw out a sarcastic remark, he leans in closer, the playful glimmer in his eyes intensifying. “What an amusing little bite you have,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mischief. “Careful, or I might bite back.” (You’re now emotionally ruined for the next half hour.)

⭑.ᐟ If someone else seems interested in you, he won’t interfere directly—he’ll smile politely, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. He believes in claiming things without making a scene. You’ll know when he decides you're his.

⭑.ᐟ He playfully jokes around, but he always keeps a watchful eye on you—slightly shifting his demeanor to a more serious tone if he detects even the faintest hint of sadness in your expression, his concern obvious in the way his brows furrow slightly.

⭑.ᐟ Takes you on adventurous dates in the woods, where he excitedly leads the way, so you can “hunt for rare fungi together.” Despite the trail and close calls—you barely avoided a slippery slope down a steep hill—his infectious spirit makes every moment thrilling.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely teaches you random facts about mushrooms, deep-sea creatures, and poisons like it’s flirting. “Did you know this species can paralyze a person in under 10 seconds? Fascinating, isn’t it?” His tone is infused with charm, as if he’s flirting with knowledge (Comforting??? Maybe???)

⭑.ᐟ Jade doesn’t like being touchy in public. He reserves those moments for when you’re alone: wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, brushing your hair out of your face, or resting his forehead against yours with quiet intimacy.

Floyd Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Floyd’s mood swings are real—and he doesn’t hide them at all. One minute he’s clingy, leaning into you with an almost desperate affection, his large eyes sparkling with mischief; the next he’s distracted, looking off into the distance as if entirely bored by the world around him.

⭑.ᐟ BUT! You’re the only person who can steady him. No matter how stormy his mood gets, your voice and touch act like a soothing balm, cutting through the chaos. It’s as if you’re his anchor, keeping him grounded in the midst of his emotional storms.

⭑.ᐟ If you manage to tune into his moods and mirror them just right? He will fall SO HARD. You’re not just someone who walks through life with him; you’re his favorite toy, the one he cherishes and plays with endlessly. To him, you’re his “shrimpy,” a term of endearment that makes you feel special and cherished.

⭑.ᐟ Floyd expresses his love through touch, often reaching for you. He’s the type who’ll grab your hand without a second thought, throw his arm around your shoulder possessively, or pick you up effortlessly, spinning you around as if you were a plushie in his grasp. His affection isn’t limited to light touches; he loves giving you squeezes that are more than just hugs. Full-body wraps where he lifts you off the ground entirely, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. “Squeeze time~! Don’t run, Shrimpy~!” he’ll tease, his voice light and playful, making you feel safe and cherished.

⭑.ᐟ When he’s sleepy, that clinging nature intensifies. He’ll tangibly wrap his whole body around you, like a heated blanket, and he’ll pout adorably if you even dare to suggest leaving his side. His sleepy eyes, adorned with long lashes, reflect an almost childlike need for closeness in those moments.

⭑.ᐟ Ask you weird, random questions just to hear your answers or just to hear you laugh. “Hey Shrimpy, if I was a bird, would you still date me?”, he’ll ponder, tilting his head in that adorable way he does. “How many marshmallows do you think I could fit in my mouth at once?” he’ll challenge with a glint of mischief in his eye. (He tests it. You stop him at 11.)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #twst azul #twst jade #twst floyd

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soaps-mohawk · 11 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Summary: It can't be a coincidence anymore.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,411 words

Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets

A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened.

Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness.

Ketamine...maybe fentanyl.

She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something.

A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her.

Her phone is gone.

Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again.

The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright.

There’s no help from the others.

She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space.

Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking.

Her phone is sitting on the desk.

She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity.

The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail.

She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this.

She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you.

“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.”

“Was anyone following her?” She asks.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.”

She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders.

She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you.

Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now.

“Laswell.”

“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence.

“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused.

She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.”

Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files.

Now this.

“Kate?”

She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.”

“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.”

“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence.

“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands.

“I hope you’re right.”

Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart.

She should call them, make them aware.

She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files.

She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.

Sometimes the greater good has to come first.

Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find.

Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened.

Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long?

She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you.

No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it.

She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you.

You know it’s not her behind it.

She tells herself that to make herself feel better.

Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack.

She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her.

That trust will be broken now.

She left you alone, and now you’re gone.

Or dead.

There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them.

She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks.

She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure.

She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure.

She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true.

You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up.

Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you.

What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone.

She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it?

Whoever did this planned this out perfectly.

It’s all premeditated. All of it.

What if you’re out there distressing?

She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do.

For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem.

She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment.

Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long.

None of it is a coincidence.

Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?

Or is Kate in on this too?

She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this.

Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events.

Unless it goes even deeper than that.

“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name.

“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.

“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand.

She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care.

“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”

“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels.

If you’re still on base. The words make her want to vomit.

“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.”

“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.”

“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.”

The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright.

Don’t let them find a body.

She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch.

They’ll never trust her again.

Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering.

“Kate?” Her voice shakes.

“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself.

“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.”

Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.”

Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better.

“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues.

“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel.

“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you.

“At ease.” Woods says.

“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.”

“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says.

“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says.

“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says.

“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.

“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says.

“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says.

“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her.

“Do they know?” She asks.

“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.”

“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says.

“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.”

And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone.

It’s not fair.

Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment.

Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding?

She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.”

“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight.

“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.”

Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe.

Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body.

The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin.

Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack.

Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position.

She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety.

Especially if what she uncovered is true.

She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures.

The last few hours have hardly felt real.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her.

She still has a job to do.

“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat.

“Kate, there’s nothing here.”

Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard.

“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says.

What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her.

They’re all pawns.

There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.

Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable.

It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan.

“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.”

“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times.

“I don’t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles.

“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says.

“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.”

“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead.

Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours.

Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head.

Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.

“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.”

The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface.

There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm.

You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once.

The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room.

Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn.

Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate.

Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there.

“Good girl.”

You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar.

The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it.

You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough.

It’s not your alpha.

The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other.

Except the one in front of you.

Cedar. Dark Chocolate.

Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.

Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable.

White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor.

Your pack.

Where is your pack? Where is your alpha?

Where are you?

Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you.

Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.

Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.

It’s not right.

Nothing is right.

You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you.

You know that face.

“There she is.”

You know that voice.

It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be.

Family. Texas. Alphas.

Cedar and chocolate.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together.

You know him.

It’s been years but you’ll never forget.

The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin.

Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief.

“Phil?”

NEXT ->

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4mrplumi · 6 months ago

Text

( crow choir. entry one ) ── dust of snow ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

you have three brothers- no, two brothers. you’ve only heard of the third. you can hardly think of them as such, feeling traitorous to your old family… families. but you are also a lonely child, so you give them permission to be props of your plain life.

the eldest, with stark blue eyes and dimples at his near-permanent smiles is named richard grayson. he’d given you a warm grin the day you arrived, that somewhat wavered at the blank look you hoped you gave him. you don’t talk to him, but sometimes you wish you did.

you know nothing of the second, apart from his first name; jason. the usual answers to unasked questions, that piece together via general conversations, don’t form here, and you can’t be bothered to ask. you wonder where he is, does he not come to visit?

the youngest of the three is younger than you too, tim drake the butler says, by maybe one or two years, you never tried to figure it out. he came to the house about a few months after you arrived, but seems far more involved with bruce’s business than you ever will be (ever hope to be). there’s a familiar twitch to his brows, and you relate it to old inquisitive roommates, the ones that tried to figure you out without asking questions and always gave up eventually.

it's a relief he doesn't even try at all.

it does feel a little odd, to not have to talk to anyone just to shoo them away. you strangely miss it, the feeling of being irritated at bothersome small talk. in the silence of the manor, which had not much for a child to do, you start to feel lonely

you've never felt lonely before. alone, yes, isolated, absolutely, but lonely? you've never wanted company. not from anyone who wasn't... forget it.

and thus, you're in an odd situation. you want to be a part of the family, but you have no interest in talking to them. why, the mere idea makes you sweat all over, and you prefer your few meals in your room.

you don't like it. wanting so badly to converse with your brothers, get to know them the way you knew your old previous foster-care siblings, but not being able to.

in your old houses, the children would be somewhat put into forced proximity, there was no choice other than to call out for company. you'd gotten absurdly used to being reached out to without having to do it yourself. your brothers must be busy, or you must be too quiet for them to notice you around.

so with all the courage you could muster, you crept up to an idle older brother, visiting after so long from bludhaven. you might implode from the short moment where he looked at you with confusion, not knowing who you are, before giving you a awkward smile of acknowledgement. no matter, it's not his fault.

he nods off your subtle attempt at asking for his time, maybe you're not being clear enough? it's enough to put you off, so you leave quickly after he gives you a small promise to talk later, maybe get out of the house for a while.

it's such a small thing, but it makes you embarrassed. you try to build up a little stubbornness, and look to find tim. but when you find him immersed deeply in a book, a journal of some sort, you decide otherwise and leave.

it's okay. you'll try again! when you're feeling better. better and livelier.

livelier.

your patterned quilt does little to keep away the monstrous cold of gotham's winter nights, and does it wreck though your nerves and leave you shivering.

the butler; alfred, had given you a good understanding of the room's systems, yet another thing that'd take time to get used to, and you knew the switches that would connect your vents to the central heating system.

but it feels so surreal, and the familiarity of huddling into your own ice cold limbs for warmth is a comfort you can't let go off just yet. you mustn't allow these new privileges to make you forget who you are. what you are, and what you deserve.

you recall a young boy in one of your old homes, discussing earnestly with your 'sisters' about what he'd do if he had all of gotham's money. the prospect of being filthy rich had always irked you to a small degree, to be well-off when others struggle. was it guilt?

he'd gone on and on about the different things he'd get. a curly-haired poodle, a shining red bicycle, clothes that made him look like a proper gentleman, from a gentler city. you wonder solemnly where he is now, wishing you could share the fortunes you've been shoved into with him. someone who wanted it, deserved it.

deserving... deserving something is odd. whatever makes an individual deserving of something? the hardships they recieve, and the hardships they pass out?

you don’t remember your mother, having gained metaphorical consciousness at the age of six, when your sister started taking care of you instead. you made out from her teary, drunk mumblings that she was an awfully sophisticated woman. she’d colour herself with red blushes and redder lip stains, wear family jewels she refused to sell to her ‘business’ meetings. thin-framed glasses with the eyes of a vixen’s.

what your sister muttered most about was her many nights away from home. one-sided conversations that plunged a small anchor to your heart, because you knew you were a product of one of them.

when she was in a bitter mood, your sister never shied away from berating you for your existence. she, unlike you, was born in wedlock. yes, to an unhappy couple, who threw picture frames and cheap souvenirs at each other before splitting up, but she knew her father.

a ridiculously strange thing to hold above one’s head. “i knew my absent father. no one knows yours.” but your depraved heart and dull mind took it so deeply. so, so deeply.

were those hardships? did you deserve them? others have it worse, right? so do you deserve this? this wealth?

now that you do know your father, you can’t help but resent the idea of knowing. did he know? that he left his child to an unbecoming family and an irresponsible sister? did he know that the guilt of starving your sister to eat yourself made you so incredibly weak-minded at the idea of being full? did he know that you refuse to switch the heater on in the cold, because you don’t know if your old foster siblings got the same luxury? all while the elites of gotham stay in their glasshouses with their rose gardens and wine cupboards.

you can’t put your finger to it. it’s not jealousy, it’s not resentment, it’s not hatred for his absence so far… is it guilt?

you don't know what to do with this abundance of luxury. you’ve lived a lifetime of pet mice from old caretakers, mice that died from the dust that creeped out of cracked floor boards and owls that haunted your window sills. a lifetime of reminiscing about a sobbing woman in your apartment, thinking about all your promises of providing a better life for her, only for her to die in front your eyes. a lifetime of wondering why mommy didn’t come back. why daddy's never there. who daddy even is.

someone else should have it. someone else should have the option to ask the butler for a piece of chocolate pastry at an odd time. to know about their father after countless days of not knowing him. to feel pretty in new dress suits after years of wearing the same two sets of clothes every week.

someone who deserves it more.

your sister.

you miss her.

small events make you change too fast for even your own liking. small things made you so desperately attached to your big sister, small things made you so frightened, so ill, to try to talk to brothers who barely knew you only by your shadow. small things made you tolerate your father more, and mourn the fact you couldn't ever connect to him the way the others did.

small, small things. that troubeled you too much, made you decide it was time to leave. running away from reality in the comfort of your mind when you zone out, is not much different from physically running away, right? troublesome things are not worth the trouble. so you'll run away, and you'll be free. of duties you were never given.

yet another one of gotham’s teenage misfortunes. who leaves a home of riches with a light mind, with the desires of soaring through lost years in gotham like the daftest of pigeons, with no worries or vows. they leave a home of blood and bonds with a heavy heart, lamenting that this time, the choice to leave a permanent, forever family lay on them. they left unspoken conversations unsaid, and imaginary memories within their imagination.

...but, these conversations, these fake memories, become the objects of obsession, for those left behind.

where's the little crow who stalked the corridors, whose naive, cloudy eyes watched from behind walls?

alfred, where's (name)?

INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS VV APPRECIATED !! incase it was unclear, the sections jump around in the timeline. i did want to leave it to reader interpretation, but since this is the footer, there's no harm in explaining. "you have three brothers..." and "your patterned quilt does little..." are interchangeable within the plot. both are placed after tim's given the mantle of robin, but before jason's re-entry as the red hood. the last part however, is well after both, and damian's entry. anyway you can consider this entry as like, a vague plot summary? there's a lot that happens in between and after, most of the story is about after, but i like setting the ground for this stuff.

once again, if you are interested in the series, do interact! comments, reblogs, etc are so appriciated, to anyone who posts on tumblr! i'll try to get the next entry in soon, but i can't confirm anything!

thank you for reading!!

#saria's 💤 writing #saria 💤 says #'25 run: crow choir #batfam x reader #dc x reader #neglected reader

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lilhughesy · 4 months ago

Text

Your Love Feels Like Forever | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! mentions of fighting, divorce, slight angst. word count: 6.8k

summary: Y/N grew up next to the Hughes Family, sharing their love over the sport of hockey. Jack and Y/N are each others lifelines until distance brings them apart. Despite numerous attempts to see each other, it seems like life drives them apart until an open window to final be together after years apart.

a/n: Hi! This is my first hockey fic and I'm so sorry if it's not any good but I just had this story idea in my head forever and finally decided to write it and post it. I hope you enjoy!

-----

Since she was a little girl, she was full of love, smiles, laughter, and what seemed like an unlimited vocabulary with a side of love towards sports. Growing up in the outskirts of Toronto, she was seen chasing a ball with her hockey stick on the streets in the summer months and gliding across the ice during the winter. On the other hand, if she was not found outside her family home, Y/N was likely to be found lost in the story of her novels or scribbling away in her notebook.

She loved the way that the simple motion of opening a book can be a gateway to an alternate universe, whether it be a fantasy world with magic and fairies or diving into a beautiful story of romance. Y/N cherished the ways authors used words to comprise an empire of imagination - motivating her to hopefully be able to do the same one day.

Currently, little 10-year old Y/N was out in the harsh Toronto winter with her dad as they skated across the neighbourhood outdoor rink chasing after the small black puck. She was fortunate to have her dad to keep her company with her different hobbies, though sometimes she felt guilty for constantly craving being active.

David, her father, was a single dad after her mom ultimately deciding that this family no longer was fulfilling what she wanted in her life. The early years of Y/N's was rocky with her parents constantly arguing over the different views they had on what a "perfect life" looked like. It's been almost 3 years since her mom packed her things into a few suitcases and slammed the front door shut, never to see her daughter again. Y/N, at that young age, didn't understand the gravity of the situation and what it meant to no longer have her mom in her life. On the contrary, she was lucky to have the Hughes Family that lived next door.

During those nights where David and his (now ex) wife used to raise their voices, determined to prove themselves correct, Y/N would run to the Hughes' home. Ellen and Jim had a fraction of an idea of what was occurring behind the walls of the L/N household, and they were more than happy to provide the young girl with a safe place to stay.

Y/N sat at the top of the staircase, her hands covering her ears as her parents were yelling at each other yet again. She couldn't understand why they couldn't agree on... whatever it was that they were fighting over again. She just wanted to read in peace since it was too dark outside for her to continue playing ball hockey with the other neighbourhood kids.

