#yes he’s a conservative if you couldn’t tell

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[sidekick-hero]

In Loving Memory

Written for @steddieangstyaugust Day 4, prompt: Angst with Happy Ending

Tags: Modern AU, rockstar Eddie, plane crash, HAPPY ENDING, minor character death

words: 3.3k | AO3 | mature

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington. My name is Elizabeth Quinn, and I’m part of the cabin crew today. Thank you for choosing to fly with us. I hope you're enjoying your flight so far.”

Steve looks up at the owner of the soft voice to his right. It’s a young woman in a stewardess uniform with big brown eyes that instantly remind him of Eddie.

“Oh, hello. Uhm, yes, everything is fine, thank you.”

The stewardess smiles warmly. “I'm glad to hear that, sir. I wanted to discuss a situation we’re currently facing. As you may know, flights can sometimes be overbooked, and today we have a few more passengers than seats available in first class. We’re looking for a volunteer to move to another section of the plane. In exchange, we’re offering a significant compensation package, including a voucher for a future flight, a complimentary upgrade on your next trip, and a gift card for our in-flight shopping.”

She looks apologetic, and he can tell she hates asking him this. It’s not a particularly long flight, and he mostly booked first class because that’s what his father’s secretary always did for him the few times his parents had him fly to wherever they were. So giving up his seat for a four-hour flight doesn’t seem too bad.

“Yes, I can move to another section of the plane. That’s okay,” he tells the stewardess and is rewarded with a bright, genuine smile adorned with dimples. Another thing that reminds him of Eddie. He pushes the ache in his chest down and returns the friendly smile with one of his own.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Mr. Harrington. If you have any specific preferences or questions, please let me know. Your understanding and cooperation greatly help us ensure everyone has a comfortable flight.”

With that, she leads him to another part of the plane, presumably Economy class.

“This one right here, Mr. Harrington. It has extra legroom and is situated next to an emergency exit. I will make sure you have a pleasant flight with us. You can call me with the call button or find me at the front or back of the plane.”

Steve nods with another smile that falls as soon as she walks away to prepare for takeoff. His thoughts wander back to the reason he’s on a flight to LA today.

Eddie.

He still wonders if this is a good idea. When he bought the ticket to LA, he was sure of it. The panic that had constricted his throat had lessened as soon as he pulled up the website of the airline and he felt like he could breathe again for the first time when he got the confirmation mail.

It’s a long shot, he knows that. Surprising Eddie in LA after everything that happened but he hopes it’s a grand enough gesture that maybe Eddie will forget how much Steve has hurt him. Robin suggested to just call Eddie and apologize, explain to him why Steve was so reluctant to take the next step with him.

The truth is, Steve doesn’t think he could handle it when Eddie didn’t pick up the phone or just hangs up on him before he can say his piece. If Eddie decides that it’s too much for him, that Steve’s too much, too damaged, then be it. But he needs to see Eddie one last time, drink in those beloved doe eyes one more time.

Steve thinks about why he and Eddie fought the last time they saw each other. Growing up in a very conservative household, Steve always suspected he might like men as well as women, but he denied any attraction toward men because of what his parents might say. He knew they wouldn’t accept him.

He was 31 when he walked into a bar in Chicago with his best friend Robin and locked eyes with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Eddie was the first man he ever kissed, ever slept with. He couldn’t help himself, not when Eddie flirted with him, wooed him, and made him laugh with his whole body. Steve always assumed what they had was strictly physical, just some fun between two single guys.

But Eddie wanted more than that. He wanted a relationship with Steve.

Eddie had asked Steve to be his date on the red carpet in LA for the Grammy Awards. Eddie was actually nominated with his band, Corroded Coffin, and he wanted to show the world who he loved. But Steve was scared. Everybody would know he was in a relationship with another man. So he declined, and Eddie left Steve’s apartment heartbroken.

Steve can still see the look on Eddie’s face, the hurt in his eyes. It had shattered something inside him, but his fear was stronger. He had watched Eddie walk away, the love of his life slipping through his fingers because he was too afraid to hold on.

Steve’s thoughts are interrupted by the plane's PA system crackling to life, announcing their imminent takeoff. He leans back in his seat, staring out the window as the plane begins to taxi down the runway. The memory of Eddie's face, the pain in his eyes, is as vivid as ever.

He had tried to justify his fear, telling himself it was about protecting Eddie, about not wanting to put him through the scrutiny and judgment that would come from being seen with another man. But deep down, Steve knew it was about protecting himself. He was scared of what his parents would think, what the world would think.

As the plane ascends, Steve closes his eyes, replaying that last conversation with Eddie in his mind.

"Steve, I love you. I want us to be together, really together," Eddie had said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I want you by my side at the Grammys. I want to show the world who I love."

Steve had felt his heart pound in his chest, a mix of fear and longing. "Eddie, I can't. You know how my parents are, how everyone will react. It's not that simple."

Eddie's eyes had filled with tears. "It is that simple, Steve. Either you love me enough to be with me, openly and proudly, or you don’t. I can’t keep hiding us. I can't keep hiding you."

Steve had stood there, silent and conflicted, as Eddie walked out the door. The sound of the door closing behind him had felt like the end of everything.

The plane levels off, and Steve opens his eyes, blinking back tears. He knows this trip to LA is a long shot, but he has to try. He has to make Eddie understand how much he means to him.

Steve takes a deep breath and pulls out his phone, opening the notes app. He starts typing, trying to find the right words to say when he sees Eddie.

The flight attendants come by with the beverage cart, and Steve looks up to see Elizabeth smiling at him. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Harrington?”

“Just some water, please,” Steve says, returning her smile.

As she hands him the bottle of water, she says softly, “It looks like you have a lot on your mind, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Steve looks up at her as he accepts the cup of water and finds that he actually wants to talk with someone about what he’s about to do. He needs someone to tell him that it’s going to work out.

“I do. I’m on my way to win back the man I’m in love with.”

There, he said it. He admitted that he was in love with another man and now he’s fighting the urge to hide, scared of her reaction. But he holds her gaze, heart pounding in his chest.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes softening, “that explains the look on your face. I think you’re very brave, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve takes a moment, contemplating how much to share. But he feels a strange sense of comfort in Elizabeth’s kind eyes.

“His name is Eddie,” Steve begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met. He’s kind, talented, and makes me laugh like no one else can. But I let my fear ruin everything between us.”

Elizabeth listens intently, her expression encouraging him to continue.

“We fought because he wanted us to go public, to be together openly. He wanted me to go with him to the Grammys, to be his date. But I was too scared of what my parents would think, what people would say. So, I said no. And he left,” Steve explains, his voice cracking.

Elizabeth nods, understanding in her eyes. “That sounds really hard, Steve. But it also sounds like you care a lot about him.”

“I do,” Steve says, his eyes filling with tears. “I love him more than anything. That’s why I’m going to LA. I need to tell him how sorry I am and that I’m ready to be with him, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

Elizabeth places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It takes a lot of courage to admit when you’re wrong and to fight for what you love. Eddie is a very lucky man to be loved so much by you, Steve. I hope he sees that.”

Steve smiles, feeling a bit lighter. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I really hope he does.”

Elizabeth gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving on to the next passenger. Steve watches her go, feeling a much needed sense of hope. He’s made mistakes, let fear dictate his actions, but he’s ready to make things right.

About two hours into the flight, Steve decides to stretch his legs and walks up and down the narrow aisle. He passes families with little kids, an elderly couple working on a crossword puzzle together, and two young women chatting and laughing. It’s fascinating to see so many different lives intersecting in one place.

On his fifth lap, Elizabeth appears next to him, gently touching his arm.

“Steve, could you please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt?”

He looks at her, puzzled. “But the seatbelt signs are still off.”

“That’s true, but from experience, I know the signs could come on any minute. I just wanted to give you a heads-up before the aisle gets too crowded with everyone returning to their seats.”

Steve nods, appreciating the heads-up. “Thanks for letting me know.” He heads back to his seat.

As Steve settles in and fastens his seatbelt, the plane suddenly lurches violently. The cabin shakes with a gut-wrenching turbulence, hurling passengers and their belongings through the air. Panic erupts as screams fill the cabin, and Steve clings to his seat, trying to stay calm amid the chaos.