She huffed in frustration as she finally stood up from her spot and walked back to her baby blue bedroom. She grabbed her under armour backpack, marked with her hockey club's logo and her jersey number #86. Y/N grabbed her novel, her hoodie, and of course her beloved bunny jellycat - quickly shoving it into her bag

She quietly crept down the staircase and towards the front door where she slid on her runners and quickly slipped out of the house. Besides, her parents were clearly not concerned with what their daughter was up to at the moment of a heated argument.

Y/N stood on her front porch, scanning over her front yard which faced the rest of her neighbourhood, trying to determine what her next move would be. Her shoulders slumped, feeling a bit lost in her decision. She pursed her lips, her hands gripping onto the straps of her backpack a bit tighter. Her eyes landed on the white painted home which belonged to the Hughes.

She's never stepped foot inside that home, she only really knew Mrs. Hughes from provided kids with lemonade in the summer and her three sons. Quinn, the eldest who was 9, Luke, the youngest at 5 years old, and then Jack - the middle child who was the same age as her. They were all friends from playing soccer at the park or ball hockey in the warmer months and playing hockey at the ODR in the colder months.

Without much thought, Y/N walked over to the white home and rang the doorbell. In seconds the door opened to reveal Jim, who seemed surprised to see a young girl at his front door.

"Hi Y/N, how can I help you?" He said kindly to the girl. Jim figured that she was likely asking if he wanted to buy Girl Scout cookies or maybe donate to her team. It was a few moments before he realized that she was completely alone, which was unusual.

She shrugged at him, not exactly knowing what to say to the man, "Um, can I read my book here?" Y/N asked him, her hands pulling the straps of her bag closer to the middle of her chest, "My mommy and daddy are fighting, I think... I don't know but they're so loud and I can't focus."

Jim's facial features softened as the words that left the girl's mouth, he was going to respond before,

"Honey? Who is it?" Ellen called out from the dinner table.

"Of course you can come in, Y/N," He told her as he opened the door wider to allow the small girl to step into the warmth of his home, "Have you had dinner yet?"

She quickly shook her head, "No, I've been waiting since I had to stop playing ball hockey because the street lights went on. My parents were yelling, so I was waiting in my room."

Jim watched Y/N as she kicked off her shoes as he closed and locked the door shut. He grabbed the backpack off of her, "Here, I'll take this off of you."

She smiled at him and nodded at him, he motioned her to follow him down the small hallway. At the other end was the dinner table where the rest of the Hughes family sat. Four sets of eyes all looked up at the girl, she froze in her spot - suddenly feeling awkward for intruding their family dinner. Jim placed her bag near the wall, "Y/N is going to join us for dinner, no questions asked, alright boys?" He stated, looking at his sons.

They all nodded before resuming back to their eating. Ellen immediately stood up from her seat at the other end of the table, "Hi sweetheart, come with me! I'll fix you a plate." She told her as she walked into the kitchen, Y/N stood next to Ellen as she made a dinner plate.

"Can I wash my hands before I eat?" Y/N flashing a small smile, Ellen chuckled,

"God, of course you can honey. I wish you could teach my sons the same habits," Ellen commented as she placed the plate at the empty seat next to Jack, "The bathroom is to the right of the front door"

Y/N nodded her head before walking towards where the bathroom was. As soon as the adults heard the door close, Jim spoke quietly to his wife, "She asked if she could read here, she said her parents are fighting and... yelling."

Ellen frowned, "Awh, that's terrible"

"She also said she's been waiting since the streetlights came on to eat dinner and was hiding in her room until the yelling stopped"

A frowned etched onto Ellen's face, but was quickly wiped off as Y/N returned and she sat next to Jack.

"Are you sleeping over?" Jack asked her as she started eating, "We could watch a movie or play a game or something! Actually, it's perfect since we will have even teams!"

"Jacky, she just got here!" Quinn exclaimed at his brother, "Give her a second to settle in."

"Um... I don't know" Y/N answered, "I just want to read my book"

Luke perked up, "Like a bedtime story? Quinny stopped reading those to me a long time ago."

She giggled, "I don't know if you want to hear about wizards and witches before you go to sleep."

Luke only shrugged, "I think they're cool."

Dinner progressed and Y/N quickly melted into the dynamic of the Hughes family. They discussed hockey together, activities they did at school, and whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich.

It was late and the four kids were cuddled up on the large couch, all of them focused on the movie that played on the screen. Ellen's heart melted at the sight of Y/N squeezed between Jack and Luke, and her little Luke's head resting on her shoulder.

"I'll send a text to David to let him know that Y/N is here and is on the brink of falling asleep," Jim mumbled to Ellen as he pulled out his phone, "Plus, I don't want to send that girl back into that house if they don't have their argument resolved." Ellen agreed quickly.

The rooms were then split to Jack and Luke sharing Luke's room, giving Y/N Jack's bed for herself. She crawled into his bed, clutching onto her stuffed animal and read her book with the light of his night lamp on. She sniffled to herself, feeling a bit sad that she was completely alone. The whole house fell silent at the late hour, only she was awake and lost in the story. The door to the bedroom cracked open, catching her attention. She quickly wiped the stray tear away from her cheek as Jack tip toed in, "Hi" He waved shyly.

"Hi Jack," She waved back, "Are you okay?"

He only shrugged, "Lukey keeps hogging the blanket, I was coming to steal my extra to sleep on the couch."

"No way," She scoffed, "You are not sleeping on the couch in your own home."

"Well, I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch either."

Y/N sat in a moment of thought before she perked up, "Just sleep here! I curl into a small ball when I sleep, I promise I won't hog the blanket either."

Jack grinned at her, "Sounds good!" He climbed onto his bed and tucked himself underneath the blanket, "Whatcha reading?"

"Harry Potter," She told him, "Wizards and witches and stuff"

"Can you read it to me?"

And so she did. The two seven year olds stayed up into the late hours of the night as Y/N read out loud the words of her novel. Jack was quickly immersed into the story, holding onto his blanket as she read to him - voice soft and spoke eloquently. He quickly realized that he could probably listen to her talk forever. They giggled at the funny parts and she explained the details that he missed from earlier. The two quickly fell asleep together. Harry Potter falling off the edge of Jack's bed, and the start of a beautiful friendship blooming.

Their friendship formed into playing street or ice hockey together (always on the same team), sitting together at school so they can giggle between each other, and reading books together when they were feeling more mellow. They cherished each other deeply as they always understand the other. Jack protected her, when he closes his eyes, he often sees the small little girl that awkwardly stood in front of his entire family during dinner that one night. If she was happy, he was happy. The same goes for her. They shared emotions, they understood each other perfectly. They kept each other's deepest secrets, swearing to never tell another soul as they locked pinkys.

"Forever?" She asked him as his pinky wrapped around her.

"Forever." He promised, locking it.

Her father was glad that his daughter content and happy despite the hardships she went through in her childhood. She found solace in the shape of the Hughes brothers. She was good friends with Luke and he always helped her bake when she did. Luke always thoroughly enjoyed when she would read to him since he claims that books are only good when she tells them. He often looked up to her as the big sister he never had.

Quinn always kept an eye on her whenever they would play with the other neighbourhood kids; some of them often claiming that "Girls can't play sports" or "No girls allowed", which he was always quick to shut them down. The two would also discuss different books with each other as they were both big readers.

Y/N and Jack were now entering their teen years, both at the ripe age of fifteen. Hockey both played such a large role in their lives as each of the Hughes brothers and Y/N both played competitively. Y/N would do her best to watch each of their games when she could, and the same goes for them.

The sound of her stick contacting the puck, sending it flying straight into the net. The red light behind the goalie turning on as the horn blares, signalling the end of the game.

Her arms flying up into the air as she scored the final goal of the game and the stands erupted into cheers. She undoes the clasp of her helmet, pulling it off while gliding past the glass where she flashes her infamous bright smile at the sight of the Hughes family standing up in the audience. Ellen was standing with her phone out, clearly taking photos of Y/N's win.

"You were amazing!" Jack exclaimed as she walked out of the change rooms with her large hockey bag dragging behind her, "You were the best on the ice!"

She grinned at her best friend while approaching him, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck when he was within reach. He responded like it was a reflex, his arms around her waist and lifting her slightly off her feet.

"What can I say? I have a good personal coach" She teased, commenting on the fact that Jack was constantly helping her improve.

"Good game kiddo," Quinn told her, his hand ruffling her hair, "None of the other girls stood a chance."

She sighed in contentment, Jack's arm around her shoulders while Jim took her hockey bag off of her hands. Y/N felt so surrounded by love from the family that wasn't her own, the only question being: "Where is my dad?"

They all moved as a unit towards the van, all kids stumbling into the back seats while the adults took the front seats. Jokes were cracked throughout the drive and constant comments about her performance were made.

Jim pulled into the driveway, Y/N swift on her feet to grab her bag, "Thank you guys for coming, it means a lot" She told the family.

Ellen's hand squeezed her shoulder, "Of course, honey. We'll always be supporting you even if it's from a distance."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "...What do you mean by that?"

Ellen and Jim look at each other before turning back to the kids, before sharing the news that will cause a shift into their worlds,

"We're moving sweetheart," Jim broke the news, "We're moving to Michigan."

The air shifts and Y/N feels her stomach drop, "W- What?"

"Wait what?!" The brothers yell out, "When?"

"Since when?"

"Why?"

Questions were shot left, right, and centre from the kids while Y/N stood frozen in place. The Hughes... weren't going to be her neighbours anymore?

"I should go home..." She mumbled, looking down at her feet.

Jim and Ellen ushered their boys into the home while they continued protesting as Y/N slowly dragged her feet back to her own house. She slumped against the closed door, bag dropping to her feet. For the first time in a while, she didn't know what was to come.

-----

The transition was, without a doubt, hard on her. Jack and Y/N sat on the bed of the packed away bedroom, tears falling down her cheeks faster than he could wipe away. They swore that they will remain as each other's best friends, no matter what happens. They promised to text each other every day, and FaceTime when they were able to.

"You'll always be my number one girl, okay?"

"Forever?"

"Forever."

She stood alone on their driveway as she watched their car turn the corner and out of her view, her arms hugging herself. Everything was about to change.

-----

Y/N was now sixteen, her sweet sixteen. Yet she felt so alone. Of course she had other friends at school but nothing filled the hole that was left behind by Jack moving.

She shifted as a person. She quit hockey since money was getting tight for her and her dad. Rather, she delved into the depths of writing - more specifically writing about sports. She quickly became the writer for her high school's newspaper for the sports column. Writing gave her a new sense of freedom, so much more different from how she felt when she used to write little story books for Luke as a kid.

Maybe it was because she was at the peak of her teenage years. Maybe it was because it is the prime time to learn more about yourself. Try new things, maybe it won't hurt. Or maybe it was her urge to find something that will stay. Writing about sports could be her future. Maybe this won't leave her the same way that her ability to play competitive hockey did, or the way Jack moved across the border and left her behind in Toronto.

Regardless, the two stayed close over the past year away from one another. They kept their promise of texting each other daily.

But as it happens, Jack and Y/N drift slightly as their schedules get busier with his heightened hockey practices and her increase in school work. Responses become further apart, their windows to catch up over FaceTime slims. Long distance friendships are anything but easy.

Deep down, although it hurts, she knows that he will always be there for her and plus she is so happy for Jack. During the countless late night conversations, he would tell her how badly he wanted to play in the NHL. It is his dream to play in the major leagues. This was just a step closer to him achieving it.

Y/N continues to write for the school paper but quickly gains attention from parents,

"Hi, I'm so sorry if this is strange," a woman said as she sits next to Y/N, who is observing the Varsity Boys Hockey team belonging to her high school, "But are you by any chance, Y/N L/N?"

Her eyes widened at the question and nods, "Yeah, I am! Can I help you?"

The lady's shoulders relaxed while adjusting in her seat, "I'm Lynda, it is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been reading your sports columns since my daughter has been bringing the school paper home and I can't help but be so impressed with your talent!"

Y/N's face flushed red from the compliment, she wasn't used to attention aside from the typical ones made by Jack.

"Really?" She asked, trying to read Lynda's face to see if there was any sign of lying but none to be found, "Thank you so much, I appreciate that a lot actually."

"I'm only telling you the honest truth," Lynda chuckled, "I write for town newspaper and I wanted to offer you the opportunity to write outside of your school's paper."

"Are you serious?!" Y/N's jaw dropping at her words

"Absolutely! I think it could be a fun learning experience for you whether or not you decide to pursue sports journalism in university or college." Lynda explained to her, "You can write similar to how you do for your current paper but you can branch out to the club teams and even the competitive ones if you want. It probably won't be a large section just because you still are in high school, however, experience is experience nonetheless!"

Y/N immediately took Lynda's offer on the spot. The two exchanged contact information and soon Y/N's world of journalism expanded even more. Weeks past and Y/N found herself excited and eager to get out of bed to go to school, learn, go watch some hockey, and spend her free time writing about it.

It was like a collide of her worlds, athletics and her love for books and writing in one.

She flopped onto her bed, rolling onto her side to keep her phone propped up, "It's been unreal, Jacky"

Jack grinned from the other side of the screen, "That sounds so awesome, smiley, seriously. You're awesome."

Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink as she looks at her best friend on her phone screen, she feels her heart flutter at his words - was it always like this?

"How are you though?" She asked, tugging on her hood of her sweater, "I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

He sighed, "Busy, really busy but it's been a blast. Although, I wish I had you writing weekly news columns for me." Jack joked while she playfully rolled her eyes, "Also, I can't visit you this summer anymore... I know we've been talking about it, but you know, hockey camp and all..."

Y/N feels a small frown tug at her lips, a pang of disappointment punching her gut but she hides it. She shoved down her emotions, appearing unaffected to his news, "That's okay, I get it."

"I'm really sorry, Smiley," He told her, his own disappointment painted across his face, "I haven't seen you in a year."

"I know, but at least we have FaceTime!" She responded, "Plus, this is going to be so good for you! You're going to have such an amazing time!"

The two best friends continue talking about everything and anything for the following hour or so before hanging up. Y/N settled further into her bed before allowing herself to feel the weight of her emotions. No Jack until who knows when, is this the new normal? Just the inability to see each other in person until the one day that they will cross paths again?

-----

Years passed, the two graduating high school and although they weren't able to physically attend each other's ceremonies, at least they were watching over the phone. Luke held up his phone at Jack's graduation, giving Y/N a perfect view of Jack walking across the stage to receive his diploma. Y/N, as always, being his number 1 cheerleader.

Jack moves onto playing for the New Jersey Devils in the NHL, Y/N watching him from her TV in her hotel room at the night before her father's wedding night.

David remarried to Liz, Y/N watching from the view of the bridal party that her father is finally having a marriage that makes him truly happy. Liz was a loving and one of the kindest woman that she's ever met. From the moment Y/N met Liz, she knew that this woman was made for her dad. All she wanted was her dad to be happy for the sake of himself, and not for his daughter. While growing up, her dad gave her everything in attempts to give her somewhat of a normal childhood. It was never an easy task for David to mimic being a mother to his teenage daughter, but he still managed to pull through for Y/N - and she was forever grateful to have him as her father. Although he missed the majority of her hockey games or seeing her before each homecoming, at least he tried to be there for his daughter. She watched the love grow between her dad and his now wife, and after everything her dad had gone through with his divorce and having to raise his daughter alone, she was buzzing with excitement for her dad's start at a new life. He gets to live his life for himself for the first time in so long as Y/N was moving into the big busy city for university. It was bittersweet, but neither one could be happier at the moment.

Y/N continued onward to attending the University of Toronto to study Sports Media and Sports Journalism, finally finding what fulfills her. With Jack being busy with his rookie year, she is able to fully focus on her studies and striving towards her dream. She often finds herself thankful for the opportunity offered by the sweet woman, Lynda and giving her the experience to write in the town's paper. It gave her a leg up in comparison to her school mates as she learned so much from Lynda.

Her life feels align and perfect, except for the fact that she's watching the life of her childhood best friend through the media. They try their bests to call or see each other whenever the Devils are playing the Leafs, but it is always a slight miss.

"Hey! I'm in Toronto for tonight until tomorrow around noon," Jack explained over the phone as he pulled his luggage out of the bus, "We should see each other, it's been so long!"

She smiled to herself at the sound of his sweet voice, oh, how much she missed him, "I know, we should! I have this paper due tonight so I can see you around 8?"

He groaned at the time, "I'm playing until like 10, what about after?"

"I can maybe stay out until 11? I have work in the morning so I need to be in bed by a certain time," Y/N sighed, knowing once again, it probably won't work, "And before you say anything, no, I cannot skip work because unlike you, I need this for my future." She teased

"Oh come on! You know if you just ask, I would pay for everything for you, you won't have to work another day for the rest of your life!"

"As tempting as that sounds, I refuse to be a sugar baby," Y/N laughed, putting her phone on her desk to continue typing away at her assignment.

"I'm literally in your city right now."

"I know that."

He rolled his eyes as he stepped foot into his hotel room, "Just come to the arena, please? Even if its for an hour, I want to- I need to see you."

Warmth filled her chest, it has been forever.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be there."

Y/N found herself standing where Jack told her to wait over the phone, the game ended half hour ago and the Devils won. She kept checking the time on her phone anxiously, waiting to hear something from him. She continued pacing on the spot, where was he?

The time on her phone hit 11PM, yet she still wanted to wait... at least for a bit longer. She wanted to see Jack so badly. With time progressing and the stress of her other obligations, and the annoyance crawling on her skin that Jack wasn't coming - Y/N decided to leave, even though her heart begged for her to stay and just wait.

As she sent her text to let him know that she was in fact back home after standing around for over and hour and ultimately deciding to order an Uber back home, she felt a wave of frustration.

Jack sounded so eager to see her, it had been years. He was in her city and although the time was tight, they were willing to make it work to see each other. But, he didn't show up. He got caught up with the media crew and his teammates, so he pushed her aside.

It's fine, she told herself while waiting for her body to go to sleep.

She stayed in touch with the Hughes family, often sending short and sweet messages on birthdays or during the holidays. Y/N knew that they were always rooting for her, even from Michigan. Ellen calls her more often than the rest, because in Ellen's eyes, Y/N is her daughter. She stays in the loop of Y/N's life, whether it be her school, home life, or the different experiences that she comes across in Toronto, Ellen wants to hear it all.

Luke also reaches out to Y/N more often than he would like to share, but in different ways in comparison to his mom. It's more TikTok's and Snapchats that they send to each other. He misses her more than anything else he left behind in Toronto.

Unfortunately, at every one of their attempts to visit or see each other, life comes in the way. It can't be helped considering the elite levels of hockey at Jack, Quinn, and Luke all partake in or the fact that Y/N is constantly swamped with the load of work from university. But for this summer, Luke is determined more than ever to bring the band back together.

It's nearing 7 years since the Hughes have seen Y/N, but with summer around the corner and the plans of the annual boys trip to the lake house and Y/N graduating with her bachelor's - it's essentially the perfect plan.

-----

Y/N looked around at the bustling airport of people searching for their suitcases, but she was looking for one person. Her chauffeur, Luke Hughes. It wasn't a difficult task since he stood out with his height and his New Jersey Devils hoodie.

His eyes locked onto hers and a massive grin drew upon his face and his arms opened as she immediately jumped into them, "Lukey!"

"Oh god fucking god," He said into her hair as they embraced each other for the first time in 7 years, "It's been way too long, like criminally too long"

"You're so tall now! You were so tiny the last time I saw you," She laughed as they pulled apart, "It is so good to see you."

He chuckled, "I can't believe you're here and not a figment of my imagination."

The two leave the airport and start their trip to the lake house, catching up on life on the drive.

"By the way," Luke turned to look at her as they reach a red light, "No one else knows you're coming. It's a surprise."

Y/N's eyes widened, "What?"

"Everyone wants to see you, okay? But if Jack knows then god knows something is going to come up, I swear something always does."

Suddenly, this trip is much more nerve-racking than she initially anticipated. What if they don't want her there? It's an annual boys trip and she's crashing it. Luke seems to notice her sudden change in behaviour and gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze,

"It's going to be perfect, trust."

Their car rolls into the driveway of the lake house and she is in shock. It is beautifully breathtaking. The sun shining through the leaves of the trees, and the gorgeous house that stood before her.

"Here goes nothing!" She breathed out, bracing herself for what could be the worst. Luke guided her towards the door to the house, abandoning their luggage in the trunk of the car.

Luke opened to door, "I'm here!" He called out while tucking Y/N behind himself to hide her.

A series of multiple loud footsteps approach them,

"Hey Lukey!" She can hear Quinn's voice, "You made it."

"Lil Hughes!" Another voice that she can't exactly place but sounded familiar to old FaceTime calls she had with Jack.

"Jack! Lukey's here!" A third voice shouts, before the one voice she was used to hearing over the phone chimes in,

"Took you long enough!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Luke chuckled, "Had to make a lil detour."

"For?" Jack questioned before Y/N stepped out from behind Luke, "Y/N?"

"Hi Jack" She offered her signature smile, suddenly whatever nerves that were racing through her bloodstream diminished. In milliseconds she was engulfed into the tightest hug she'd ever been in. The soft scent of his shampoo mixed with the muskiness of his cologne surrounded her, blinding her sense. She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he spun them in circles.

He breathed her in, finally. The sweetness of her perfume and the warmth of her embrace. She was here.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're here." Jack mumbled into her hair, placing multiple kisses on her temple as he careful put her back on her feet, "Look at you! My pretty girl!"

Y/N blushed while also staring at him and how beautiful he is in person. The waves of his hair and how the sun seemed to perfectly land on him, almost like a halo. It was evident that he'd been in the sun prior due to the gorgeous tan he had and the freckles sprinkled across his features. Her stomach did hundreds of flips as she took him in,

It didn't last long before she was pulled into another hug, a bear hug from the eldest Hughes brother, "You've grown up so much, Y/N. Last time I saw you, you were the star hockey player and now you're a university graduate."

Tears welled up in her eyes while she squeezed Quinn, "Says you, Captain Q!"

He released her and ruffled up her hair like how he always did, "Lukey, you outdid yourself with this surprise."

Luke laughed, "I know I did. Also, Y/N, this is Trevor and Cole!" He quickly introduced to her.

"Hi guys, it's so nice to finally meet you," She beamed, finally putting the pieces together that she has in fact met both of them over FaceTime with Jack.

"Rowdy! You never told me how jawdroppingly gorgeous Smiley is, holy shit" Trevor exclaimed as he hugged her, "Please tell me you're single."

Jack shook his head in disapproval, "Off limits, Z, you know that."

"Nice to meet you too, Smiley!" Cole said, he also greeted her with an embrace, "Come, you and Lukey need to catch up with the drinking! What do you drink? White Claw? Beer? We have it all!"

The six of them stood around the kitchen island while chatting and sipping away at their drinks. Jack stood next to Y/N, keeping an arm around her shoulders and wanting to keep her close to him.

She leaned her head on his shoulder while she laughed at whatever joke Trevor was making.

"Come on, what are we doing inside? There's still sun out!" Luke pointed out and marched his way outside, the rest followed and they seated themselves around the fire pit. Quinn and Luke busied themselves with building the fire whilst Jack and Y/N sat next to each other, Trevor and Cole opposite to them.

"So tell me, Smiley," Trevor grinned, bringing his beer to his lips, "How come Jacky has never introduced us before?"

"Maybe because this is the first time we've seen each other since we were like... fifteen?"

Cole's eyebrows shot up, "Fifteen? Jesus, that's like forever!"

"Is that why he can't keep his hands to himself?" Trevor teased, pointing his bottle towards Jack, who kept an arm on the back her chair while adjusting the hat he was putting on.

"Oh come on now," Jack rolled his eyes, "She's been busy! Little miss prestigious Canadian university"

She gasped dramatically and lightly shoved his shoulder, "At least I have a degree! Something that noooone of you guys have."

"Oh, you hurt me, Y/N!" Cole cried jokingly, "Good for you though, I honestly... Could never!"

The sun began to lower and the six sat in their chairs, listening to her stories of university and her plans for work after summer ends. Jack brought up old stories of her history with hockey, poking at the fact that she could have gone pro if she wanted. She only brushed off the comments, claiming that she would rather write than to play the game.

"In all seriousness," Quinn started, looking directly at the girl who he still could not fathom was fully grown to be a woman rather than a teenager, "We're all really happy to have you here. I know things haven't been easy since we moved away from Toronto and who knew that we would be here together now."

She smiled softly at Quinn, "Thanks, Q. I'm glad to be here, it's something I think I needed for the longest time."

Luke pulled out the ingredients to make s'mores, him, Trevor, and Cole competing with each other on who can make the best one. The breeze picked up and Y/N shivered slightly, wishing she had grabbed her sweatshirt beforehand,

But, as per usual, Jack understood her without her even having to say a thing.

"Need another beer?" He asked Quinn, who nodded. Jack got up to grab another beer from the kitchen while also picking up one of his hoodies. He returned, handing his brother another tall boy and placing his sweater in Y/N's lap.

She looked up at him before carefully putting it on, "Thanks J"

His smell imprinted on the material, she only wished that she could bottle it up and keep it forever.

"You know I got you," He smiled while sitting back down. Jack moved his chair to be right next to hers so she could snuggle into his side.

"Lukey, that shits burnt!" Y/N laughed as Luke pulled his marshmallow away from the fire, to see that it was in fact completely charred.

They all stayed out for while longer, listening to Zach Bryan play off the speaker while talking about life. Slowly, one by one, they shuffled into the house to head to bed, leaving just Y/N and Jack outside.

"Do you want to go to bed? You had a long day," He said in a hushed tone, she tilted her head to look up at him - only realizing now how close their faces were.

"Maybe," She hummed, "I just like being here with you."

"Come on, it's getting cold." He told her while standing up, offering her his hand, "We can still hang out inside, yeah?"

They walked side by side, their arms brushing against each other as they entered the home. Once Jack had shut the glass door, he pulled her into another loving embrace,

"I still cannot believe you're actually here, you know. I think I've spent everyday missing you. No matter where I was, I was always missing you" Jack whispered, his lips brushing her forehead, "Every game, every event, fuck, like every day, all I wanted was for you to be there with me. I know you've been crazy busy, little miss bachelor's degree" She could feel his smile on her skin, and she melted a bit more to his touch,

"I was always thinking about you and what we missed out on by moving away. I always thought that one day we would be a smoking hot hockey couple in high school. Like, both are amazing at hockey plus you were so pretty but now you're even more gorgeous. I see every photo you send me or my mom or even post on Instagram and I don't think any of them did you justice for how beautiful you are."

"Jack..." She breathed out. She didn't know what to say but somehow these were the exact words that she had been waiting to hear for years.

"Maybe we lost our shot in our teenage years but hey, you have your degree, so many our chance is now. You can work in Jersey, I can pull strings for you. 'Cause right now, I don't want to even think about you being away from me ever again."

He looked down at her, seeing the runaway tear slip from her eye. His hands softly cupping her face, the pad on his thumb gently wiping it away. Just like how he did when they were just kids, "I want you with me all the time, you know what I mean?"

She nodded quickly, a quiet sob leaving her lips, "I know."

"What do you say pretty? You've been by my side forever but from a distance. No more distance, just you and me against the world?"

Y/N smiled through her glassy eyes, "I can be your sugar baby?" She joked, referencing an old phone call they shared earlier in the year. He laughed, carefully brushing away her tears,

"Yeah, baby, if thats what you want."

"A shot at forever, eh?" She beamed, placing a gentle kiss on his palm.

Jack place another kiss on her hair, "Forever."

"I think I can work with that."

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x y/n #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fluff #hughes brothers x reader

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satoruan · 1 year ago

Text

YOUR BIGGEST FAN — GETO SUGURU

✧･. on vacation with your family, you discover that your biggest fan may not be a mystery after fall.

( TW ) f!reader. camgirl!reader. stepbrother!Geto (in a plot device way, no nii-chan and stuff.) unprotected sex. cream pie. phone sex. squirting. fingering. mutual masturbation. cunnilingus. deception. mentions of bullying. misunderstandings. hurt/comfort. explicit content.

word count - > 6.6k

authors note. can you see I wasn’t creative with the username? I have a love-hate relationship with this fic because I feel like it goes from 0 to 100 real quick lmfao. This is heavily inspired by the book Eyes on Me!

“I bet you look handsome.” You smile at the black screen with the default profile picture floating in the middle.

‘Nah.’ User @Sssman72 types into the chat the takes up the left half of your computer.

“Stop! Don’t say think bad things about yourself,” You laugh, making sure your tits jiggle in the flimsy red lingerie you're wearing. “I know your handsome baby.” You reassure your favorite client. The man who alone gives you 50% of your income. He’s the one who bought you this pretty lingerie set you're wearing.

‘You look tired babydoll...how was today?’ He types.

“I’m fine, I promise, just had a long day, was on a few other private chats with some other customers the entire day.” You confess. In all honesty after this call you were planning to pass out and try to get a few hours of sleep before you had to fly out to your family's vacation home. Today on your live stream, you told your followers you were going on vacation for the next two weeks and wouldn't be online. You didn't plan to get on a call with @Sssman72 but he had texted you as you were getting ready to go to bed that he had a bad day and wanted to see you. Before you had a chance to protest, he spent you 500 and said it would only be 30 minutes. You gave in because first he was your biggest supporter and you wanted to be there for him in some way with all the money and gifts, he sends you and second, you didn’t mind chatting with him, you thought he was the sweetest and you struck lucky the day he joined one of your lives.

‘I’ll let you go then, I want you to get some rest before your flight, sorry for keeping you up beautiful just needed to vent about my ass job.’

“I’m always here for you handsome, I'll make sure to send you those pictures you requested through the week.”

‘Make sure you enjoy your break babydoll, don’t gotta worry about me. Goodnight.’

You say your goodbyes and end up falling asleep in the lingerie bought you as soon as you shut your laptop.

—

“How’s college y/n?” Your stepfather asks when you slide into the back seat of the car. Your mother fitting the last of your luggage into the trunk.

“it’s fine, some of my classes are difficult but nothing I can't manage.” You answer as you buckle in.

“Oh yeah? Thats good. You mom tells me you started a job a few months ago, how's that working out for you?”

You tense under the small blanket you’ve thrown over yourself.

“u-uhm yeah its good—yeah it’s been fun.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don't remember what you mother told me you did again.” He chuckles.

“Uhm—I'm a bartender, m-my friend works there and got me a position.” You tell him the lie you've rehearsed hundreds of times. You start to sweat under the blanket. Did he buy it? What if he and your mom found out what you did? Are they planning to ambush you when you get to the house? They're going to make you drop out and chain you up in the basement when they find out. You throw the blanket off, suddenly too hot and alert. Guess that nap you were planning on taking during the drive wasn’t happening.

“Oh, that’s fun sweetheart, I remember I bartended awhile when I was in college, got fired for stealing the alcohol though,” He laughs at the memory before turning to look at you. “You wouldn’t do that though, you’re a good girl.”

You nod, thankful that your mom decided now to take your stepdad's attention away and get in the car.

“Alrighty were good to!” She cheers. Your stepdad turns back around in his seat before starting the car.

“Finally, thought we were going to get a fine parked here another minute.”

“Oh, shut up! Y/n are you excited to go back to the vacation house? You haven’t been in years!” You mom asks as you guys pull out of the airport.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to, I missed the hiking trails and the waterfalls. None of that in the big city.” You answer truthfully. You did miss the silence of the secluded house you vacationed at every summer since your mom married your stepdad. It was the company that you hated. As if your mom heard your thought, she says something that makes your heart drop.

“Suguru feels the same way, we didn't even have to blackmail him to come! That boy...”

“Suguru is coming?” You scream.

“Coming? Sweetie, he’s already arrived this morning. I’m so excited were all together as a family again.”

“Are you fucking serious mom? Turn the car around and bring me back to the airport!” You screech. You were not going to spend the next week with your bully of a stepbrother.

“Y/n!” You mom gasps.

“Sweetheart, he’s changed.” Your stepdad tells you as if that's going to make it better.

“That’s what he wants you to think! He’s the worst human being on planet earth, please don’t make me spend the next few weeks with him, please mom,” you lean over the consul. “Please dad.” You pout at your stepfather. You know he gets weak whenever you call him dad.