Elizabeth dashes down the aisle, her face pale and eyes wide. She spots Steve and rushes over, her voice barely audible over the cacophony. “Steve! Call Eddie! Now!”

Heart pounding, Steve scrambles for his phone. His hands tremble uncontrollably as he dials Eddie’s number. The turbulence makes it nearly impossible to hold the phone steady, but he manages to keep a grip.

The call connects, and Eddie’s voice comes through, thick with confusion and worry. “Steve?” He asks and then he must hear the chaos in the background because he immediately adds, “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice cracks as he fights back tears. “I’m so sorry. I should have been braver. I should have been all in. I’m on this plane, and it’s really bad. I wanted to come to LA to talk to you. I wish I could have done all this in person. I wish I could kiss you one last time.”

Eddie’s voice trembles with desperation. “Steve, what’s happening? Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Steve’s eyes dart around the cabin, the plane shaking violently as alarms blare and panicked voices rise. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t want this to be a goodbye, but I think it might be. I needed to tell you how much I regret being so scared, and I’m sorry for hurting you. I love you, Eddie. I should’ve told you when I had the chance.”

The turbulence worsens, and the plane begins a terrifying descent. The noise in the background grows louder and more intense. Eddie’s voice, filled with panic, tries to reach him. “Steve, stay with me! Please!”

But as the plane’s descent becomes more violent, the call goes eerily silent. Steve’s heart pounds in his chest as the only sound now is the relentless, chilling dial tone. Tears stream down his face as he grips the phone tightly.

Elizabeth returns to Steve’s side, her eyes filled with kindness and urgency. She places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hold on, Steve. It’s going to be okay, but I need you to fight. For Eddie, okay?”

Steve nods, trying to steady himself amidst the chaos. He closes his eyes, focusing on Eddie’s voice and the love they shared, holding onto the hope that somehow, somehow, he’ll get another chance.

The last thing he hears is the deafening roar of something massive hitting the ground way too fast.

When Steve opens his eyes, he’s immediately overwhelmed by blinding light and searing pain. He groans, wishing for unconsciousness to take him away again so the agony would stop.

“Steve?”

The sound of Eddie’s voice pulls him from the sweet embrace of nothingness. The panic in Eddie’s voice is palpable, as if he’s on the verge of breaking down.

“’ddie?” Steve mumbles, his mouth feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton and his tongue heavy.

“Yes, I’m here, Stevie. I’m here.” Suddenly, Eddie’s beloved face appears above him, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “Hi, baby.”

Steve manages a smile, the pain momentarily overshadowed by the sight of Eddie’s face. How he’s missed those eyes.

The thought brings Elizabeth back to his mind, the stewardess with the same eyes. Reality crashes back, and Steve gasps with the sudden realization that he should be dead.

“What… happened?” he croaks, his voice barely audible as his strength begins to wane.

“I promise I’ll explain everything, Stevie, but first we need to get your strength back. I’ll let the nurse know you’re awake.” Eddie reaches for the call button next to Steve but stops to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was terrified of losing you.”

That’s the last thing Steve hears before darkness pulls him under once more.

The next time Steve wakes up, he feels a bit better. The pain is still there, but it’s dulled by the medication, making it manageable. He’s strong enough to talk more than just a few minutes, and he uses that strength to repeat to Eddie what he had said on the phone during the crash.

Eddie is holding Steve’s hand between his, his tear-streaked cheek resting gently on the back of Steve’s hand. His eyes are still red and puffy, but he speaks with a steady voice that is thick with emotion. “Steve, I could never just walk away from you. I knew you weren’t ready, even though it hurt. I planned to talk to you when I got back to Chicago, to tell you that I would wait for you, as long as I wouldn’t lose you. But when you called and I heard all that screaming… Fuck! I can’t even think about it without wanting to throw up. The crash was bad—most of the front was completely destroyed. It’s a miracle you survived.”

Steve blinks, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. “How… How did I survive?”

Eddie’s gaze is intense as he searches Steve’s eyes. “From what they told me, you were supposed to be seated in the front, but you weren’t. No one could explain why. Your seat was right next to the emergency exit, so they got you out quickly. And you had your seatbelt fastened, which probably kept you from being thrown around too much. It’s almost like fate that you survived. Only twenty-three people made it.”

Steve’s eyes widen as he absorbs Eddie’s words. The thought weighs heavily on his chest: If it hadn’t been for Elizabeth’s warning, he might not have been so lucky. He’s sure she’s the reason he’s still here.

A flicker of concern crosses Steve’s face. “Elizabeth… she was a stewardess on the flight. She moved me to this seat, told me that first class was overbooked and asked if I’d be willing to switch. And she also made sure I fastened my seatbelt just before we started going down.”

Eddie’s eyes grow wide with shock. “But… they said on the news that casualties were below a hundred because first class wasn’t as full as usual. They said no one in that section survived.”

Steve’s heart pounds as he starts to realize the gravity of Elizabeth’s actions. “I need to find out if she survived, Eddie. She saved my life, and I need to thank her.”

Eddie’s eyes brighten with resolve. “We can do that, Stevie. I need to thank this woman, who saved the man I love. What’s her name? I’ll get Chrissy on it—she’ll find out in no time.”

Feeling his love for Eddie surge, Steve lets it overflow for the first time without restraint. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

They share a long, tender look, like lovesick teenagers, before Steve remembers Eddie’s question. “Her name is Elizabeth Quinn.”

Eddie’s expression changes abruptly. All color drains from his face.

“What did you say her name is?”

“Elizabeth Quinn. Why, do you know her?”

Ignoring the question, Eddie asks, “What did she look like?”

Steve describes Elizabeth, including her big brown eyes that reminded him of Eddie’s—one reason he bonded with her almost instantly.

As Steve finishes, Eddie looks even paler. Wordlessly, he pulls out his phone, navigates to an article from the airline, and hands it to Steve. The headline reads: “Airline Grieves Loss of Crew Members on Flight 731.” The article features a picture of a stewardess who looks just like Elizabeth. Her name is listed below the photo: Elizabeth Quinn.

Steve’s heart sinks as he reads the name. “That’s her. Elizabeth Quinn.”

Eddie’s voice trembles as he looks at Steve. “Elizabeth Quinn was my mom. She was a stewardess, and she died in a plane crash when I was eight.”

Steve’s eyes widen in shock. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. I had no idea.”

Eddie’s eyes are glassy as he looks at Steve. “She was the best person I knew. She loved her job and loved helping people. And now it seems she came back to help two more people: me and you.”

Steve reaches out weakly, placing a hand on Eddie’s. “I wish I could have thanked her in person. But I did tell her about you—how funny, smart, and amazing you are. How much I love you. And I should have known, because you look just like her. The same kind eyes and dimples when you smile.”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand, his voice breaking. “I’m glad you got to meet her. God, this is so crazy. I was so angry for so long that she left me. I know it’s unfair, but that’s how I felt. I miss her so much.”

“She knew you loved her. She made sure you wouldn’t lose another person you love, because she loves you too. Even if she’s no longer here, she’s still watching over you.”

“Over us, you mean. I’m pretty sure this means you’re part of the family now.”

Eddie still asks Chrissy to check the airline's list for Steve’s savior. He’s not surprised when Chrissy reports that there was no Elizabeth Quinn on that flight.

[luckieduckiie]

Daddy & Duke | d. dennis & chrisnxtdoor

in which Chris asks Duke to watch yall & he does…

Duke wasn’t a conservative guy by any means, everyone knew that, but nothing could have prepared him for the request which Chris had just asked of him.

“Man what?” Duke asked again, unsure if he had heard what his friend really said.

“Bro, I’m for real man. She said it was something she has always wanted and you’re the only guy I know mature enough not to go run they mouth about it or make shit weird,” Chris stated matter of factly.

Duke scratched his head through his beaning, “So you are asking me to sit and watch you and your girl fuck?”

“Yeah nigga, she says the thought of that shit turn her on.” Chris stated.

“Man, that’s some crazy shit. Did she say she wanted it to be me that watched yall?” He quizzed.

“No, actually she said she didn’t want it to be anyone from AMP at all since she aint met yall yet and she don’t want the first impression she makes to be one like that.” Chris sighed. “But Duke you a handsome guy man so who else better. No homo though nigga.”

Duke just stared at the man across from him for a moment digesting what was just said. “Nigga what?”

“Man yes or no, fuck you making shit difficult.” Chris said slightly annoyed and before Duke could think about what he was nodding his head in agreement.

“Bet, ima drop you a lo tonight around 9 ish. Ima take her to dinner and ill leave the key underneath the mat just go in to the bedroom and wait ight.” Chris said excitedly.

“Ight man, fuck.” Duke agreed standing up.

“Real shit, thank you man. I knew I could count on you.” Chris said standing up and pulling Duke into a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” Duke said hugging the other man back.

With a smile Chris pulled away and walked out of the older mans room leaving only him and his thoughts together.

→

Go inna bathroom we finna be in

Duke stared at the text as he sat on the blue bed. When he had got the location from Chris he had just woken up from a nap and had to hurry to shower and get dressed and drive to the apartment. He was scared that there would be someone else in it but he was glad to see that the only other occupant was a small dog.

He pushed himself up off of the edge of the bed and entered the bathroom. Just as he did he heard the front door click open and a string of giggles coming from who he could only presume was you.

“Chris, what the fuck did you do?” He heard you say still giggling as you two got close to the door.

“Nothing, just keep yo eyes closed ok.” He heard his friend say as the bedroom door creaked open.

“Fine.” He heard you huff as you sat on the bed.

“Ok ima just put this on you so I know you aint gone peek ok baby.” Chris said.

“Alright.” You giggled.

A few moments passed and soon the door opened to expose Duke standing in the bathroom grinning ear to ear.

‘Sit right there’ Chris mouthed pointed to the grey velvet chair in the front of the room. Duke gave him a thumbs up and slowly walked to the chair careful not to make any noise, a certain anxious feeling making its way into his stomach- excitement disguised as anxiety really.

“Ok babygirl don’t take off your blind fold until I tell you ok.” Chris said creeping closer to you.

“Ok daddy.” You said voice quieter than before Duke noted mentally. He could finally get a good look at you for the first time too and he wanted to congratulate Chris, he did good. He could tell you were tiny, at least in comparison to the two of them just by the way your feet dangled as you sat on the edge of the bed. He could also see your thick thighs as they were on display by your shorts, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. You looked good and honestly if you weren’t with Chris he would try to make you one of his.

Chris sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap positioning his dick right in the crevasse of your ass and your back to his chest. “You ready love.” He whispered in your ear before peppering kissing along your neck. His eyes locked with his friends for a moment before they started looking back at you.

You only moan in response tilting your head back and arching your back a little pushing your ass into his dick even more. Duke drinks up the sight, shifting in his seat as he sees his friends hand slide in your shorts and begin massaging your pussy.

“Daddy take them off please.” You beg spreading your legs apart to give him better access.

Chris silently obliges and swiftly removes them leaving you only in a gray thong. Dukes breath hitched as he say the wet spot right on your pearl. He shifted his hips up and legs apart as he began to feel himself hardening at the sight. It was so lewd, but so sexy.

He watched as Chris’ long digits began to rub circles right in the wet spot and the fabric sank within your folds- his lips still nipping at your neck all the while.

“Daddy, stop teasing me.” You whined, hands gripping his wrists.

“Tell me what you want mama, use your words.” He murmured into your neck, large hands rising to grip at your breast.

“Fuck me, eat me, anything.” You say breathlessly.

Chris smirks as he begins to tug the end of the fitted top you had on slipping it over your head, careful not to pull the mask off along with it exposing your breast. Duke took a sharp breath at the sight feeling himself becoming harder by the moment.

“You want daddy to fuck you baby?” Chris asked lowly in your ear his own length nudging at your ass.

“Yes please.” You pleaded, pussy throbbing as he was still rubbing slow circles through your underwear.

Wordlessly Chris lifts you from his lap just to slip his shorts down to release his dick and you can now feel it against your ass. He slides your panties to the side finally exposing your slick, aching pussy. Duke becomes restless at the sight and feels like this surprise for you is somehow punishment for him. He wants to glide his fingers through your folds and watch as you lick your juices off of them, but he is imprisoned to the chair in front of you.

Chris rubs himself through your folds basking in the slickness of your clit coating his tip before he finally positions himself with your entrance and slowly lowers your down onto him. Your breath hitching as he finally fully gets to a halt, the entire length buried inside of your wetness.

“Fuck.” The younger man mutters closing his eyes briefly to bask in the bliss.

At these words you slowly begin to grind on him and Dukes eyes become transfixed on your breast that bounce during this motion. He can’t help as his hand goes down to palm himself through the sweats. Chris notices this and grins. He grabs your hips and begins thrusting into you.

“Ah fuck, daddy.” You cry out, reaching back to find his body.

“ You like that baby?” Chris questions.

“I love it daddy!” You cry out.

As the words spill out of your mouth Chris without a second thought reaches up and takes off the fabric that was covering your eyes. As your eyes adjust to your renewed sense, you immediately lock eyes with the man in front of you and gasp.

“You like it huh baby, this what you wanted aint it?” Chris is the one to speak first and honestly it is turning him on too. He never expected that having one of his closest friends or anyone for that matter watching him in such an intimate setting as this would give him this kind of thrill, but it did. He wanted to bend you over and offer Duke your mouth as a sign of gratitude, but this was more than enough for the moment.

Your mouth is open, but words aren’t able to come out as you stare at the man in front of you. His lips were slightly parted as his hand gripped his own length through his sweatpants, and you were able to see the diamonds that were in his mouth. His high cheekbones and chocolate skin were illuminated perfectly in the lighting from the room, and you couldn’t deny that he was handsome.

Chris hand gripping your throat bought you back to reality and you let out a loud cry as he pulled you into the bed and pushed your head down into the blanket. Duke breathed heavily as he spotted thesmall cherry tattoo on your right cheek and snaked his hand underneath his waistband pulling himself out.

“Answer me baby.” Chris says again, snaking a hand around your neck “Aint this what you wanted.”

“Y-yes, this is what I wanted daddy.” You moan, as he slams into you.

“What you supposed to say? “He growls voice low.

“Thank you.” You say your voice barely above a whisper.

“I cant fucking hear you baby, what you say?” He asks again hips snapping into yours, sending ripples throughout your ass.

“I said thank you daddy.” You cry as you grip the sheets in attempts to brace yourself as he continues to assault your cunt.

“And what you wanna say to Duke?”

The older of the two perks up as he hears his friend finally mention his name.

Your eyes low and full of need bore into his tight ones and you moan. “T-thank you Duke.” You moan out.

Dukes tempo increases as he continues to stroke himself and for the first time since he has been here he spoke, voice low and full of lust, “Ya welcome gorgeous.”

Chris continues his assault of you and Duke continues to watch, transfixed on the sight in front of him and unable to take his eyes away even if that was what he desired. He wanted you, and in some small part of his mind he wanted to be with yall. He wanted to add to this dynamic of dominance and create his own role in your life. He wanted to see you underneath him just as you were with Chris, he wanted to be the one to taste you on his lips, to kiss you, to squeeze you. He wanted you more than anything right now, but Chris. He had the upmost respect for his friend, afterall if not for him he would have not been able to witness you and all your glory.

“You hear that baby,” Chris voice broke him away from his thoughts, “He said youre gorgeous. He thinks you look gorgeous like this- ass up, pussy full of my dick”

Duke now took a little time to admire his friend, and he was beyond surprised. He never took Chris as one to be this vocal ever, but here it seemed as though he was the shining star, leading you with his words and actions and everything that you did was as an extension of him.

“Y-yes daddy, I heard him” You whine, “Thank you Duke.”

Duke cant help but float at how effortlessly his name tumbles from your lips.

“You gone be a good girl and squirt for daddy and Duke?” Chris says feeling his climax nearing, and reaching his arm around and fingers beginning to massage your clit.

You cant help the loud whines that escape your mouth as he stimulates your center eyes locked on the man in front of you stroking himself vigorously to the tempo of you and Chris, lip between his glistening teeth.