“Sweetheart...”

“No! You aren’t sweet talking your way out of this, he’s changed. He isn't the same teenager with a chip on his shoulder, he’s matured. He even told me the reason he’s coming is to apologize and bond with you y/n.”

“He’s lying mom! He doesn't care about me; I wouldn't be surprised if he told you that just so he could drown me in the lake. You guys own the land so nobody would find my body!” You start to tear up. You were going to jump out of the car if your parents didn't turn back around. Your stepbrother was your biggest tormentor since the day you met him. From picking on you at home to getting the girls to bully you at school. He made your life hell for four years. The day you left for college you screamed how much you hated him and told your parents that the four of you would only be in the same room again when you lay in a casket.

“Oh, don’t cry sweetheart. Your mother is right, he’s changed, I wouldn’t have allowed him around you if he hadn’t. Give us a week and if you want to leave, I promise I'll drive you back to the airport and you’ll never have to see him again, please?”

“No.” You cross your arms and look out the window despite knowing that they’ve won. You can’t jump out of the car now that you are on the highway, and you didn’t bring your own car to drive yourself back to the airport.

“We’ll give you the master suite, the whole attic floor to yourself.” They bargain. You act like you’re thinking of accepting the offer. With the master suite taking up the entire third floor you could lock yourself up there and ignore Suguru. You could also film videos and even go live because the room is soundproof. You perk up at that. You could just spend your vacation on stream and chatting with @Sssman72. He’s somehow always free for you and told you that if you get bored you could call him. He’ll make up for your stepbrother’s awful behavior.

“Fine, I’ll take the master suite.”

—

“Okay that's the last of your luggage, we’ll be having dinner in a few hours on the dock.”

“Kay, thanks.” You watch your stepdad shut the door. Once he does you release the tension in your shoulders. You lock the door before running to throw yourself onto the huge king bed. You sink down. You didn’t see Suguru when you arrived, you mom told you he was probably in town. You hope he stayed in town for the next two weeks.

After laying it bed thinking about how much you hate Suguru with a passion you pull out your phone and open the porn app. You click on messages and open your chat with @Sssman72.

‘Hey...I know I told you I was on vacation but I already wanna go home. You don't have to answer lol.’ You send. He immediately starts typing.

‘Of course, I'll answer you babydoll. What’s wrong?’ Your face heats at the pet names. You wish you knew what he looked like, all he told you about himself was that he was in his twenties and worked for his father's company. You want to know more, what he looks like, what he sounds like. If the messages he sends make you sweat, you wonder what’ll happen if he spoke to them to you. In your head he’s a handsome bachelor who just so happened to find you and deem you worthy of his time and money but hell, he could be lying. He could be some old rich man in his eighties who likes young girls like all the rest of your viewers. The romantic part of you ignores that and is convinced he is who he says he is and that one day you’re going to meet in person and fall in and have a bunch of his babies.

‘You know that stepbrother I told you about?’

“Mm, that asshole who bullied you?’

‘Yep, that asshole. Anyways I bet you won't guess who's here on vacation with me?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Dead serious...my parents didn’t tell me until I was already trapped and now, I have to spend my vacation away with a man who hates me for no reason.’

‘Wow that’s crazy lol. Did your parents tell you why he chose to vacation with you if he doesn’t like you?’

‘Apparently he’s here to make amends...he’s probably here to kill me so he gets all the inheritance.’

‘Well, what if he’s really there to make amends baby?’

‘You should've heard the groan I just let out. I can’t believe you’re on his side babe. When I tell you that he too evil for that I mean it.’

‘Hey, you know I'm always on your side babydoll, I'm just giving you a man’s perspective on it. Maybe he realized he’s fucked up and he feels back so he wants to apologize for all the wrong he caused you’

‘Yea well from a women's perspective he’s an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself!’

‘Don’t say the baby...hypothetically what would he have to do to get you to forgive him?’

‘Hypothetically he's going to have to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness every time he sees me until I deem, he's forgiven. And he’s also gonna have to send every dollar in his bank account to me AND be my slave for the rest of his life...hypothetically.’

‘Lol you never know babydoll, he just might be willing to do anything for your forgiveness. I know I would.’

‘That’s because you’re perfect and care about my feelings...now I'm gonna go get some sleep before having to eat with the devil. Pray he doesn’t poison me and I survive the night.’

—

You sit at the dinning room table waiting for Suguru. Of course, he’s late, he doesn’t care about anyone's time but his. You say so to your parents.

“Y/n stop being so harsh and give him a chance please.” You roll your eyes and go back to scrolling on social media.

“Sorry I'm late.” You jump at the deep voice before whipping your head to the left where your stepbrother stands looking so...so different.

“Suguru! No need to apologize! Come sit.” Your mother points to the empty seat opposite you. Suguru glances at you and smiles before walking to the seat. You gasp. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile at you or anyone else. Actually, you know he hasn’t smiled at anyone, he was know for being so stoic. You watch intensely as he pulls out the chair and sits. He looks like a different man, his hair is long, down past his shoulders, the black shirt he's wearing stretches around a huge chest. He looks like he spends half his day in the gym. And those eyes—those eyes that always had heavy eyebags and glared at everyone that looked his way, look at you with gentle look you can’t place. They even crease with the smile that he’s wearing. Your eyes widen, he has a fucking dimple. He looks like a gentleman, he looks handsome. You can't stop staring at his smile.

“Y/n? You alright?” You Stepdad breaks through the haze you were in. You look at your parents and back to Suguru who all have concerned expressions on their faces. You feel your entire body heat in embarrassment.

‘Uhm—yea I'm fine.” You look at your parents, refusing to look back at that smile. Suguru has different plans.

“Hey y/n, it’s been a long time yeah?” Suguru says in that deep voice that has your heart beating faster. Out the corner of your eye you watch as Suguru reaches over the food, holding his hand out. Does he really think you’re about to give him a damn handshake?

...Are you seriously thinking about shaking that huge hand? No, you won’t.

You purse your lips and cross your arms over your chest. You swear you see him glance down at your cleavage but the next second, he's holding eye contact. You blink and look away with a ‘hmm’. He lowers his hand.

“Alright guys let's eat, okay?” You mom breaks the tension. Everyone grabs their share, and you eat in silence for a while, nobody brave enough to speak and you simmering with anger at Suguru. You throw glare at him every time you look up from your plate which happens more times than you’d admit.

“You got something there.” Suguru points the sharp end of the fork at you.

“What?” You ask.

“There,” He grabs his napkin and starts to reach for you. You tense suddenly locked in place. Suguru brings the napkin to the corner of your mouth and wipes it. “There you go.”

You stare at him like he's grown three heads. Maybe he’s dying and wants to make amends? Why else would he be treating you like this. Maybe someone took over his body? That has to be it.

“Uh thanks?” You mummer, unsure what to say.

“You're welcome little sis.” You choke on your spit. What the hell did he just call you!? He must be messing with you; you’re suddenly filled with rage. You glare at him, hoping he disintegrates with the sheer force of your stare.

“You’ve grown up.” Suguru says after another blinking contest, you lost.

“Yea, have you?” You snarl. He stops smiling.

“I have,” he says seriously, setting his fork down. “I want to talk about—”

“I don’t care.”

“Please—”

“No!” You slam your hand on the table, and he goes silent. You’re overcome with guilt before you remember that he bullied you for a year, that he told the entire school to bully you after he graduated. Fuck him.

—

You slam the door the door of your room speed walking to the bathroom. You strip your clothes before turning on the tub. You finally breathe when you settle into the scolding hot water. You needed to wash his gaze, his touch, off your body. The entire dinner after your conversation was awkward, your parents didn't really speak, and you refused to glance back up at Suguru who wouldn't stop staring.

You hated him. You hated him. You—you can’t bring yourself to hate him. For some unknown reason you can’t bring yourself to hate him despite everything he's put you through. Why? You shake your head. You don’t want to think of Suguru while you're trying to relax. You phone dings. You pick up and a smile replaces your frown. @Sssman72.

‘How are you babydoll, you alive?’

‘Yes, wish I wasn’t though.’

‘Why what happened during dinner?’ You sigh and send him voice message detailing everything that happened.

‘Oh wow.’

‘I know.’

‘You gonna give him a chance to explain?’

‘I don’t know I don’t want to but also, I want to hear his explanation...can we call I really don't want to type all of this out?’

‘Course, give me a second. I'll call you.’ You wait a few minutes before you hear the familiar ring.

“Hi handsome.” you smile at the blank profile. Right now, you’d do anything to see him, to hear him comfort you, to be in his arms. He could be the ugliest man in the world, you wouldn’t care.

‘HI beautiful. Talk to me.’ He types into the chat box.

“I don't know. like I said I want to hear him out but also, I don't want to hear it because what it it’s bad, what if it doesn’t excuse it? But also, what if it does and I feel like shit for being mean back—it's just so stressful.”

‘I know babydoll. I wish I could be there right now and hold you. I would do anything to take that hurt away. I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.’

“Stop, don’t apologize you didn’t do anything. If anything, I should apologize for using you as a therapist when you paid to see me naked.” You laugh.

‘Beautiful girl—I would rather pay to hear all your problems and be able to comfort you than see you naked again.’

“Wow you don’t want to see me naked, I'm hurt. Just kidding, thank you for saying that handsome.” You feel your heart skip a beat at his message. Maybe you can convince him to turn his camera on tonight.

“I kinda wanna take my mind off everything right now.” You murmur into the phone before turning on your camera. You hold it above you and smile so he can see everything.

‘So, fucking beautiful, prettiest girl in the world. You gonna give me a show?’

“hm,” You use your free hand to tap your chin. “Only if you do something for me.”

‘And what is that?’

‘Can you turn your camera on? And before you say no, you don’ have to show your face—maybe you can just show your dick or something else. We can masturbate on the phone, please handsome please.” You whine giving him your best puppy face. You watch as the chat bubbles disappear and reappear. You’re about to back out but all the sudden you’re looking at a dim lit room and a huge cock between a big hand. Your eyes widen and the sight.

"Y-you probably won’t be able to type and jack off at the same time” You suck in a breath. Please turn your audio on please...

‘I’m gonna turn my audio on but I won’t talk, okay? Think you can get off on my moans babydoll?’

You nod.

‘Good girl now show me that pretty pussy, make it squirt for me.’

You lift yourself up to sit on the corner of the tub, propping one leg on tub and spreading the other that rests in the water. You flip the camera so your mystery man can watch you finger yourself. You hear him groan and spit onto his hand.

You moan softly at the sound, teasing your entrance. You wish he was talking to through it, but you’ll settle for this for now. One day...

“Mmm, wish you were the one fingering me right now,” You circle your clit before gliding your fingers out your cunt.

“Wish you were here, holding me n' fucking me.” You curl your fingers into your g-spot and moan. You look back at your phone, watching your stranger play with the tip of his long cock. It looks so big compared to his hand, you know you’ll struggle to take it. Your pussy clenches around your small fingers that do close to nothing compared to your dildos at home.

“Wan’ your cock in me so bad, it looks so big you’ll have to force me to take it, you’ll have to hold me down and make me take it.” You cry out. You watch as he squeezes his hand up and down his cock. It looks painful. He grunts louder.

“M’gonna cum for you handsome, m’gonna give you what you want and make a mess,” You speed up your fingers to match how fast he slides his fist up and his cock. You moan louder, thankful that you got the suite and aren’t in the room next to your stepbrothers, how embarrassing it would be if he could hear you pleasuring yourself.

You clench harder around your fingers. Your stranger starts to grunt and groan louder. You shiver at his deep voice on the edge of cumming.

“Please please let me cum please! Can I come for you please?” You cry, your pussy starts to squelch, spurts of liquid coming out.

“Yes, cum for me.” Your mystery man groans in an all too familiar voice but before you have time to think about it, you’re squirting, the grip on your phone loosening and falling into the water.

“N-no!”

—

“Yes, this phone is done for, your mother and I are heading into town we can try to find a company that sells phone, but you know how small towns like this are.” You stepdad stares at your phone that’s been sitting in a container full of rice since last night.

“Fuck, I need it for work! What am I going to do?” You look up at him in distress.

“What do you need your phone for bartending?” He looks down at you incredulously.

“My boss is sending me some important email and I didn't bring my computer.” You lie.

“Well, you can use Suguru’s laptop, I saw him using it this morning in the sitting room. Think he left it there before he went on his run.” Your stepdad points down the hall as your mother rounds the corner.

“Ready to go honey?” She asks your stepdad.

“Coming! Use Suguru laptop to check your email, if we come back and you haven’t got the email you can use my phone. Bye! Have fun and be nice!” Your stepdad waves before following your mother. You wave back.

Of course, you had to use Suguru’s laptop. Maybe you can just log in, tell your stranger that you’re okay and that you won’t be able to contact him until you get a new phone and then delete the history before Suguru comes back from his run. It’ll only take a few minutes...you hope he doesn’t a password.

You run to the sitting room, but you don’t see a laptop anywhere. Dammit, he always has to make things hard for you. You walk up the round staircase and down the hall until you're standing in front of Suguru’s room. You look around, as if Suguru's gonna pop up out of nowhere and attack you from going into his room. You shake the thought off and open his door. You stop and stare at the bed, you feel like you've seen that duvet. You chalk it up to a bunch of man having the same bedding before turning to scan the room for a laptop. You quickly spot the laptop on his desk and run to it. You sigh in relief when it opens to the last tab he had opened. Thank you Suguru for not caring about who gets into your shit. You click new tab and start to type in the name of the website you use before you freeze.

You only need to type in three letters before the website popped up in top hits. You stop breathing. No... He couldn’t know what you do. Is that why he came here? Was he going to expose you to your parents? Was he acting nice to butter you up before crushing you? Your vision starts to blur. All boys watch porn, maybe he just happens to watch porn on the same website you film on. You can block your account from him so that he never finds you. You swallow before clicking the tab. You shakily move they pointer over to the search bar before you spot something in the left corner that makes you dizzy.

Right where the username of the viewer is supposed to be is the username @Sssman72. Your heart stops and you feel wetness hit your hands. This can’t be real. You move to chat and cry out when you see your username. The last text he sent was asking what happened. No—this is a dream; you’re going to wake up and this is going to be a bad nightmare. You refuse to believe the man you’ve been slowly falling in love with over the last six months is your stepbrother, your bully. The man you confessed all your darkest secrets is the man who never showed you an ounce of kindness. Is this a part of his master plan? Is he going to blackmail you and hold all the nudes you’ve sent him and all the secrets you’ve told him over your head. You’re going to become his slave, doing whatever he wants of you until you die. You curl into yourself and cry harder at the thought.

“Y/n? What are you do—” Suguru stops when he sees what's on the screen. “Let me explain please baby.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder. You flinch away from his touch.

“D-don’t call me that,” You sob staring at him with such heartbreak in your eyes he wants to drop and beg for your forgiveness. “You-you, it was you the whole time.” Your voice breaks.

Suguru nods slowly trying to reach out for you again. You take a few steps away. “Was this some masterplan to hold me under your thumb for the rest of my life!?” You scream at him.

He’s grateful your parents went out of town; this would be an absolute shitshow if they were here.

“No babydoll—”

“I said don’t call me that you asshole! Stop pretending. I hate you Suguru! You win okay, you win!” You tell him before you run out of his room. He curses before running after you, you run up that stairs and into the suite but before you can shut the door Suguru shoves it open. You drop to your knees to pull your suitcase from under your bed.

“Please listen to me y/n. I wasn’t faking—stop packing and let me explain.” Suguru pleads as he watches you throw your clothes into your suitcase.

“Y/n, baby, please listen to me please” He grabs your arm, and you try to fight him, but he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He hugs you around the waist and you push in this chest trying to break free. His heart aches. He hates seeing you hurt, he hates that he was the one who made you cry like this. He hates that you only associate him with the version of himself that he created to stop anyone from seeing what he was truly feeling. He hates that you won’t accept the real version of him now that you know it was him. He holds you tighter as you scream and cry. He whispers sweet nothings as you whisper how much you hate him. At some point you stop fighting and wrapping your arms around his neck. You sniffle into his neck, and he rubs your backs and rocks you.

“Why?” You ask hoarsely after all the anger leaves your body. Now you feel numb, like you're watching your life from a third perspective.