“Yeah that’s it baby I feel it squirt on daddy dick and show Duke what a good girl you are.” Chris grunts his breath getting quicker as he feels himself closer and closer to his release.

Your body goes limp and a mixture of cries and huffs escape your mouth as you feel the man behind you pull out and attaches his mouth to your clit sucking as you squirt all over his face. He only stops when you go limp and fall onto the bed to reinsert his dick and pound you like a madman chasing his own climax.

Your eyes shoot to Dukes as you hear a struggled grunt escape his mouth as his hand and hoodie become painted with white stripes.

“Fuck.” You hear Chris cry as you feel his dick twitch within your walls and his warm cum fills your insides. His strokes are small as he fucks you through his release. Once he’s done he collapses onto your side, arm on your ass as he rubs circles into it.

Exhaustion washes over you like a tide and you feel your eyes become low and your mind clouded. Chris takes a few moment to catch his breath before sliding off the bed and walking in the bathroom taking a quick look at his friend as he did so.

“Hey, ima run her a bath if you wanna wait till I get her in I can get a rag and some of my sweatpants.” He offers his friend.

“Type shit, preciate it.” Duke agrees grateful.

As Chris begins to walk off he looks back at the older of the pair and grins, “That shit was good wasn’t it, I was killing her shit.”

Duke cant help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Hell yeah nigga you did yo shit.”

“On God nigga but say next time you gotta join that shit had her ass wet as fuck.”

Duke couldn’t help but smile “Type shit, next time.”

yall like it?? i felt like i finally got back in my element lmk what yall think!

[femscottlang]

S & M

Part Two

Aaron Hotchner X Fem! Reader

Summary: The new BAU agent has been very reserved. You rejected the offer to go out with the team on a friday, already promising your friends you’d go out with them. Turns out you all ended up in the same club and Hotch sees a completely different side of you

Warnings: 18+, suggestive language, drinking

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This is completely inspired by the song S&M by Rhianna and fleabag, I hope u enjoy the reference

my suggestions are open !

Sitting at your desk, finishing up the last bit of the paperwork that you had to get done today, Emily approached you and leaned against the side of your desk. “Hey, the whole team is going out tonight, you in?” she asked, giving a kind smile. The team hasn’t pushed you to open up yet, giving you time to understand the different dynamics and where you fit in. You enjoy the team's company, but getting drunk around them before you're able to have a non-work related conversation with them that isn’t small talk sounds like your worst nightmare.

Especially being drunk around your very stoic, extremely attractive boss. You gave her an apologetic smile “I promise my girlfriends I’d go out with them tonight, but next time it's a yes” you said

She nodded and pushed herself back onto her feet “Im holding you to that, newbie” she said, giving you a wink before walking over to morgan shaking her head to tell him that you said no. you let out a sigh and stretched your arms above your head, shutting off your computer and packing up your briefcase. You waved goodbye “have fun guys!” you said before making your way to your apartment

You traded your conservative turtleneck, slacks, and courthouse heels for a tight backless mini dress and black stiletto pumps. You took out the low bun and shook your head before looking in the mirror and deciding it looked fine after running a brush through it. You looked in the mirror with a smile on your face.

This was the first time you got to go out and destress since joining the team 6 months ago and it was desperately needed, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what hotch would be like drunk. Relaxed? never. You thought about the rare moments that he smiles and lets his dry humor shine.

Now you kinda wish you went so you could see what he would do. Maybe he’d wear that quarter-zip he wore in Alaska. Maybe a tight polo, or even better, a tight button-up without a tie, sleeves rolled up to show his arms. You bit your lip to hold back a smile and shook the thought out of your head, slapping your cheeks as you heard your friends knock on your door.

After pregaming at your place, you and two of your friends took an uber to a club you had never heard of before, but the girls hyped it up so you gave in and agreed to go. “I'm so glad we got you to go out. We thought we would never see you again” one of them said, dramatically leaning against you in the cramped backseat.

You scoffed and pushed her back up giggling “I work at the FBI, your office is like ten minutes from HQ,” you said “still” she pouted before you put a hand over her face “This is the first time I’ve even been home on a Friday night and haven't been completely exhausted! So stop complaining and let's have fun,” you said 

The three of you walked in, immediately heading to the bar and ordering a round of shots after deciding that you needed a little bit more liquid courage before hitting the dance floor. Scrunching your face and letting out a huff, you relaxed and let the heat spread from the apples of your cheeks to the tips of your ears and down the rest of your body.

You closed your eyes, trying not to cringe at the taste as you were grabbed and dragged out to the crowded dance floor as S & M by Rhianna came on over the speakers. 

You grinned, swaying along to the music and running your hands over your body, glaring at the guys who dared to try and approach you. You lost interest in one-night stands a while ago, knowing you just get too attached too quickly.

“I might be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it, sex in the air I don't care I love the smell of it” you and your girls sang to each other, grinning. One of them spun you around as she did you made eye contact with the last person you expected to see, Aaron Hotchner.

“sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me” Once you were able to drag your eyes away from his you saw the whole team looking at you with amused smiles. Your eyes went wide like a deer in headlights, your stomach dropping “oh no.” you turned back around immediately, suddenly feeling sober

“Okay don't look at the same time but my entire team is here. Like. everyone.” you said as their heads both snapped to your team, “I said not at the same time!” you hissed, putting your hands on your face “This is my literal worst nightmare. We gotta go to a different club, they cannot see me drunk,” you said, pacing in your small space of the dance floor

“is that the boss that you were talking about? I understand why you have a crush on him” you looked at her with wide-eyed “shush! I told you that in confidence!” 

“Whos the one with the long hair and the sweater vest? Can you introduce me?” the other said. That pulled a laugh out of you

“Dr. Spencer Reid. and absolutely not keep your paws off my colleagues, you minx” you joked before looking at them again, seeing them smile at you and whisper to each other.

“Stay here, I'm gonna close our tab,” you said, walking back towards the bar. The worst part was that Hotch was wearing a tighter button-down with no tie, switching his usual white one for black. No one should look that good. It's unfair to the other guys at the club.

Aaron wasn’t keen on the idea of being in a club, claiming he was too old for it, but Jessica had Jack for the weekend and he didn't want to go back to an empty apartment right away. He sipped on his second neat bourbon of the night, knowing that the rest of the team would be drinking more and he’d have to make sure none of them did anything too stupid.

“Oh my god.” He heard Penelope screech “Look! Newbie!” she said, pointing at you on the floor. Hotch followed her finger and watched you move to the music completely relaxed and smiling, a complete 180 of your usual professional rigidness and tightlipped smile. His lips parted as he watched you, not looking away once you met his eye. His ears burned as you sang along to the suggestive lyrics. He coughed and looked away, finishing off his drink and getting up to get another silently. 

You stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish making his drinks as you reached in your bra for your card, tapping it against the counter to the beat of the music. You looked back at your friends to make sure nothing happened to them and they looked at you with shit-eating grins, pointing behind you.

You gave them a confused look before you looked to your right, seeing Hotch inches away from you. He waved over the bartender and you prayed that he didn’t see you standing there. “I'll get another bourbon neat and” he looked at you “what would you like?” he gave a small smile.

A rare sight that sent shivers down your spine as you pulled down the short hem of your dress to try to appear a little more modest.

 “Oh no worries, Sir, I-I was just going to close my tab.” you explained, reaching over to hand your card to the bartender, he grabbed your wrist and put on back against your chest “you don't have to leave because we’re here. You deserve to relax with your friends.” You looked down at his large hand wrapped around your wrist and trailed your eyes from his hand to his rolled up sleeves displaying his veiny arms and across his chest, the shirt emphasizing his physique with the first few buttons left undone. Your breathing sped up as you finally made eye contact with him again. 

Give it to me strong, meet me in my boudoir make my body say-

“Alright, uh I'll just take a whiskey ginger,” you said, finally breaking eye contact, he nodded at the bartender, who just set down hotch’s bourbon. He released your wrist  “and a whiskey ginger for the lady” he gave him a curt smile and picked up his drink.

"you look nice with your hair down, you should wear it that way more often.” he said, his eyes looking over your figure in a way that you'd never seen him do before as he brought his drink to his lips. You reached up and touched your hair, looking down at it “Thank you, sir” you said, twirling a strand around her finger in a nervous manner 

He scoffed and shook his head “oh fuck you calling me Sir like it doesn't turn you on just to say it.” he chuckled. You let your mouth fall open, the corners of your mouth turning up as you looked at the team and then your friends to see if they are watching what was happening. The only person seemed to be Rossi, who gave you a thumbs up which only added to your confusion.

"Sir, how much have you had tonight?” you asked, nodding a thank you to the bartender as you picked up your drink. You held the straw and took a sip, not breaking eye contact with him. 

He looked away, sucking in his bottom lip to stifle a smile “I see the way you look at me. Cmon. we’re all profilers” you studied his face for a second to see if there was even an ounce of anger.

There wasn’t.

“I thought we didn’t profile each other.” you said, smirking at him. He leaned against the counter, his forearms holding him up “We always profile the Newbies a little bit. You’re lucky no one else has caught on. You’re not exactly subtle.” he said, looking up at the ceiling.

You leaned in closer “And? Go ahead. Profile me. Tell me how I look at you.” you taunted.

He looked back at you, his eyelids hooded. “It's not how you look at me. It's what you look at. I see you looking at my arms. Especially when I am not wearing a blazer. I would have assumed you just didn’t to make eye contact because of my position of authority but you have no problem looking Rossi in the eye. Then I thought maybe you just like strong arms, but you rarely look at Morgan’s, whose arms are bigger than mine.” he said, leaning in closer, his face inches from yours.

“Everyone else calls me Hotch but you only call me sir.” you ran your tongue over your teeth and titled your head, feigning innocence “So?” you said, tilting your head.

“Doll, you’re smart enough to piece it together,” he said, not daring to move any closer. 

“What are you gonna do about it, sir ?”

[its-all-papaya]

Can I hear more about your clingy landoscar idea pls 🧡

Yes!! Bonus snippet!! RICHES!! (I couldn’t decide which to write so I picked both). this is like... not necessarily the same tone as the first thing at all... but... they fit on the same continuum if you imagine some progression in the middle, idk. like i said. the word doc is calling to me.

read the first part

After Monaco, after Oscar’s moved to Monaco, Lando finally convinces him to come out for a night. Oscar has drinks, of course, but he stays on the conservative side of sloppy. Mostly because the way Lando’s handling him is not something he wants to risk forgetting even a second of. 

Oscar knew Lando was tactile, but it’s ratcheted up a notch when he’s drunk. It’s much different, much more overwhelming, when Lando is everywhere, demanding every one of Oscar’s senses, instead of confined to only a voice and only sometimes a face on a phone screen. He starts out with a hand on Oscar’s back to keep him near in the flow of the crowd, but that evolves into an arm around Oscar’s waist after the first round of shots. Soon it’s fingers around Oscar’s hips while Lando waits behind him at the bar, then a leg tossed over Oscar’s when they’re squished into a booth with Charles and Max. After midnight, it’s Lando’s head tipped back on Oscar’s shoulder, throat exposed obscenely so Oscar’s got no choice but to watch his adam’s apple bob as he drains the last of whatever Charles had ordered for the table. Not long after, it’s Lando in Oscar’s lap (“just making room, not a problem, right, Osc?”) and Lando’s arm hooked around his neck, curls tickling Oscar’s chin, fingers brushing back and forth where his sleeve meets his bicep. Oscar can’t tell if Lando’s doing it on purpose, or just sensory seeking in his half-dazed, half-coherent drunk state. He can’t tell if any of it’s on purpose, truthfully, even when Lando’s mouth is against his ear, asking “d’you ever dance? would you wanna? with me?” and his teeth catch a little on the lobe on the last few words.

Oscar doesn’t dance, but what he does do is almost anything Lando asks him to, so it’s in the middle of a crush of sweaty bodies where he first notices something a little different in the direction of Lando’s touch. He’d been dragged by the wrist to the center of the mess, and he’s still planning to stay mostly sober, but he wishes he’d saved one of his drinks for now to help dull the itch of discomfort in his brain and his limbs. Lando’s plastered to his front, his own fresh drink in one hand, the back of Oscar’s shirt scrunched up in the other. Oscar’s seen Lando on the dance floor before, has seen Lando on the dance floor with men before (if some of it was through shitty watermarked fan videos on twitter, that was for him alone to feel any kind of way about), so he can tell the tension in Lando’s back isn’t an all-the-time thing. His grip on Oscar is just north of casual, even when he releases the shirt and goes back to Oscar’s hip, pinky dipping under the hem to rest warm against Oscar’s side.

“Dancing,” he says, like Oscar might have forgotten why they’re here.

Oscar hedges. “Think I’m too sober for that, mate.”

Lando grimaces briefly, but then he’s lifting his own drink up between their chests and backing up just enough to leave space for it there, an offering. When Oscar moves to take it, though, Lando shakes his head and draws him back in, knocking the rim of the glass against Oscar’s chin. He’s smirking like it’s a joke, but Oscar’s missing the punchline as Lando nudges the glass closer again, straw bumping up under Oscar’s cheekbone.

“What,” Oscar says.

“Drink,” Lando says. Like it’s obvious. His pinky dips lower, tracing the top of Oscar’s jeans.

Every part of Oscar feels too warm, sticky with sweat. There’s a reason he doesn’t do clubs. But there’s a reason he’d said yes tonight, and it comes back to him when Lando abandons pretenses and sneaks his whole hand under Oscar’s shirt. It’s too hot, Oscar’s blinking sweat out of his eyes every other time his eyes close.

The ice clinks impossibly loudly against the sides of the glass when Oscar’s fingers close around Lando’s wrist. Condensation is dripping steadily, sliding down the meat of Lando’s hand and pooling where Oscar’s fingers meet his skin. Their eyes stay locked as Oscar guides Lando’s hand back up. They stay locked even as his lips close around the straw and Lando’s part around nothing. His cheeks hollow as he drinks. Lando’s pupils are blown wide, and Oscar spares a second to consider whether Lando’s been out of his sight long enough to have taken anything without him noticing.

“Thanks,” he says when he’s had his fill. The glass is mostly empty and the liquor burns pleasantly all the way down, adding to the fire already smoldering in his stomach.

“Whatever helps.” Lando’s tone is different than Oscar’s ever heard it, but he doesn’t have time to figure that out, because then Lando’s turning around, pressing his back to Oscar’s front, and reaching back to catch Oscar’s hand in his free one - the one that had been on the bare skin of his side a second ago. Everything is still hot and close and overwhelming, but the space under his ribs feels cool with the memory of Lando’s palm.

It’s a blur for awhile. Half of Lando’s drink isn’t really enough to move the needle for Oscar, but he feels drunk instead on the feel of Lando’s abdomen under his palm, the subtle shift of muscle as Lando moves. His head spins with the press of Lando’s hips back into his own, thoughts nebulous in the blue-green light. He catches the eye of a girl across the floor at one point, and her smile sharpens when she sees him looking. He’s not even, really; it’s neither here nor there to him when she starts moving across the floor. Lando’s been like an extension of Oscar’s own body for a bit already, tuned half out for his own sanity, but everything barrels back into focus when Lando’s head tips back again. Oscar recalls his adam’s apple, Charles’ neon shots. A lifetime ago.

“Having fun?” Lando mumbles. His mouth brushes Oscar’s skin. Oscar’s half-convinced it’s an accident, but when he tips his head down to read the words off Lando’s lips, they press more firmly to his jaw. They’re wet and cooler than the ambient air, like he’s just drained the ice from the bottom of his glass. Oscar’s eyes flick back up to clock the woman’s progress, but she’s paused steps away. Oscar feels caught out and guilty even though he hasn’t done anything at all.

“Always, with you,” is what he says. It must be the correct answer, because Lando’s head turns in even further and his lips brush Oscar’s neck in little closed-mouth passes.

When Lando speaks again, Oscar can feel the words spelled out against his skin, drawing goosebumps: “Wanna get out of here?”

Oscar does. Has since the minute he walked in, really. His arm around Lando tightens, drawing him in closer for a final moment, bidding farewell for now to this version of them on the dance floor.

Lando turns back around in his arms, then, not a centimeter further away than he’d started.

“Walk me home?” he asks into Oscar’s cheek.