“I never hated you, I never lied, and I never planned to blackmail you—I know you don’t believe me baby but everything I've ever told you on that app was real. Everything I feel for you is real.” You pull your face out of his neck and stare up at him. You don’t believe him.

“I have never hated you y/n. I swear it. I hated the fact that my father replaced my mother with yours not even a year after she died. Baby, I never fucking hated you. I was just a teenager who didn’t know how to express my emotions so I took them out of the person I knew I could hurt the most. It was bad I know; I feel like shit to this day. When I graduated and got away from my father, I realized how bad I was to you, and I got into therapy. I wanted to be better for myself, for you, for everyone around me. I didn’t know that the bullying continued when I left. I didn’t know how bad people had taken it until that day I came back home. When you told me off about it, I was so confused. I’m so fucking sorry. I want to reach out and apologize for everything and the day I planned to do it Satoru—my best friend, you remember him—well he sent me the link to your account and so I made an account and it all just spiralized out of control after that. I was too embarrassed to tell you it was me and then we started to form a connection, a real connection, and I didn’t want our conversations to end so—fuck I'm sorry. Everything I told you; I meant it. I fucking meant every word.”

You sit there stunned, trying to comprehend everything he said. You never knew about his mother. You thought she had passed away long before your mom and his dad had met. But you remember when your stranger told you that. God, you remember when your not so mystery man told you about his family the seemed so familiar to yours. And he didn’t tell all those people to bully you after he left? Did he mean every word? Every word of affirmation he gave you. Those times when he told you that you were capable of being loved and that you were going to find someone who would love every part of you, the good and bad. Was that the same Suguru? You try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man you love is your stepbrother.

“I know it’s a lot of information.”

“It is.”

“Do you believe me?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. You do. Despite everything you find yourself nodding. He sighs and you feel the tension release from his shoulders that your arms are wrapped around. You suddenly realize the position you two are in and feel your face heat. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your legs are on either side of his thick thighs his cock, the cock that you saw last night, is right underneath you, if you lower yourself an inch, you’d be sitting on it.

Suguru grips your waist with one hand, the other cupping the right side of your face. You look up at him and sniffle. He leans down until your foreheads are touching.

“If you give me achance, I'll treat you like the queen you are. I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved. One chance is all I ask for.” He mummers rubbing your noses together.

You hesitate, one part of you wants to run away with him because he’s the man you’ve wanted for the last six months. The other part of you wants to run away from him, he’s your stepbrother, he lied, and you don't know if he would’ve ever told you the truth. But isn’t that what he came here to do? Can you blame a little boy for being mad at the people who replaced his mother?

You give him his answer by grabbind his neck and push his lips towards you. If this does go to hell at least you’ll have a story to tell your feature children.

Suguru kisses back before standing and pulling you off him. “What—”

“You said you wanted me on my knees, didn't you? I’m ready to serve you in any way you want. I can have my savings transferred to your account by tomorrow night.” He says as he drops to his knees. You stare at him with wide eyes as he holds your legs and starts kissing from knee to right where your pussy starts.

“Suguru—”

“Shh babydoll let me take care of my girl, show her how sorry I am for hurting her.” He mummers before dropping your leg and picking up the next one. He repeats this a few more times before finally asking you to lift your hips so he can pull your leggings and panties off. Suguru throws your pants behind him before standing up to pull your tank top off. You reach behind to unbuckle your bra and toss it on the floor with your other clothes. Suguru chuckles, reaching up to kiss all over your face.

“Take your clothes off too Sugu.” You giggle, reaching for his sweatpants. You get a firm grip and yank them down. His thick cock bounces out. Your mouth goes slack. The phone call didn’t do it justice. It somehow looks bigger than before and if you weren’t wet before, you are now. That thing is going to be inside you soon.

“Like what you see beautiful?” You nod dumbly as you watch Suguru step out of his pants and take his shirt off with one hand. He’s so fucking sexy.

He drops back down to his knees and pulls you until your ass is hanging off the bed. “Lay down and let me please you.” You comply and watch as Suguru lifts your legs up and buries his face in your cunt. Your hands fly down to his long shiny hair.

“Suguru!” You moan as he licks you from asshole to clit. He sucks on your clit before biting both lips. Your pussy clenches. “Feels s’good Sugu!” You grind down on his talented tongue. Suguru hums into your clit before setting one of you thighs in his shoulder and bringing his fingers to your entrance. He teases you, only pushing his fingers into the joint before taking them out. You cry out in frustration before pulling on his long hair when he finally slides two big fingers into you.

Yours definitely don't compare to his long thick ones. Your back arches off the bed as Suguru fingers jackhammer into you all the while his mouth sucks on your clit.

“S’good Sugu! Don’t stop!” You scream letting go of hair with one hand to cover your loud mouth.

“Don’t hide those sweet moans from me babydoll. If you want my cock, you’ll let me hear you scream my name as you cum on my fingers and mouth.”

You bring you hand back to hair and grind hard as you get closer and closer to orgasm.

“Gonna cum! M’gonna come!” You cry, as you release all over Suguru's face. He moans and sucks even harder before adding another finger. You cry at the sudden intrusion. It doesn't take long before you’re coming all over again, this time liquid shooting out of you and onto Sugu’s chest.

“Yes baby, that's it—what a good girl,” He praises as he slurps up all your juices. “Such a fucking good gril f’me.”

“Gimme a kiss.” You say between heavy breaths.

“Does the pretty girl want kiss?” You nod, pulling Suguru down with you by the shoulders.

“Want you to kiss me while you fuck me for the first time. Want it to be special,” You confess shyly. Suguru leans down and pecks you on the forehead, then the nose, and then both of your cheeks.

“Don’ tease meanie!” You laugh when he kisses the corner of your lips.

“M’sorry baby, can you forgive me?” He pouts.

“Hmm—I’ll forgive you only if you kiss me right no—” You don’t even finish your sentence before Suguru shoves his tongue down your throat. You kiss him back and your tongues fight for dominance. Suguru wins and smiles into the kiss. You can’t believe this is happening. Your bully, your stepbrother, your mystery man is kissing you right now. Your about to make love with said man.

“You okay babydoll?”

“Mhm, just can’t believe this is all happening.”

“Me too beautiful, you sure you want to do this right now? We can always wait.”

“No, I want to. I want you.” You raise your hand to tuck his hair behind his ear. He smiles, showing you that adorable dimple. You kiss it.

Suguru kisses your lips once more before he grabs his cock, rubbing it up and down your cunt.

“Fuck—I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill—please Sugu.” You beg, frustrated from all this foreplay. You’ve been on edge since last tight in the tub.

“Alight beautiful,” He pushes the head of his cock into you. “Fuck me—you feel so good. Always knew you would.” You feel his fist guide his long cock into you. You moan. He fits you perfectly.

“Sugu—feel’s s’good, want more!” You cry, fisting the blanket’s underneath you.

“Does my baby want more—does she want to orgasm on my cock?” You nod watching Suguru lift your legs to his shoulder. He leans down, bringing your feet to the side of your head. You whine at the stretch.

Suguru groans as he pulls his cock in and out of you.

“S’too much!” You moan into his shoulder. He just laughs and picks up his pace. The fancy headboard above the bed starts to slam against the wall. You watch with blurry eyes as the stock photos hung on the wall shake.

“Said you wanted more baby, ‘m giving you more.” he says before biting into your neck. Hard. You scream, back arching at the pain. Your hands fist the sheets even tighter, knuckles turning white. Suguru unlatches his jaw. Lifting his head to admire his mark. Now all your customers will know you belong to someone. To him. He kisses the mark.

“Sugu, It’s too much. Hurts! m’gonna cum!” You cry, tears soaking the blanket breath you.

“Oh, don't cry baby—shhh—you’re so beautiful y/n. So damn pretty.” He whispers, coaxing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You stop breathing for a second as your pussy contracts around Suguru's cock. Suguru follows in suit, spurting his cum deep inside your pussy.

“Fuck,” he draws out, collapsing onto you.

“T-that was—”

“The best sex ‘ve ever had.”

“Same.” You smile before wincing.

“What’s wrong babydoll.”

“You're about to break my damn hip if you keep my legs up any longer,” Suguru lefts himself enough to bring your legs to his sides. “And you probably ripped a chunk of my neck off with that little trick of yours.” You grumble.

“It’s not bad, promise.” He kisses the bite mark softly.

“And all the pictures fell of the wall.”

“I’ll put ‘em back up baby,” He laughs into your ear. “Just let me hold you for a second.” He kisses your cheek before snuggling deeper into you. You throw your arms around his shoulder while you both try to wrap your head around everything that happened.

#.satoruan writes #tw.stepcest #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto smut #jujutsu geto #geto scenarios #geto x y/n #geto x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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fleurriee · 2 months ago

Text

— cat’s out of the bag ; spencer reid

pairing ; spencer reid x fem!reader

synopsis ; you thought you and spencer were good at keeping your relationship a secret. spoiler alert: you weren’t.

themes ; fluff, established (secret) relationship

warnings ; none!

author’s note ; first time writing for spencer after having watched criminal minds. i’m in love with him so it was only fitting that my mind starts coming up with ideas for him — send in requests for spencer!!!!

main masterlist request a fic

You and Spencer had agreed on one thing when your relationship first started:

“Let’s keep it just between us for a while.”

Not because you were ashamed — far from it — but, because the BAU wasn’t exactly known for being a quiet, private place. The second Garcia caught wind of anything remotely romantic, you’d both be wearing couple t-shirts and getting shipped like characters from a CW drama.

And, it was nice for a while.

You lasted four months.

It started with a coffee cup.

Specifically, the one with Spencer’s name on it, sitting at your desk.

Morgan strolled in that morning with his usual swagger and an armful of case files. He was halfway through a yawn when he spotted the cup and froze mid-step.

“Hey, Pretty Girl?” he called over his shoulder. “Why’s Reid’s name on your latte?”

You didn’t even look up from your desk. “Oh. He picked it up for me.”

“Uh-huh.” He narrowed his eyes like a detective in an old noir film. “And when did Reid start remembering your custom order down to the almond milk and two pumps of caramel?”

You finally looked up. “I… mention it a lot?”

Morgan snorted. “Okay.”

The next day, he walked into the breakroom to find Spencer standing very close behind you, reaching for the same muffin. There was laughter — soft, easy — and then Spencer let you have it with the kind of look that didn’t belong in any HR-safe workplace.

Morgan didn’t say a word. Just walked out with his coffee, grinning.

“Gotcha, Boy Genius.”

Penelope Garcia’s superpower wasn’t her hacking skills — (though, yes, she could probably access the Pentagon with a shoelace and a floppy disk) — it was her intuition. Especially when it came to anything involving hearts, unspoken feelings, or long looks across briefing tables.

So when she noticed Reid texting someone with a tiny, goofy smile on his face during lunch, her curiosity sparked.

She sidled up next to him.

“Who ya texting, Dr. Reid?” she sing-songed, peeking at his screen before he could lock it.

He jumped. “N-no one. Just… a friend.”

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you call Y/N ‘sunbeam’?”

Reid’s face turned the color of a fire hydrant. “It’s — it’s just a nickname. She — uh — likes the sun.”

“Mmhmm.” Garcia leaned in. “Reid… are you dating my girl?”

His silence was answer enough.

She let out a tiny shriek, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I knew it! My OTP is real!”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

To her credit, Garcia didn’t spill — not yet.

But the sparkle in her eye was pure chaos.

Prentiss wasn’t nosy — she was observant.

So when you came into work with what looked like Spencer’s scarf around your neck and a sleepy smile that screamed I didn’t sleep in my own bed, she raised an eyebrow.

But she didn’t say anything until a week later.

The team had just wrapped a case in Portland and were gathered at the airport. You and Spencer were seated across from each other at the gate, trying — and failing — not to play footsie under the chairs.

Prentiss watched the whole thing, sipping her coffee like it was a reality show.

Later, on the plane, she slid into the seat next to you.

“So, when were you planning on telling me?”

You blinked. “Telling you what?”

She tilted her head toward Spencer, who was sitting two rows ahead, hunched over a book — but not before sending a not-so-subtle glance back your way.

Prentiss smirked. “I was a teenager once too, you know. I recognize the ‘pretending not to stare at my crush’ look.”

You flushed. “It’s not like we’re hiding it — ”

“But you are,” she said, patting your arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you come out in your own time. Just… maybe don’t play footsie where Rossi can see. He’s got surprisingly good peripheral vision.”

You genuinely thought Rossi wouldn’t notice.

He was older, more focused — a man who’d seen it all. Surely, he wouldn’t pick up on subtle glances or the way Spencer’s hand lingered on your back a little too long after briefings.

You were wrong.

He invited you both over to his house for dinner, claiming he was “trying a new risotto recipe and needed test subjects.”

The moment he caught you stealing a bite from Spencer’s plate with zero hesitation, he set down his wine glass and gave a slow, smug smile.

“Interesting.”

You froze mid-chew. “What is?”

“Oh, nothing. Just watching young love blossom over truffle risotto.”

Spencer choked on his wine.

You coughed. “What makes you think —?”

“Please,” Rossi waved a hand. “I’ve written three books on behavioral profiling. You think I can’t tell when two people are secretly dating?”

You opened your mouth.

He held up a finger. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Just know I expect to be invited to the wedding.”

You both gaped.

He raised his wine glass. “Eventually, of course.”

Hotch was the final boss.

You and Spencer had been very careful around him — no lingering looks in the field, no brushing hands in the briefing room, no coordinated lunches. You were practically platonic professionals around him.

Until he caught you.

It happened at 9 p.m. on a Friday. Most of the team had already left, and you and Spencer were still in the conference room, finishing paperwork.

You thought you were alone.

So, when Spencer reached over and laced his fingers through yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, you let your guard down for just a moment.

And Hotch walked in.

He stopped mid-step.

You both froze like teenagers caught making out on a porch.

Hotch blinked once. “Should I… come back?”

You yanked your hands apart. “No! We were just — ”

“Finishing paperwork,” Spencer blurted. “Very platonically.”

Hotch raised a brow. “You were kissing her hand.”

Spencer blinked. “Right. Well… not that platonically.”

There was a long pause.

Hotch sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just — no PDA at crime scenes, okay?”

You both nodded, mortified.

As he left, you could swear you saw him smirk.

You didn’t plan to tell everyone. At least, not in one grand announcement.

But the BAU had other plans.

It happened during a rare, sunny weekend BBQ hosted at Rossi’s estate. Everyone was scattered across the lawn — beer bottles in hand, kids running around, music playing.

You were helping Garcia string lights along the fence when she casually said, “So, when are you and Reid going to make it official-official?”

You nearly dropped the string of lights. “What?”

She pointed. “Oh, don’t play coy, sweet pea. Everyone knows.”

You blinked. “Everyone?”

Morgan, walking by with a burger, grinned. “Oh yeah. We’ve had bets running for weeks.”

Prentiss added, “Morgan owes me twenty bucks. I said you’d crack before Valentine’s Day.”

Rossi raised his glass. “Cheers to the happy couple.”

Even Hotch gave you a nod that could only be described as… warm.

You turned to Spencer, who looked equally horrified and relieved.

“They all know?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Apparently for a while.”

Garcia beamed. “What gave it away? Everything.”

You and Spencer exchanged a look.

Then you both laughed — loud, breathless, incredulous.

So much for secrets.

Later, as the party mellowed into dusk and someone lit a bonfire, Spencer pulled you close beneath the string lights.

“Do you think it’s weird… that I’m kind of relieved?”

You looked up at him. “Relieved they found out?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… I don’t have to keep something good hidden anymore.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re not something I want to hide, Spencer.”

He looked at you then, all soft eyes and quiet awe.

Even in a team of profilers, even under the most watchful eyes — you and Spencer had managed something rare.

A love worth noticing.

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst

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januaryembrs · 10 months ago

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MY BABY, HERE ON EARTH | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [BONUS]

Description: the NINE months of pregnancy

Word count: 10.9k

warnings: pregnancy duh, babies, giving birth, c-section, ummm body fluids? lots of emotions, nausea & sickness, talks of weight gain and stretch marks.

authors note: y'all... there you have it. I will be back to finish their story but until then this is my goodbye piece until I have finished my hiatus to write my own book and start uni (again). I can't wait to take these two (three) on the final lap they deserve but for now.. I hope you enjoy pookies being pookies.