And Oscar does.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 1

Part 1 - Snap Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 7400

Chapter summary: 

In which the mission goes to hell and you and Steve clash. Again.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, mention of death, some angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

Steve Rogers was a very large man. Over two hundred pounds of muscle, over six feet three tall, he towered and loomed and hovered above everything and everyone. And yet, his body seemed too small to contain the huge ball of righteous anger, too small to contain the magnitude of the jerk he was being at the moment.

It must have been one of his greatest talents.

And you understood. You understood why he was pacing around, his face the perfect storm with lightning flashing from his eyes, his voice thundering; the mission was a failure, fire and destruction left behind without the important data retrieved. Hell, you understood a little too well how much of that was your fault therefore he had every right to be angry with you.

And yet. Yet, you couldn’t comprehend how that supposedly righteous man spitted around words full of rage when he was to blame himself too.

He was the one to pull you out. He was the one to shake you and break your concentration before your spectre, able to waltz behind locked doors without a key, could deliver the drive to another agent. He was the one to make you snap back, your astral projection dissipating.

Yes, your spectre had been barely walking. Yes, it had got shot in the gut and you really damn felt it. Yes, you – it, really – had been hanging on a tread, with you already at peace with the fact that once you’d snap back, you’d wake up in a hospital bed, because your body wouldn’t handle the strain. Yes, maybe you would have failed anyway, snapping back before you could do what you were supposed to. But now you’d never know, would you?

Because Steven Grant Rogers, Mr. Captain America with the ego of the size of his very moniker, couldn’t have handled you straying from his explicit order to get out earlier.

You were still shaky on your feet, barely having beaten your dizziness and having been walking the fine line of consciousness for way too long, hurting like hell the whole time, but good god, did you have the energy to fight that blonde disaster screaming you down. Especially since he was doing so in front of everyone as you remained seated on the stretcher and kept pulling at the i.v. with custom-made saline to get it from your arm and make the situation at least a bit less humiliating for you.

The audacity. The audacity it had to take for him to call you reckless and scold you for not disappearing faster despite the fact there had been another set of files that caught you eye and needed to be copied. His utter confidence that his plan was as flawless as the first kiss in the early era Taylor Swift songs; confidence that you would have got out safely and the Hydra agent would have never caught you off guard if you just listened to your Captain.

Well fuck your Captain.

You knew you were a failure. You knew that in the end, you were to blame for not getting the intel out in time before the base blown up, the flash drive lying somewhere in the corridor abandoned. Tony Stark might like to tell you that with your abilities defied the basic laws of physics, namely the law of conservation of matter and energy, but you didn’t defy them that much. You couldn’t carry things back by simply grabbing them as the spectre and snapping back to your real body; you had tried countless times, but that wasn’t how things worked, even if you wanted them to – and surely Captain Rogers did as well.

But he was the one to make you snap back. And he was able to do that, because despite the poorly masked hate he appeared to feel towards you at times, he still often made the strategic decision to be the one protecting your actual body; your paraconscious, softly levitating body, completely vulnerable to an attack. Apparently, he was the only one who could be trusted to do it after all.

Whoever called him a golden boy and actually meant it had to be an idiot.  

“You should have let me do it! I would have been able to get it to Lincoln or someone else!” you argued, hands pushing at the stretcher to stand up at last, wincing at the ghost of a sharp pain tearing at your abdomen. Never mind that, that was nothing new – Rogers’ unsolicited attack and complete lack of accountability were.

He only scoffed at your argument, crossing his arms on his stupidly wide chest. The bragger. The impossible cannot-do-wrong arse-

“Would you? You were going to pass out! I know the signs by now-”

“So what?!”

“So what?!” he echoed on full volume, throwing his arm out just as wildly as the whole tantrum. “I carried you out of there because you couldn’t walk!”

How dared he-

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned regret, lowering your voice as you finally managed to rise to your feet. “I must have been such a terrible imposition to your superstrength!”

“That’s not the problem and you know it!”

Then what was his problem, you wanted to ask, but you knew that question was futile. You knew the answer already and it was annoyingly fitting to a considerably newer Talor Swift song: it was you. You were the problem he had. And the even bigger problem was that he couldn’t have you delivered back express to Coulson, because lately it seemed this team needed someone with the ability to project more than the new SHIELD did. He was stuck with you; with your apparently incapable ass.

“Do I?!” you questioned. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t just walk off a massive blood loss!”

Rogers winced as you spitted out the words; good. Maybe he’d think twice before yelling at you next time when the Quinjet hadn’t even touched the ground yet and everyone could watch your failure in HD since he served it to them on a silver platter.

You winced too as you breathed in deeply and fresh claws of pain dug into your abdomen again; really not good. But not unusual, even as there was no trace of the bullet wound on your body – because it wasn’t your actual body that got hit, not really. Still, the pain remained.

Yet, that was nothing to stop you from staring at Rogers as he glared at you with hard eyes, leaning forward, jaw so damn tense you might cut yourself on the tendons if you touched it.  

“You wouldn’t have suffered-- that if you’d have just followed orders!”

“Oh really?! Get over yourself, oh Mighty Captain!”

“Get over-” he repeated as if he couldn’t comprehend you just said that, breathing in deeply to ground himself and failing spectacularly since his voice was still full of accusation. “You should have brought us intel and instead we have nothing!”

You stepped forward to get your retort across almost as quickly as you felt everything in you recoil in guilt – because Rogers was right. Of course, he was right. And you knew that. You wanted to scream and cry and throw up and take a damn nap or maybe just wake up from this fucked up dream but you couldn’t, could you?

You could barely do anything.

“Well, I’m sorry! Okay?! I couldn’t do it and I’m fucking sorry! I know I fucked up! I should have pushed through more, I know, and you have no idea how pissed I am at me! But maybe I would have been just fine, if--- you shouldn’t have stopped me!”

“I wouldn’t have to snap you back if you just did what you were supposed to do!”

You grinded your teeth. Stupid, big-headed pig-headed supersoldier, if he had had any idea-

“What were you going to say just now?” he demanded, standing even taller than before, the mask of anger and disappointment shifting towards challenge.

Fight me. Yell back. Try telling me I’m wrong, when you know I’m not.

Goddamn him. He was so damn self-assured, so overconfident it would get him killed one day and you’d be there to watch like a useless dumbass, because you couldn’t do the one thing every single agent on this team should do: have your teammates’ back.

But you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t.

Your shoulders sagged, exhaustion washing over you.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, minding your volume even as most Avengers and other agents got the memo and tried to give you as much privacy as possible. Bless that useless gesture. “I told you, I’m sorry. I know I need to learn to push myself more despite the pain when the stakes are high, but it’s…” You caught a flash of a new emotion you couldn’t decipher in his eyes and you looked away, scoffing, frustration flaring up again. “Why am I even telling you, what would you know about that, huh?”

What would the perfectly mighty walk-it-off Captain know about you peasants and your struggles. Ziltch. He was perfection personified, never wrong, never weak, never-

The sharp intake of breath had you snap your gaze back – and your heart stumbled in your chest. One brief glance at him and you regretted your words instantly. For one, you were too well-aware of the fact that they were bullshit. For two, you might as well wave a red cloth in front of an already enraged bull.

Steve Rogers bristled, teeth practically bared like those of an animal; he snarled like one too, but it was the tone that had cut you. The tone said so much more than his actual words and that message was like a muleta for you for a change.

“Is that what you think? You think I don’t feel pain?!”

“Maybe you don’t feel anything at all!” you snapped, throwing your arms up, gritting your teeth and closing your fists at the sharp bite at your belly at the movement. For fuck’s sake- “It sure as hell looks like it to me, to everyone! Especially since you’re yelling at me right now! I know I fucked up but it’s not easy on me either!”

The realization that he was acting like an asshole must have been quick – he froze for but a split second – but the fact he cared little for that was even faster, his counterattack coming in hot.

“Well, allow me to correct you, agent, I do feel pain – and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body because I only have one!”

And you laughed. The burst of sardonic laugh tasted like hysteria on your tongue, actual tears burning in your eyes.

Switch it off. Switch it off as you pleased. God, that was funny. That was hilarious. So hilarious you wanted to cry. You pretended that the palm that you lifted to your face was to muffle the laughter and not to check whether some of your tears didn’t escape.

“Ooooh, ohohohooo, you think being me is so great, don’t you? Walk a mile in my shoes, Captain, we’ll see how you’ll like it!” you spat, laughing again. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t only walk, would you? You’d fucking dance en pointe and throw in a few grands jetés en tournant just for the kicks, huh? Because you are Mr.Perfect!”

Despite your challenging words, his demeanour changed in as if you snapped your fingers and the reason for that had your chest tighten in panic.

He noticed the tears. You could tell because he blinked, eyes suddenly roaming your face, his voice falling so quiet you barely heard it all of sudden; but perhaps that was only due to the ringing in your ears, the pulsing in your temples.

“That’s not--- I didn’t mean to--“

You cared shit about what he meant or didn’t mean at the moment. He saw you weak. Again. Not only you had failed, hadn’t handled the mission physically, now you were falling apart mentally right in front of him.

He was going to bench you. Worse, he was going to send you express to Coulson despite needing someone with your abilities and he would never ask you to join the Avengers again.

Fight. Show him you have the fire. Show him you’ve got what it takes. Don’t let him think you gave up.

“Well guess what, Captain, I feel pain too and I don’t have the luxury to heal in a few seconds!”

“I don’t heal that-“ he objected lowly and that was the last drop. The last drop and you cracked.

“I KNOW, okay?! You heal faster than anyone, but you still need to heal, because you can get hurt and you can get killed!” His eyes went wide and you gulped; he heard your voice break. Fuck. “Even if you don’t act like it, because you’re the mighty Captain, after all-“ you added quickly to divert his attention.

And the distraction worked. Too bad it didn’t work for you, words still spilling since the dam had been broken.

“Would you stop calling me-“

“Not all of us can be perfect soldiers, the ultimate heroes! Not all of us can do what you do, just push through everything! We fail, we hurt and we barely survive only to disappoint people like you!” you cried out.

It was the line about disappointment, you were certain – something in his expression shifted again and this time, all fight left your body for good, something inside you breaking. The new emotion on his face almost looked like compassion and you didn’t need that. You didn’t need the demigod amongst men and women to pity you and feel for you, especially not now. Not now when you didn’t deserve it because he was right and now this? You hadn’t been fast enough and strong enough – and he might have scolded you for in front of everyone, but now it seemed as if he regretted that because he needed to be the bigger person just to be fucking more perfect and you couldn’t bear it. You never could.

There was a reason why you always jumped to defence when he showed disappointment in you.

Your voice came out as but a whisper, but you made sure it was firm one. “I failed. I disappointed you and everyone else, I know. I’m sorry. I shall accept the punishment as you see fit even if that doesn’t make up for my failure.”

Nor blind nor deaf, Steve’s demeanour changed too; his eyes were suddenly as kind as his words and that was the worst part.

“I have no doubt you tried your best, Spectre, and that’s all we can ever do. The only punishment which will come is one for not following orders.”

You couldn’t help it. You should have, since you were already in such a mess, most of it of your own making, but hearing him utter those words, him of all people. The irony. You scoffed.

And like a charm, all of his benevolence evaporated in an instant; his back straightened, head held high.

“You’ve got anything to say?”

The words prickled at your tongue but you swallowed them. No. Don’t say it.

“No, sir.” Good girl.

“Clearly, you do,” Rogers opposed, eyes dark as they watched you sharply.

Well, then. Bad girl it was.

“Do I? Fine. You’re a big fat hypocrite.”

You might have as well stuck a bar into a bee hive and poked around, aiming for the queen. Rogers went from slightly annoyed to ballistic in a split second, back in your face.  

“Excuse me?!”

“Excused. I bet you were aaaaaaall about following orders in your time, weren’t you?” you mocked him, knowing you were so on point it had to burn him – that was, if he took a moment to actually consider your words, the words of the inferior, painfully imperfect being. “Even now. Never reckless, never out of line if you feel like it’s the right thing to do. Never pushy with your superstrength, never just removing people who stand in your way, because you can and you will get away with it, because you are the saint who does no wrong, not at all-“

It was his turn to scoff, his eyes burning with bright blue flame of righteousness – and disdain.

“You think being me is so great, don’t you?” he threw back your earlier words, bitter, clearly regretting the sympathy he had found for you earlier. He crossed his arms on his chest again, shaking his head, a sardonic smile on his lips. “You have me all figured out.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. So I know you’d do the same in my place and I know that’s why you’re so angry with me. We always get mad when we’re offered a mirror, don’t we?” you pressed, mirroring his bitter smile indeed.

Something flashed in his eyes, voice dropping low. Dangerously low. “I am angry. You have no idea, Spectre.”

Good. Then you had at least something in common.

“Well, so am I. You have no authority to decide when I have enough-“

“As your captain, I actually do-” he interjected, raising his voice again and you just rolled your eyes.

You were insanely grateful for the familiar sensation of slight popping in your ears, the gentle swing of the floor under your feet. You’d be more grateful for it if you didn’t have to stifle a cry, when your body naturally attempted to balance it out and didn’t feel the burn in your abdomen, but you couldn’t always get what you wanted, could you?

Case on a damn point.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, right,” you said, looking straight into your captain’s eyes, sticking your chin out defiantly, saccharine voice of obedience dripping from your lips, heavy with sarcasm. “Well, if you, sir, have anything else to say, say it now, because we’re landing and I’m about to take a shower and sleep for a week. That is if I am allowed. Or do I need to submit an official request?”

You couldn’t tell whether he wanted to shout again or do exactly what you suggested you would do; because suddenly he, too, seemed dead tired, as if your shouting match exhausted him more than the mission or your failure. He stared at you, silent, for a few long moments – a few too many, almost enough to make you feel guilty again for calling him out on his bullshit, enough to make you consider apologizing for that.

Then he sighed. “No, you don’t, Agent. I hope you’ll rest well.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a shocked beat. His voice was surprisingly soft and sincere, his gaze roaming over you head to toe, seemingly concerned.

Did you just break him? Kindness was far from uncommon in him – once you’d calm down, you’d be more inclined to believe that again, you knew as much – but the sudden change genuinely startled you.

“Uhm… thanks,” you muttered, too taken aback to talk back as you walked backwards. He truly looked worn down to a bone, his brain no doubt racing, already figuring out how to fix the mess you had left behind. He looked like he needed a goddamn nap himself. Except you didn’t think he’d take it; that was part of his problem.

Hypocrite.

You swallowed the you too and simply nodded sharply before you walked away, emotions swirling wildly; and at the centre of them all, remorse and puzzlement, wrapped in a familiar sensation of agony.

Winter Soldier was a moniker Steve Rogers loathed; but the reputation which came with that name was not unearned.

When Bucky appeared behind his shoulder out of nowhere, no sound having been made, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin; and it was a true testament to how upset he was that he hadn’t heard Bucky sneak up on him despite his slightly enhanced senses.

“Well, that went spectacularly,” Bucky hummed, instantly making Steve groan internally.

He did not want to deal with this – he wanted to forget about this whole ordeal. The fact itself that Bucky was cheery about a sleeper Hydra cell simply because he had an opportunity to tease him about what had just gone down only added to his annoyance.

He was tired. He was mad. He was confused. He was disappointed – both in you and himself. He was… frustrated. So frustrated; then again, those emotions and the last one in general were no news in your presence, much like many others, but those in particular he wanted to ponder over even less.

“Bucky, don’t,” he warned his friend lowly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye as they made a slow way out of the jet.

It was a waste of words, really: Steve didn’t know what he was thinking, believing the warning would actually discourage Bucky from speaking.

“You know, maybe if you told her that the main reason why you’re so pissed-“

“Buck-“

“- is the fact that she’s challenging your authority which makes you question yourself, and that you’re terrified every time she gets hurt or loses consciousness, be it her projection or, god forbid, her real body, because you care juuuust a little too much for her, then maybe… “

Steve loved his best friend; but if looks could kill, the one he shot him at the verbalized implications, however truthful, could have murdered him on spot.

“Just saying,” Bucky said, shrugging as he kept up with Steve’s sudden strut, a grin audible in his voice. “Communication is key.”