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MONTH ONE. The one where she finds out.

She hadn’t meant to find out when she did. It had been just a routine implant swap that she’d had twice already in the last six years.

“Any blood clotting, any pain at all?” The nurse asked, jotting down a few notes on her form as she sat back on the bed and waiting for the numbing cream to take hold.

She shook her head. “It’s weird as hell to feel and when I think about it too long it freaks me out, but no, no pain,” She said and the nurse chuckled, nudging her glasses up her nose.

“And finally, is there any chance that you’re pregnant?” She asked, no doubt having rehearsed the same script about thirty times that day alone.

Bugsy gave her a flat smile, “Small chance, but I guess that’s what this is for, huh?”

The nurse looked at her then, as if mulling over the words before she said something, “Small chance?”

“I mean, nothing is a hundred percent effective,” Bugsy tried to weasel her way out of the awkward conversation, because she had absolutely no intention of letting the nurse know her and Spencer had been at it like bunnies since the Hotch had forced them to take medical leave. Who knew having so much time on her hands with her very handsome boyfriend would have that effect?

The nurse pursed her lips, and already the woman felt like she’d said too much.

“Alright, we’re going to do a routine test, just need a quick urine sample,” Bugsy felt her cheeks heat, though she was in no position to argue. Her discomfort must have been more obvious than she thought, however, as the nurse went on to explain, “If I give you this implant and there’s a fertilised egg, it can lead to ectopic pregnancy, in which case you’ll need surgery. Trust me, honey, peeing in a cup is your easy option,”

She gave the practitioner a small nod, wondering if she needed to message Spencer to say she’d be running a little late. She knew he was likely doing the sudoku in the waiting room magazine, since he’d refused to let her come alone. And even though she’d told him she would be fine on her own, he’d seen through it, had even offered to get her ice cream on the way home for putting on a brave face.

And yet her face was nothing short of horror struck not even half an hour later when the nurse showed her the stick with empathetic eyes.

“Congratulations,” The woman said cautiously, a fake smile plastered on her face as the girl stared at her, utterly gobsmacked.

“But, I thought…” Bugsy stammered, running a finger over where the nurse had removed her implant, “But I had everything ready, I never let it get late, I did what I was supposed to,”

“You said it yourself, honey, nothing is a hundred percent effective besides abstinence-”

“That’s just what parents say to make sure their kids aren’t banging every Tom, Dick and Harry out there!” Bugsy was near screeching, the worry in her tone clear as a bell and her chest hot with panic.

Pregnant. She was pregnant, there was no way she could be…

Except there was exactly a way she could be, seeing as she struggled even on a dry spell to keep her hands off Spencer longer than a few days at a time. And he was just as bad.

The nurse huffed, rifling through her drawers for a handful of pamphlets. She passed them to Bugsy whose mouth was still bobbing with more expletives she held herself back from saying, and it wasn’t until she saw the happy couple on the front of the first one, holding a very swollen and round bump that she thought she might be sick.

Comical timing, she hissed at herself.

“There are always options, sweetheart. Abortion is legal in Virginia, if that is what you decide, however there is always information and support that we recommend looking into before you make a solid decision,” Her response was professional even though her expression was compassionate, and Bugsy knew she must have looked scared because that was exactly how she felt and she had little to no room to hide it.

Abortion? Is that what she wanted? Except it wasn’t just about what she wanted, it was what Spencer wanted too. Even if he would argue against that being the case in a heartbeat, even if he would tell her she had every right to be the only one to make a decision, no matter what he thought. But maybe it wasn’t so much about needing his opinion for that reason, and more it was because she had absolutely no clue what to do and Spencer was always good at making sense of the things she didn’t know how to deal with.

She nodded silently, her mouth dry as sandpaper as she took the leaflets and stuffed them in the bottom of her purse where she hoped Spencer wouldn’t go looking.

She barely remembered standing on liquid legs, barely remembered the way her chest felt tight and her head spun as she thought of the fact her body had a baby growing inside it.

No, it wasn’t a baby. Not yet. It was likely the size of a grain of sand, miniscule. That wasn’t a baby, that was nothing.

But it would be. Eventually. It would be hers and Spencer’s baby.

And she wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him the second she saw him there in the waiting room, his head shooting up the second the door opened and she left looking a little ill and shaken.

“All done? Everything go as normal?” He preened, standing immediately as she neared him, his hand immediately weaving around her shoulder to pull her close by. Gently, ofcourse, because she had a big, fat bandage where her implant should have been.

“Y-yeah,” She stammered, hoping he didn’t hear the shake in her throat. Yet she knew immediately that he did. Because he leaned in to give her a delicate kiss to her forehead not even a moment later, “C-can we go straight home, I’m not feeling ice cream anymore,”

He looked worried, as anyone who knew her would because Bugsy turning down free pudding was a blaring red siren in his eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” He said, stroking a gentle hand over the side of her head and leading her where he’d parked the car.

And it was that worry, the same cloud that hung over him for months with Scratch and his mom and the Dirty Dozen and everything else that was put onto his shoulder that made her shut her mouth right then and there. He didn’t need one other thing to contend with, not when he was already carrying the weight of the world.

And so she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet at least.

MONTH TWO. The one with the scan.

“Spence, would you stop worrying, I’m sure everything will be fine,” She urged in the gentlest tone she could muster. Yet she was a hypocrite, because she felt her hands shaking as she sat in the chair, trying to adjust her sleeves for something to do and Spencer stopped his leg from bouncing.

Looking over at her, he sighed, holding out a large palm and weaving her fingers in between his and she flicked a look over at him, her own eyes nervous.

“I’m sorry,” He gave her a guilty smile, “If it helps, it’s half excitement too,”

And she smiled then, shaking her head as he squeezed her hand gently.

“Me too,” She confessed, looking down at her stomach that didn’t seem all too different than usual. She’d felt a few symptoms up until this point, a bit of nausea but that was nothing she couldn’t handle, headaches here and there. But it wasn’t anything exactly life changing that she’d expected when she’d always thought of pregnancy.

If anything, none of it felt real quite just yet. Having only been a few weeks since she’d told Spencer, they’d spent the majority of the time searching for houses and appointments and gynaecologists and neonatal care, and whenever they were free, they were trying to get used to the idea of the two of them as parents.

“Did you know they’re around half an inch long by now,” Spencer said, his hazel eyes falling to where her shirt hid her stomach that had yet to change no matter how many times he stared at it, “About a third of that is made up of their head,”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” She shrugged, stroking her thumb along the edge of his pinky finger, “It’s your kid, they’re going to have biggest brain out there,”

He snickered, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it softly, “If they have even half your brains, we’re going to be raising the next Galileo,”

“Mr and Mrs Reid,” Their heads shot up at the midwife, Bugsy fumbling for words to correct him as the two of them stood up to greet him with bashful smiles. She didn’t need to look at Spencer’s face to know he’d gone bright red.

“It’s uh, Prentiss-Reid,” Spencer spluttered as they entered and the nurse looked again at his chart with wide eyes, his cheeks a little pink himself and he ushered the two of them into his office with a smile.

“So it is, I do apologise,” He said earnestly, holding a hand out to gesture Bugsy to sit on the reclining bed, “I hate to stereotype, but usually when dad books the appointments, its because their wives are already doing a hundred other things,”

“It’s okay, it happens,” She said with an awkward chuckle, avoiding Spencer’s eyes because they still hadn’t had that talk. Even though she knew her mother would frown at her grandchild being born a bastard, she didn’t care much for Elizabeth’s opinion. It wasn’t like marriages had ever led to good things for her mother anyway.

She hopped up onto the examination cot, her heart quivering just the slightest in worry because the smell of bleach and rubber made the whole thing real. Until then, having a grain of rice growing inside her seemed like a fever dream since she’d only had a handful of side effects, throwing up could have easily been passed off as bad chicken, the head aches could have just been her eyes straining from using her computer too much.

“Okay, everything feels okay, Mom? Nothing concerning at all?” And then the midwife said things like that, mom, and the part of her that almost forgot she was pregnant came to a screeching halt.

She’d be a mom. Someone would call her mom. The thought of it made her suck in a breath.

“Uh, no.” She cleared her throat and felt Spencer grab her hand, “Morning sickness is kicking my ass, but nothing worrying,”

The nurse chuckled, and she felt Spencer rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm, his eyes burning into the side of her head.

“Well, if it’s alright, I need you to lift your shirt up a little so we can have a see what’s going on,” He said with a kind smile, and she realised then he’d slipped latex gloves over his hands, and brandished a bottle of gel.

She nodded absently, doing as he said and lifting her shirt to sit under her breasts, drawing the hem of her skirt down so he had a space to apply. And the second he did she sucked in breath through her nose, the cold of the air conditioning chilling her to her marrow, and she tried telling herself that’s why her hands were shaking.

She felt Spencer’s fingers curve through her hair, and she reminded herself to breathe, looking over at him with nervous eyes she hoped he didn’t see straight through. But judging by the way he scooted the chair forward and gave her an encouraging smile, she guessed he’d seen the flicker of doubt in an instant.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be fine,” He murmured, his own fear buried deep somewhere she couldn’t see anymore the second she had been the one to look to him for help. She knew she wanted this, knew she’d always dreamed of Spencer and her having their happily ever after. She knew whenever she’d let herself think of a little boy with chocolate curls and hazel eyes that she wanted all of that and more.

But it was all so… real. Like seeing a movie come to life, and she was starring centre stage. Her body wasn’t a disposable shell that held thirty plus years of stupid mistakes and regrets and tattoos she’d decided she hated now. Her body had a whole other human inside it.

The midwife clicked the machine on, the transducer wand ready in his hand as he gently put it on her lower stomach, barely a few centimetres from her panties, and she wondered why they showed the wand roaming over the woman’s belly button on tv shows since that was entirely wrong and not nearly as embarrassing. She let out a shaky breath, and Spencer stroked her head again, forcing her to give him an unsure look, like she was trying to calm herself for his sake but couldn’t.

His eyes were anxious though he squeezed her again with a smile and she saw it immediately, like he too was trying to be brave for her.

She had never loved him so much.

“Apologies for the shock, I know the gel can be a little cold,” The nurse said with a grin, and it was only then she realised the screen had lit up with a black and white image, one she’d seen a thousand times when she’d studied neonatal procedures for her degree.

She knew that was her womb lining, and that was the amniotic fluid and that right there-

Bugsy froze, and judging by the way Spencer’s hand tightened around her own, he had too. She felt her mouth drop with a laugh of shock, and she sat up slightly to take a closer look at the monitor.

“And there is baby,” The midwife said, his expression warming as he watched Spencer’s stand up to lean over the bed, not once letting go of the woman’s hand, the two of them utterly enraptured in the screen, “Probably about the size of a raspberry,”

And Bugsy laughed, her eyes lined with tears as she looked up at Spencer’s equally wetted hues. He was grinning from ear to ear when he looked down at her, and it wasn’t long before he brought his lips to her forehead, his nose and throat burning with a held cry.

“Do you hear that? A whole raspberry already?” She said, her voice wobbling and he giggled, sitting back in his seat and rubbing his cheeks with his sleeve. “I am good at this cooking thing, might as well call me an easy bake oven,”

Spencer shook his head with another chuckle, his eyes trailing back to the little blob on the screen that looked more like a toy alien than anything else, and held her hand between both of his like he was in prayer.

Because Spencer never believed in anything sacred and divine until he met Bugsy.

MONTH THREE. The one where they tell everyone.

“What are you doing?” Bugsy jumped out of her skin as JJ all but materialised behind her. She looked over her shoulder guiltily, her hand still half way through pouring out her mug of coffee Derek had handed her before he left to get lunch.

She turned to see the blonde with her own steaming mug of decaf in her hands. She’d been taking the lack of caffeine much better this time around since having a second baby to breastfeed, considering she was nothing short of evil when she’d had Henry, which had been Spencer’s words not Bugsy’s. And it wasn’t as if the woman could blame her. She was grouchy when she didn’t get her regular dose even before being pregnancy, Derek had once gotten a kick to the shin when he’d disturbed her on a day she’d been too busy to grab one on her way to the office.

She was a fiend for the bitter god. And everyone knew it. Which was exactly why JJ’s eyebrows were all but raised into her hairline seeing the girl who would usually be in the stages of withdrawal by now tipping the drink away.

“Uh, the milk tasted funky,” She excused, though the way JJ narrowed her eyes at the poor excuse told her it hadn’t passed by a mile.

“Right, the milk that Hotch picked up this morning?” JJ pursed her lips, sliding her own mug onto the side and jutting her hip.

And as if he were summoned, Hotch sidled up to the kitchenette, Rossi and Tara hot on his heels as they flicked through some paperwork, and his head shot up the minute he heard his name.

His eyes trailed to where the girl flipped her mug upside on the drying rack, and his brow furrowed.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, and she huffed in response, wiping her hands on her jeans.

“Yes, I’m fine,” She grumbled, shaking her head, “I don’t know what you’re all so wound up about, it’s not like I’m dying, I just don’t feel like coffee today-”

“Oh my god,” Penelope gasped where she crept behind Hotch with her very favourite octopus mug in tow, one that was nearly thrown to the floor when she heard the words pour from the girl’s mouth, “Are you sick? Like in the body or in the head? Rossi, check her pulse, I’m going to get a thermometer-”

“Pen, I’m fine,” She said unconvincingly and she tried to skirt past the group that seemed to have her surrounded. Seeing Spencer pulling up the rear in search of lunch she felt herself sigh in relief, because he would think of a much better excuse than she ever could.

She had barely been able to keep her mouth shut for the months they had been secretly dating, and had relished in the peace it brought her when everyone knew. But the midwife had said it was common to keep things under wraps at least until the first trimester was over. Apparently the million of questions that were sure to be heading their way would cause her unnecessary stress, though she’d argue having to sneak to the sink every morning and dispose of a delicious looking coffee was torture enough.

“What’s up?” Spencer asked as she ducked towards him, his hand consciously wrapping around her waist, and she huffed again, looking to him with a silent plea.

“They’re profiling me,” Bugsy said, and he felt his gut knot because he should have known it wouldn’t be long before they caught on. It was their job to pick apart out of the ordinary behaviour, and Bugsy going teetotal on caffeine was definitely something of a head turner.

“I told you that diet would cause a stir,” He joked, hoping they bought his pathetic attempt of an excuse, as he gave her side a gentle squeeze, and hoped that he could lead her back to her desk like she was a lost little lamb being prowled upon by nosy wolves that rarely took no for an answer.

And it almost worked, almost, until JJ snapped her fingers and pointed at his wandering hand.

“See that, that is the fourth time you’ve been all touchy and weird this week,” The blonde surprised, her brows furrowing, “Bugsy hates PDA, usually by now she would have whacked you over the head and called you a perv,”

Bugsy smashed her lips together because she couldn’t exactly disagree with her. That’s exactly what she usually did. Usually would tell Spencer to stop being so horny in a place of work even if she felt her cheeks heat at the delicate grabs of her stomach fat.

But whether it was the little bean now around the size of a small lemon that had made her mellow and affectionate, or whether the lack of caffeine really was making her feel vulnerable, she wasn’t sure. And the whole thing was only made worse by Hotch’s eyes burning into the side of her, and she felt the trail of his gaze head straight for her stomach.

“Come to think of it, I only saw you with a lime and soda at Savannah’s birthday last week,” Rossi pointed out, wagging his finger in her direction, his brown hues widening in thought, “When Penelope asked if you wanted tequila you said-”

“I’m all tequila-ed out,” Penelope chimed in with the same frown, “But that can’t be, when have you ever been tequila-ed out, that’s like impossible, even that night we had to help Spencer get you in the shower because you’d thrown up everywhere you were demanding more,”

She felt her cheeks heat thinking about her twenty ninth birthday, or atleast the parts of it she could remember of it before the rest of the gaps were filled with black spaces of time that she guessed had been robbed from her by the shots she piled on.

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like tequila, can a girl not live in the moment?” She tried to rebuttal, only Penelope gave her a blank look that told her to try again because the Bugsy she knew would slap her for saying something so dumb. She opened her mouth to correct her again, but Hotch beat her to it.

“You know Hayley got really affectionate a couple months into being pregnant,” The man said, his eyes swirling with something proud and warm when he saw Bugsy’s head flick to him like she’d been caught red handed, which they had. “Though, if you ask me I think she was just a little sorry for herself that I took the coffee away,”

There was a beat of silence, and the room held its breath. Even Tara, who had only known them the best part of a few months raised her hand to her mouth in shock, and Bugsy shot a look at Spencer in utter defeat.

“We tried,” She said with her shoulders shrugging, and it was then that the office was filled with a piercing scream that turned a fair few heads and the infamous octopus mug was thrown clear across the kitchen floor, one of his tentacles snapping clean off.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE? YOU’RE PREGNANT?” Penelope wailed like a banshee, and Bugsy couldn’t help but break into a smile, nodding at the woman who screeched again and yanked her in for a tight hug, “Oh my god, there's going to be three of you, three geniuses, three little einsteins that I want to smush together and kiss all over-”

“Garcia, I think she needs air if she’s going to make another little genius,” Rossi said, and the tech analyst pulled away aghast, cupping Bugsy’s face that was still grinning ear to ear with a chuckle.

“Oh my god, I didn’t hurt you did I? Or the baby- Oh my god there’s a baby in there!”

Hotch wrapped a rare yet tender arm around Spencer’s shoulder, giving him a little pat and a “Congratulations” while Rossi smiled knowingly between the couple and JJ had her turn smothering Bugsy in a tearful hug.

And by the time Derek had walked into the office with his everything bagel hanging between his teeth and a tea in his hands, his onyx hues fell to Penelope, JJ and Bugsy exchanging weepy words while Tara handed them tissues with her own sparkling eyes.

“What fresh hell did I miss?”

MONTH FOUR. The one where she starts looking different.

She huffed, her fingers gripping the edge of her jeans and yanking them up her thighs as far as they would go. She felt like everything had shrunk in the wash, or like she was trying on a doll’s wardrobe. Surely she hadn’t gained that much weight in just a few months, but then again she’d been all but living off chocolate pudding cups since the Bean decided it wanted sugar, sugar and more sugar.

She grunted in annoyance, her arms and back aching where she was leaning over to pull at the infernal things. She barely had a second to pout childishly, before kind hands were wrapping around her stomach and a mouth kissed at her neck tenderly.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” His voice was honey sweet, thick and goopy with love overflowing as he pulled her to his chest, his hand caressed the bump that seemed to be getting in the way of her and her favourite jeans. Spencer knew she tried to ignore the symptoms that almost every woman felt during pregnancy, he knew she compared herself to how JJ had handled both pregnancies gracefully and looked better than ever even as a mother of two. He knew she hated complaining because she didn’t want him to think she was miserable carrying their kid, but god was she getting sick of her clothes pinching her in.

“I’m getting fatter,” Bugsy grumbled, her eyes darting to the vivid lines that had deepened into the crease of her hips within a few weeks and she winced, “I’m not even halfway, how does this kid want to eat pudding all the time?”

Spencer frowned, shaking his head slightly because he refrained from telling her what a silly statement it was, knowing it would only make her feel worse, and instead pressed delicate kisses to her jaw, squeezing her closer. He’d noticed the stretch marks, just as he’d noticed her face and hips gathering weight a bit more than usual, and was just grateful there was even more Bugsy to love.

“You’re eating for two, you’re literally growing a whole life inside of you. I think that is more than enough grounds to eat whatever you want,” He murmured, biting the inside of his cheek when she sighed as though she didn’t believe him, “Honey, clothes are replaceable. What your body’s trying to do is create a little bubble around you and this little pudding fiend so you can feed them when they’re out here,”

Bugsy knew he was right. She’d spent well over a hundred hours researching hormone levels and how pregnant bodies are changing all hours of the day to accommodate the foetus, she knew it was normal for things to look different. Had it been on anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye. But it didn’t make the sting of seeing her body morph into one she didn’t recognise any less harsh.

“I know,” She hummed somewhat defeated, turning in his arms to press her face in his neck, “I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast is all,”

Spencer smiled warmly, because every day he thought she had gotten impossibly prettier. He hadn’t believed in ‘pregnancy glow’, in fact he’d chalked it down to some sort of innate scientific survival tactic that associated a vulnerable woman with looking angelic, at least not until he’d woken up to see her stomach protruding from her pyjama top in a clear curve shape and he thought her face looked like she should be in some Monet painting, dozing in a field like a wide eyed doe.

“I know, it’s a lot for anyone to go through. But you know I’m so grateful for you,” Spencer said, and he felt her smile without even seeing it. Her fingers wove into his hair at the nape of his neck, kissing a trail up his chest because he suspected she looked somewhat embarrassed. “Besides, I’m not complaining. It means I get to do this,”

She felt two large hands grab at the fat of her bum cheeks and she squeaked in surprise, even though she heard him laugh in her ear at her reaction. That had been another thing she’d noticed, and how could she not. Penelope said just the other day that she was ‘baking a bun in the oven and cake in the trunk’ with a little wink, and she’d had to excuse herself quickly for lack of a response.

And Spencer wasn’t lying. He wasn’t complaining with any of it, not by a long shot.

MONTH FIVE. The one with the mood swings.

“So you guys really don’t want to know the sex?” JJ asked, sipping on her tea as she chatted with Bugsy who was balancing biscuits on top of her now protruding stomach. It was as if overnight the baby had stretched out enough to make themselves a damn penthouse suite in Bugsy’s tummy.

“We want it to be a surprise, either way we’re going to love the little bean, even if they do keep kicking my bladder at four am,” She said, balancing the tenth cookie on the tower she’d made, reaching over carefully for another one, “I swear if the bean kicks my cookie tower I’m giving them a hideous name,”

“It’s good to feel the baby kicking at this stage, it helps develop their joints and bones so they’re stronger when they’re born.” Spencer inputted helpfully as he slid a fresh mug of decaf tea over to her desk.

“Next time the baby kicks your uterus walls, Spence, gimme a shout and we’ll discuss how great it is,” Bugsy said with a small smile and he paused, looking at JJ as if he was caught in a trap, suddenly well aware of his mistake.

“Point taken,” He conceded quietly, and JJ chuckled because she’d seen Will just as hesitant to piss her off in both of her pregnancies. And she knew Bugsy would never hold it against him, that Spencer’s head just ran away from him sometimes.

She halted her little game and carefully leaned over to draw the mug to her lips, too impatient to wait for it to cool down fully and she barely spotted Derek swooping around the corner of the desk.

“Good morning, Mommies and Daddy Genius,” He greeted in that chirpy tone, his hand snatching up the top cookie and scarfing it down before she could protest.

Bugsy shared her snacks all the time, it was a no brainer that they took a bite here and there out of each other's goodies before they could get a smack to the wrist. And Derek had certainly noticed a few of his Rolos missing the last time he bought a pack, and a particularly cheerful Bugsy smirking at him over her desk.

It wasn’t a huge deal, and yet Bugsy sat up in a gasp, and the entire biscuit tower fell to a crumbling mess on the floor.

“Well done, princess, Hotch is going to-” Derek stopped mid sentence when he saw her sniffle, and his eyes widened at the sight of her eyes glistening with tears, “Bugsy- are you okay-”

“My cookies! Derek!” She whined pitifully, and she buried her face in her hands, “My cookies, I was so going to eat the shit out of those, they were gonna be so good, Derek,”

Morgan looked gobsmacked, his head whipping between the woman leaning against the desk with an understanding smile and Spencer who was already rubbing her shoulders with his lips smashed together, trying not to laugh.

“Honey, it’s okay, he didn’t mean to,” Her partner tried to coo, though he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the way Derek scrambled to draw out his wallet.

“I’ll get you more, Bug, I swear, they sell them by the deli down the street, right?” He asked, jittering in his bones because he’d never made her cry before. He worried or a moment Hotch might just put him on sabbatical leave for such an offense. Emily would probably fly to Virginia just to cave his skull in, “I’m sorry, I’ll go get more, I’ll even get you strawberry milk-”

“Chocolate milk,” She wailed, and JJ slid a box of tissues over to the pitiful girl with a silent snicker. She remembered all too well the feeling of unexplained emotion crashing over her, and she didn’t doubt that the tough faced Bugsy would be back to normal any moment soon.

“Chocolate milk, got it,” Derek said, with a nod, and he all but darted for the elevators, in a hurry Spencer somewhat suspected was down to the fact he feared for his life if Penelope got a whiff of what happened.

Bugsy sniffled for a moment, drawing a tissue out the box and dabbing her eyes sullenly, her feelings slightly worse for wear even if she had a small inkling of doubt that she was really so torn up about the cookies as her body made it seem.

But she had been thinking about them all morning; made herself promise she would only eat them once she got the stack fifteen high at least.

“Are you okay, baby?” Spencer asked, his gaze empathetic as she snuffled her sobs into the palm of her hands. He wasn’t too worried, even if he hated seeing her cry just as much as anyone else did. And it wasn’t that he didn’t take her seriously. But when she’d been crying just that morning because her shower gel spilled on the floor and tipped almost all the way out, or even when she’d stepped on a snail walking into the building and smushed it into the ground, effectively killing it, he seemed to be getting used to her mood swings.

She sniffed woefully, “I was really looking forward to those, and now I think I was too mean to Derek and…” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, and the sight of it made Spencer sigh, leaning forward to kiss the side of her head because it must be difficult being so out of your usual self for nine months.

“And what?” He prompted softly. Only she burst out crying again, reaching forward to drag him into a hug that told him she was feeling extra sorry for herself.

He wouldn’t blame her. Would sit through every weep and sob and tantrum if it meant he got to show her even more times over that he loved her endlessly.

However he did have to hold in the giggle when she wailed; “I think I really do want strawberry milk,”

MONTH SIX. The one with the false labour.

She had been in Hotch’s office when she felt it.

Embarrassingly so, her first thought was trapped gas. She’d gotten a lot of that considering the baby had decided it craved spice, and had been planning to excuse herself when it felt like her whole abdomen seized as if she’d been hit with a particularly nasty period cramp.

Her hand flew to her stomach where she sat with Hotch reviewing her latest reports, the same quarterly check the whole team was mandated to have with their boss since Cruz became section chief. Hotch didn’t miss a beat, the folder in his hand hitting the desk in an instant as he tensed, looking at her with caution.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and she held her breath for a moment. Spencer was out with Rossi giving a lecture in Washington DC, JJ had the day off for her mom’s birthday, Penelope and Morgan were taking Tara to lunch to show her a few more of their regular spots. It was just them and Anderson in the office for the next few hours, possibly the worst time out of any to have an empty floor.

“Yeah- I just, woah,” Her stomach gave another lurch of a painful twist and her hand slapped on the table to keep herself steady. She breathed through the pain, because she’d had much worse only that wasn’t what was making her heart race. It was fear. Because she wasn’t due for another twelve weeks at least, and while she’d heard of baby’s being born as premature as six months, she knew premy babies suffered major complications later on, let alone the stress their body goes under during the actual birth.

Bean, as the team had affectionately named the baby since the couple had firmly decided they didn’t want to know the sex, was about the size of red cabbage, tiny in the scheme of things even though it felt like just a few minutes ago they were a grain of rice.

“Okay, it’s okay, stay calm,” Hotch said in a smooth voice, gentle yet reassuring as he rounded his desk in a flash and put his hand on her shoulder, “Do you feel like you need to use the toilet? Any back ache or irritability?”

Bugsy breathed out through her nose as her lungs jittered with nerves, “N-no, I don’t need the bathroom, why would that matter?”

Aaron stroked a large kind hand down her spine, watching her face scrunch in pain for a second time, and he slowly began directing her towards the door, taking small steps so she wasn’t rushing. “Needing to use the bathroom is an early sign of labour, it’s your body's way of helping expand your pelvis to accommodate the head. Any back ache or frustration at all?”

He didn’t care that he’d had to repeat himself, not even when he was usually so against it, because he could feel the own unease rising in his throat like bile even if he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible.

He would be damned if he let her see how worried he was, and so he swallowed heavily, holding his other hand out for her to take when they approached the stairs. Anderson was on his feet in seconds when he saw his unit chief leading the woman with a tightly concealed frown, fumbling around for his phone.

“Agent Prentiss?” He exclaimed, darting around the mess of chairs and paper and desks to approach them, “Would you like me to call Dr Reid? An ambulance, perhaps?”

“She's alright, I’m driving her to the ER, thank you Anderson,” Aaron responded politely, his hand still resting on her back, and the agent nodded, digging around for his keys.

“I can drive, if you’d like to ride in the back with her,” Grant offered with worried eyes as Bugsy’s face crumpled in agony again, and Hotch’s head whipped to her, and his composure crumbled for a moment.

“Bugsy, hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay, honey,” He cooed, and Anderson was quick to open the glass doors, “Did you pack a bag at all-”

“No, Spencer told me I should but I said it was too early, why is that man always right,” She grumbled, her footsteps weary and jittery as the three of them got into the elevator.

Hotch fought a smile, trying to remember everything he’d memorised before Hailey had Jack. The 5-1-1 rule blared through his head, and he glanced at his watch for a fraction of a second, and he wondered for a moment if he was going to have to write off a company vehicle for the fact his youngest agent gave birth in the back seat.

“I’m afraid that’s just how Reid operates,” Hotch said, pulling his phone out to dial the man in question and let him know where they were headed, “It’s probably nothing, Hailey was getting cramps all the time once she reached her third trimester, but we’ll get you checked out to be safe,”

“Really?” She looked at him with pitiful eyes and he nodded with a tight smile, committing to his illusion of calmness even if he swore he hadn’t felt so scared in months.

Because it wasn’t just Bugsy anymore, it was Bugsy and her baby. Her and Reid’s baby. The two people who deserved their happy ending more so than anyone else he knew.

And he felt her hand slip into his then as she accepted his answer, in fact she didn’t let go the entire time she waited on Spencer and Aaron was in no rush to leave her side. Even when she lay back on the table and had the midwife checking everything over, he stayed by her head (no doubt to avoid a very awkward conversation), stroked her hair when she fretted through a few more cramps, even when Spencer burst in through the door with Morgan at his heels looking like the two of them had just ran a marathon.

“Is everything okay- what’s wrong- do you need fluids- do you need ice-” Spencer rushed on his odd breath, his chest puffing with inhales, and he pretended he wasn’t seeing stars floating across his vision.

“I’m assuming by your reaction you’re dad,” The nurse said, pulling off the blue gloves and dropping her mask from her mouth.

“Yes, he is, he’s dad,” Morgan filled in for him as Spencer all but fell back against the wall, because he really should have drank something other than soda and coffee this morning. He was close to swaying on his feet when he stepped over to his girlfriend, and she took his hand in the her own, or atleast the one that wasn’t occupied by Hotch’s tight hold.

“Don’t worry, everything is alright with mom and baby,” She said, noting down a few things on her chart and the four of them took an audible sigh of relief, “Braxton Hicks contractions are very common in your final trimester, it probably felt like a lot because your baby is moving to into the anterior position ready for birth,”

Bugsy’s head flopped back against the pillow in comfort and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths, willing her heart rate to go back to normal. Braxton Hicks, she should have known. Her head had been fuzzy the past few weeks as it was, but she supposed the moment she’d thought there might be something wrong with the Bean, all of her logic had flown out the window.

But at least she’d had Hotch to keep her level headed, and-

“Oh my god, Anderson,” She jolted up, her legs stuck in the stirrups the midwife had place her into while she examined everything, “We need to tell Anderson, the poor guy was so worried,”

Hotch chose not to tell her he’d seen Anderson go as white as a ghost the second she’d turned her back, and instead patted her leg as Spencer went to speak to the midwife a little more, no doubt picking apart every single symptom she’d presented in that huge, worried head of his.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Anderson is fine, honey,” He said earnestly, and she looked at him like a kicked puppy, entirely sorry for the panic she’d caused, “Let’s just get you your underwear back, huh?”

MONTH SEVEN. The one where they decorate the nursery.

“What about Elias,”

“Veto,”

Bugsy pulled a shunned expression as she carefully rolled the wallpaper up the wall.

“Mason? Niko, stop,” She proposed, one hand on the wall while using the other to push the nosey feline away from the wet paste she’d been brushing on the wall.

He sat politely at her chide, blinking at her with those big eyes as he watched her work with a twitching tail, almost entertained at the woman who had ballooned up in just a few weeks struggling to do a relatively easy task.

“Hmm, Mason can go on the bench,” Spencer responded where he was sitting at the other end of the wall doing the same thing only much faster, though she’d argue it was a little easier since he wasn't carrying a large coconut strapped to his stomach.

They’d left the apartment just two weeks ago. Derek had been the one to help them cart their small amount of furniture into the modest house on the outskirts of West Springfield. It was large by Spencer’s standards, even if Bugsy had seen what grandeur looked like in her own childhood homes, but it didn’t matter. Because walls and floors and fancy grand pianos had never bought her love. Yet the first evening they’d spent in their new home they had slept on a mattress on the floor, the list of things to do the following day rattling around their heads. But they had a home. They had the picket fence with the nice school down the road and the bus stop within eyesight of the kitchen where their kid would one day walk to their door with a book bag and glasses like Spencer’s.

She had never felt like she belonged somewhere until she had a home with him.

“What about Ada for a girl?” Spencer called over his shoulder, where he had almost caught up to where she was still working on the small patch of wall. The paper was proving frustrating for her swollen fingers, considering the entire thing, when put together, made up a mural of little woodland creatures amidst a forest and left zero room for error, “Named after Ada Lovelace, the woman who pioneered computers,”

Considering it for a moment, she nodded, “That’s pretty. Ada makes top ten,”

Flipping the last part up to stick against the thick glue, she ran her hands over the seams to be sure it aligned perfectly with the rest of the picture. Satisfied when it matched and a little fox stared down at her, she smiled, tilting her head up where Spencer was standing over her, watching her concentrate.

“All done!” She chirped, and he bent down to give her a kiss to her puckered lips, sliding a hand beneath her arm to help her up.

“Looks perfect, you’re really carrying the team honey,” He mused as she got to her feet with a little whine, wrapping her arms around his middle in a proud hug.

“I know, what would you ever do without me?”

He laughed, looking at her with an adoring gaze.

The light cracked through the open window, laying over her face delicately. The house was still bare, still in need of carpets and a good dusting, still had leaky pipes and ants in the pantry. Yes, they had a pantry now. But it was a start. It was a home.

“I say we leave the cradle for another day, baby is calling for frozen grapes again,” She said, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly button and he smiled. Spencer could have sworn he was the luckiest guy in the world when he called her his friend. He thought maybe he should have bought a lottery ticket the same day she told him she loved him. The day she became his girlfriend he thinks he may have died and the past three years have been purely a dream.

But watching the breeze kiss her cheeks and stroke her hair, watching her eyes rove over the room that would keep their baby safe and warm in just a few weeks, even seeing her smile at him like he had handed her the whole universe in a box when she was the one growing a whole human inside her; Spencer felt like his life was so much better than he ever hoped it would be.

“Frozen grapes, coming right up,” He said, slipping his fingers in between his to help her down the winding staircase which had been a winner for her immediately. It’s like we have a castle, Spence. “You or the baby could ask for a whole damn ox and I’d give it to you.”

She laughed, holding onto the bannister as they headed downstairs to the kitchen that was in dire need of fresh paint.

“What if I said baby wants a holiday to Cancun and another cat,”

“I’d say baby is onto something there,” Spencer said, sweeping her from the final step and giving her a wet kiss to her head, “But first, grapes.”

MONTH EIGHT. The one where she gets cranky.

“Oh my god,” She groaned as she threw herself into her wheely chair, her button up shirt barely accommodating her stomach that was well and truly ready to pop.

Derek Morgan loved her, he truly loved her like she was one of his sisters, dare say he had loved her since that day he’d carried her out of the church she was held hostage in by Cyrus. He had seen her at her rock bottom, had seen her graduate with flying colours, had even put his job on the line for her; covered her back from a stupid mistake at a bar when she popped a little molly on government pay.

Derek loved her. He did. But the moment he saw her slump into her chair, her face scrunched up in frustration, he was collecting his mug of coffee and all but bolting for the door and heading straight for Penelope’s lair.

“Back pain again?” JJ asked, flitting past a very frantic Morgan and heading towards Rossi’s office with a stack of papers in her arms. Bugsy let out something close to a growl in return, and JJ took it as a yes.

“I swear I have been pregnant for years,” She huffed, barely reaching over to where her keyboard sat at her desk. Tara nudged it forward for her to grab, because it seemed like she was on her breaking point enough as it was, and received a brief nod of thanks “I can’t remember a time when my back didn’t hurt, or my boobs were aching or my head wasn’t all fuzzy and weird and- OH for the love of god SWITCH ON YOU PIECE OF SHIT,”

JJ’s brows raised as the keyboard mouse went flying off the side of her desk in protest, rolling straight past where Hotch and Spencer were strolling through the office, her boyfriend carrying the biggest Strawberry Milkshake he could find on this side of town.

If Hotch wanted to say anything about her damaging property, he thought it smarter to keep his mouth shut as she swivelled to face the two of them, her expression already irritated by the worried stare they shot her way.

“What?” She said with a bite, and Spencer raised his hands in surrender, which left her gaze to slide to Hotch.

And Hotch loved her too, loved her more than he would ever admit. But he swore he the second her eyes clamped on his, Aaron Hotchner considered an exorcism might be necessary.

“What, what are you staring at me for?” She snapped, throwing her hands out like a bratty teenager, and Hotch cleared his throat before he spoke, something embarrassingly close to fear shaking his vocal chords.

“Have you given any more thought to maternity leave, yet?” He asked and her eye twitched, and it was as if he saw the stapler was next on her list of things to send flying off the table, preferably straight at his head. “I would be more than happy to pull some strings so you take longer off after the baby is born, maybe even Spencer could start his paternity early-”

“What?” She said for a third time, like she was a broken record. And she knew she was being unfair, perhaps even cruelly so. But she would make it up to them later, when she was in a better frame of mind. Her underwear rode up and pinched where her uterus had begun to drop, her trousers itched for whatever reason, her face was hot from just walking from the elevator to her chair and that was just since she’d entered the office. She hadn’t got much energy for showers anymore and so washing her hair became some ugly affair where Spencer got in with her and did it for her, only last time he put a little too much product on and got the suds in her eyes and they had spent twenty minutes rinsing her face, naked and dripping wet, over the sink. She felt awful, awful for how she was being so irrationally rude, but it was like every inch of her being was uncomfortable. And there was still another month to go.

“Good god, man, don’t poke the bear,” Tara hummed as she passed, taking her own half full mug to the kitchen to escape whatever was rumbling in that hot head of hers.

Hotch swallowed heavily, noticing how Spencer stayed deadly quiet no doubt because he’d learned his lesson in trying to force Bugsy into doing something when she was like this, “I’m saying I think it would be good for you to take some time off, you’ve both worked hard enough as it is and with the baby being so close, it would be good to take it easy for a few weeks-”

She pressed her lips together, because she knew he was probably trying to help, probably trying to be considerate, and yet the heat of annoyance bubbled up inside her all the same like a kettle on the precipice of boiling.

“If you want the big scary pregnant lady out of your way just spit it out, Hotch,” She snapped, scowling at him in a way he remembered Hailey doing when he so much as sneezed too loud.

And he couldn’t find it in him to be mad at her. Because anyone with eyes saw she was uncomfortable, he knew if she was anything like his own ex-wife then she wouldn’t be sleeping nearly as much as she should, that more than likely their kid would be already kicking with long, scrawny legs to get out and show the world what they were made of.

Hotch was saved from the firing line when his guess was proved almost immediately, and she groaned with a hand to her abdomen.

“Spencer, would you tell your kid they’re not a linebacker and that my kidneys aren’t the damn ball,” She complained, and her partner flashed her a brave smile, leaning over her to rub where she was caressing her battered organs.

“Actually, right about here will be your spleen since the baby has pushed everything around at this stage-” And with that Hotch darted towards his office because Bugsy looked ready to clip someone around the ear, and he didn’t have the heart to write her up for it.

Although for the sanctity of his team, he rushed her documents through the same afternoon and gave her an extra four weeks pay in lieu of a truce.

MONTH NINE. The one with the birth.

It had been fourteen hours already when the doctor mentioned the word caesarean.

“Caesarean? We never planned for a C-section,” Bugsy’s eyes widened where she was intermittently sucking down gas and air, Spencer patting her forehead down with an ice wet cloth.

But then again she supposed she had never planned to go into labour when getting the laundry off the washing line while Spence painted the porch.

He looked at her with nervous hazel hues where her face sparkled with sweat and water, her hand squeezing him tightly as another contraction hit.

“I’m afraid we have few options left, Miss Prentiss,” The midwife said, a woman around her age that was already masked up after prodding around her cervix for a few hours, “Fourteen hours is rough on anyone and we’re not seeing any movement past your pelvis. Any longer and you or your baby might be at risk,”

And it was the truth, but it was a harsh one, and tears sprung to her eyes hearing those last few words. She had never had any delusions it would be easy giving birth, it was revered as the most painful thing anyone could go through, but she had assumed on a hope and a prayer that things would go smoothly.

“I know it’s scary,” Spencer found his voice after a second, their hands clasped tightly together because there was more chance of snow in hell than there was he was letting her do this alone, “But, baby, you’re doing so well, and you’re almost there,” He said in a watery sweet tone, dabbing at her brow once more and the two of them exchanged a teary look, “It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, they’re going to numb you for the whole thing and when it’s over we’re going to have our baby, huh?”

She smiled ruefully because he was trying desperately to cheer her up, even though it sounded like he was reassuring himself just as much as he was her.

And she nodded, because she knew he was right, and more than anything she wanted their baby to be safe, even if it meant having her insides scooped out like she was some russian nesting doll.

“O-okay, yeah, c-can Spencer stay with me?” She asked nervously, and the midwife smiled, pressing a button to call for the anesthesiologist.

“Ofcourse, honey. Just try to relax, we’re going to arrange an epidural for you,” She said in a voice that told Bugsy she’d practised staying calm in an emergency a thousand times.

Bugsy breathed through her nose, feeling Spencer swoop in to wipe the lone few tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay,” He said, his voice bustling with nerves and she wanted to tell him the same, wanted to tell him she loved him more than ever for trying to put a brave face on for her sake. But she couldn’t, so she nodded frantically, leaning her forehead against his cheek and taking a few more deep breaths.

–

“You’re doing great, honey, you’re being so brave,” Spencer reassured in his biggest voice, his hand carding over the side of her hot face gently. There was blood, there was so much blood, and the sound of her monitor was the only sound that was constant and not at all worrying with its steady heart beat.

The midwives were flitting around the room, the lead obstetrician making careful incisions and handing various things Spencer didn’t want to see over to his co-workers. Because he loved their baby already, couldn’t wait to meet the mini him he’d been dreaming about since he was a boy himself, but Bugsy needed him first. She was his everything, his whole life, his whole universe fading between clear consciousness and a slightly loopy gaze as she relaxed on the table.

“Is it over? Are they here, are they okay?” She slurred, looking over at him where his hair was covered in a blue scrub cap, his entire body wrapped in protective uniform to minimise the risk of infection on her body.

He cradled her face again, shaking his head, “Not yet honey, you’re doing so good, it’s nearly over,” Spencer said, pressing his brow against hers because he had a mask over his mouth and couldn’t kiss her properly, “I love you so much, I swear I’ll try every day of my life to repay you,”

“You’re being mushy, you’re freaking me out,” She joked as if she was her regular self, because the midwives had all warned him that the sedatives would take the edge off her nerves. And he chuckled, even if he was worrying enough for the two of them, sniffling behind the stuffy mask he had to keep on until she was in recovery.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just want you to be okay,” Spencer said earnestly, and he pressed a kiss to her head anyway even if she wouldn’t feel it with his mask, “I’m gonna get you so many milkshakes when this is-”

There was a wail behind the curtain they had draped over her stomach, and both their breaths stopped in their chests.

“Is that…” Bugsy started, her eyes wide and alert even if seconds ago she had been almost drunk, “Is that it- is that them?”

And another scream resounded around the room as if to answer her.

Spencer swore he had never felt tears well in his eyes so fast until one of the midwives brought a wriggling, wrinkly bundle around the curtain, and within seconds he felt his cheeks sodden with tears.

“Oh my god,” He said his smile reaching his eyes as the little creature was put on Bugsy’s chest, and it was only then he realised she was weeping too and he resumed his position stroking her head, “It’s a-”

“It’s a girl! Spencer, we have a girl!” Bugsy’s grin went from ear to ear, her eyes round and adoring at the ugly, scrunched face still screaming at them, her eyes closed and her skin covered in a white goop, “Oh my god, she’s so beautiful,”

“I told you she’d take after you,” Spencer said, not minding the nurses sewing Bugsy up as they stared at their little girl, Bugsy’s arms holding her body weight delicately though she didn’t quite know what she was doing.

Spencer was quick to remove the mask once they cleared him to, and the second he was freed he pushed his lips to his girlfriend’s, their mouths equally as salty and sodden as one another with the way their cheeks washed with tears. Pulling away, he looked at her in the eyes, the same eyes he’d always loved, the same eyes he’d know in any life, in any world, in any fog, and their smiles were damn near blinding.

“I love you so much, I swear I’m going to make it up to you, anything you want,” Spencer said, kissing her again, his hand resting over hers where she held their baby girl on her bare chest.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she already had everything she’d ever wanted right there with her.

“I love you so much more, Spencer,” She said quietly, the two of them pulling away when the little girl squealed again and they chuckled, quickly rushing to calm her cries as they looked at her as if they had yet to realise she was real and she was theirs, “Oh my god Spencer, you’re a daddy,”

“Bugsy, you’re a mommy,” He said with raised brows and she gasped, giggling with glee as her free hand flew to grab his face and pull him in to kiss her again, “We’re a mommy and daddy,”

The two of them burst out laughing even though overjoyed tears lined their eyes again, and Spencer trailed a large finger down her chubby cheek softly, her skin shrivelled and pruney like she’d been submerged in a bath for too long.

“Spencer, she’s perfect,” She said after a moment, her breath completely stolen when she took her in, the small head completely covered in dark hair, which she had already suspected would be there from the amount of times she found herself itching at her stomach. Her tiny fists waved in the air as her sobs subsided, beginning to warm up to the skin on Bugsy’s chest, and Spencer audibly choked in a cry of his own when her eyelids slowly blinked open and revealed forest hues damn near identical to his own. He pushed his temple to Bugsy’s again as she carefully swayed her from side to side.

“I’m never going to let anything hurt you,” He murmured, his breath warm on her collarbone and his baby girl stared back at him like she understood, even though he knew that was pretty much impossible, “Either of you,”

Bugsy sniffled with a wobbly smile, her hands shaking as she held her daughter up, “Do you want to hold her?”

Spencer looked ready to wail all over again, not that she would ever hold it against him. The two of them had been weeping all day, and their kid was a real tear jerker to look at with her thick lashes and wide eyes.

He was quick to pop open his shirt, holding his hands out nervously as she placed the baby in his arms, his fingers supporting under her head the whole time he brought her to his chest.

Bugsy smiled, the midwife checking in with her for a moment before they were ready to wheel her into the other room to rest up, while Spencer looked entirely enamoured with the little bundle in his arms.

He was a dad. He had made this beautiful, perfect little girl with the woman he loved more than anything in the world, and somehow she had given him even more reasons to feel so lucky.

“Hello, you,” He said through bleary eyes, smiling through a chuckle when he saw just how tiny she looked in his arms, and he had never seen anything look so fragile, “I’m going to try be the best dad you could ever have, okay? I’m gonna be there for all the lame parties, and the sleepovers and the big games and every single time you need help on your homework, I’m gonna be right there with you.”

“What name are we putting on the chart?” The midwife asked as Bugsy watched Spencer murmur to the sweet face that looked up at him in wonder, “Or is it just Baby Girl Prentiss for the moment?”

“It’s Reid,” Bugsy said with a smile, as Spencer poured even more of his gentle heart out in promises she knew he would keep until the day he died. And she knew without checking with him the name they chose weeks ago was perfect; the one they’d decided on just a few days after the nursery was finished and she had yet another bowl of frozen grapes to chow down on while they admired their work.

One for his mother, one for Emily.

“Ana Emilia Reid,”

–

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