“You need to stop hanging out with Sam,” Steve grumbled. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky snorted, causing Steve’s head to whip in his direction in annoyance. Didn’t Bucky have a lady to tend to? Why did he have to stick around and poke around Steve’s already exhausted brain and feed the already messy whirlwind of emotion? Oh right. Bucky would say it was payback for all the years Bucky spent saving Steve’s puny ass from the back alleys.

“Right. Just like you had no idea what she was talking about when she called you a hypocrite, because you wouldn’t do the same, try to deliver all the files you could even if it meant you’d bleed the heck out, right? Your real body, that is, because you only have one…”

Goddamnit Bucky.

“Bucky, that’s enough.”

“Nope,” his friend quipped, smiling charmingly at the group of agents they passed in the hallway and briefly, Steve imagined what they had to look like; a brooding Captain practically running away from the sunshine-like Winter Soldier. Clint would call them comedy gold; and Steve didn’t give a damn. Today had been a clusterfuck of disasters with you and him in the centre of it.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. Steve just shot him another glare as they rounded the corner, the corridor now blissfully empty. And sadly, endless with nowhere to hide. “Too bad, punk. You might be the Captain, but you’re still my friend. I’ll be bothering your reckless ass and call you out till the end of the line. And I’m telling you – you two need to get your shit together and make up. And maybe you should finally tell her you’d like to make out. But if I were you, I’d start with that apology.”

Steve stopped so abruptly Bucky nearly collided with him. The flare or anger – because goddammit was Bucky right in certain things and it was truly bothersome to hear those – licked at his gut. As he turned to give his most loyal and precious friend a piece of his mind in return, he found him with a knowing smirk on his face. Why were they friends again?

“Really? An apology?” Steve questioned, the idea absurd even as guilt had already joined the party a while ago. “For what exactly? She should have--- one of those days, she’s gonna-” Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat. He did not like the way the sentence could end. How you could end. But he’d scream at you again before he’d admit that; you brought out that side of him for some reason. You brought out a lot of things, most of them unpleasant. Most of them. “She should have followed orders.”

Bucky’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline – which wasn’t too high given how much he’d let his hair grow, but it still served the purpose of irritating Steve.

“Sure she should. And if you have always followed orders, I’d be dead.”

Steve winced as if he got punched in the gut, all flames of anger put out at once. Bucky just shrugged, unbothered by his hypothetical death.

“That’s a fact, punk. And here’s another: your mother would have boxed your ears for treating a lady the way you just did.”

And this isn’t you, Steve heard the unspoken words and with those he couldn’t argue.

The truth was, Steve didn’t recognize himself around you. He hadn’t more than once but it had never got as intense as it had just now. He felt almost possessed, an astral projection of his own, except he couldn’t control it as it raised its voice like that, in front of the whole team no less. And the worst thing was, it wasn’t a projection; the blame was entirely on him as he failed to contain the onslaught of emotion so sharp and large that he just let it all out. Almost all of it.

The one urge he tried to contain was the one to just slam you to a wall and scream the whole truth before he’d vent his frustration with you in a completely different way, with nips of teeth on that lower lip of yours, always pouting a bit when you got into one of your not so frequent but not so rare arguments, having you scream his name in ecstasy instead of defiance, a breathy whine of Mighty Captain without the snark. He was sure that would have raised a few eyebrows, but hopefully the room would clear in three seconds flat after your back would have hit the wall.

In all honesty, the whole scene had been surreal as it was; Steve had had trouble recognizing you as well. You had disagreed with him a few times, yes, you challenged his authority and questioned his decisions, yes; he had a pretty strong feeling that he was most definitely not your favourite person and more often than not, he didn’t quite understand you – but you had never so blatantly disobeyed an order. You had never endangered a mission or your teammates, never played this much of a Russian roulette, even if one might call you an overachiever which sometimes came with a bit of recklessness by default.

It was true that you could be unpredictable at times; one day you followed instructions to a tee, dutiful, meticulous even; another day, you stood firmly in opposition. One day you dotted on others in almost an overbearing quality, another day it was like you evaporated from the face of Earth, completely absent. But what came over you today, Steve had had no idea – you had been not only reckless, but to a great point, careless. Steve’s mind was blown, but not in the good sense.

That said, he was not pleased with himself either, particularly with the fact was that he had acted impulsively during the mission too. You were definitely right to call him out on it; but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He glanced at Bucky, who was watching him with one corner of his lips still raised knowingly, only fuelling Steve’s ire. Despite all that, Steve knew Bucky was right. And unlike when he was in your presence, he didn’t feel the need to deny that completely.

Sarah Rogers, god rest her precious soul, would have been profoundly disappointed in his behaviour and she would have let him hear it too, despite the infinite kindness and forgiveness she had carried in her heart.

“I know,” Steve sighed. “I shouldn’t have--- she’s just so- I-“

“I know, punk,” Bucky said forgivingly. “I know. That girl has some serious fire in her and she’s not the easiest to deal with, even if she means well, no doubt. Who does that only remind me of…?”

Steve glared at him, unimpressed – he was aware, thank you very much. Not only opposites attracted. Though he was quite certain this attraction was one-sided; and completely insane.

Bucky just grinned and patted Steve’s shoulder.

“Take a nap, Steve. We all deserve one, even if things didn’t go as planned. We’ll get them next time – as a team. Share some of that burden you strap to your shoulders every time to strap on that shield, would you? It can do wonders, believe me.”

“You really do need to stop hanging out with Sam and spend more time with Nat,” Steve uttered, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Shut up, punk, you love me mental health conscious.”

A full grin attacked Steve’s lips now, troubles forgotten momentarily, unlike the fact why Bucky Barnes was his best friend.

“Jury’s out, jerk” 

Even as you felt the fire of rage slowly dying, you tried to feed it; because it kept you on your feet. You had not in fact went to lie down, even as you felt those feet dragging more than walking to Natasha Romanoff’ office. She didn’t spend too much time in it, always having better things to do than paperwork, but you knew she’d want her report to be done as fast as possible to move on exactly to those more important things.

And you knew that as long as she was there, her office was conveniently the best place to talk, the camera system disabled.

“Well, hello,” the redhead hummed as she had Jarvis let you storm in, breathless for more than one reason.

Your abdomen was throbbing, but you didn’t have time for that. It wasn’t like you were going to bleed out from a non-existent wound.

“We need to go back there and fix it.”

The infamous Black Widow only raised her eyebrow at your dishevelled state and frantic words, leaning back into her chair. You admitted you had to be a sight to the devil himself since you probably looked like hell, but you rarely let that stop you.

“Water under bridge, Spectre. The base is blown so there’s nothing to go back to and the rest of them will go deep under-“

You shook your head, stalking to her desk, leaning onto your hands, fingers spasming at the bite of pain. Bad idea. And bad phrasing.

“No, Natasha, we—” She scanned you head to toe, her other eyebrow arching as well as you had boldly invaded her space, practically asking to be removed. Violently. You didn’t have the energy to lean back, not right away. You weren’t friends, so you had no right to be so close, but she’d get over it, you were sure. The worst thing to happen would be her breaking off your wrist or something. “What I mean is that we have to act now and get those files. All of them.”

Her gaze zeroed on your face, unnervingly searching and seeing, head tilting to side in genuine curiosity.

“What exactly was in those files that it made you hesitate? You rarely ignore orders,” she stated matter-of-factly, causing you to retreat and step back. Oh. Crap. Black Widow in offensive. She walked around the desk, leaning her weight onto it, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you see, Spectre?”

You gulped; there was no way around it, even as panic made your breathing even harder. There were so many things wrong with what you were about to say and you had no capacity to analyse why you felt the way you felt about it, let alone why you felt even worse about the fact you were the reason why you hadn’t got the intel to others.

“Steve’s initials.”

Even as her brows had smoothened, they arched again now, eyes growing wide. You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“I tried to copy it and just opened it for a bit, too immersed to notice the unfriendly. Naturally, I got the bullet for my trouble before I neutralized him, but that’s beside the point,” you said, not missing the corner of her lips twitching. “They were… Natasha, they weren’t just some photos or whatever. Those were… they were inventing some shit. It was physics, chemistry, half of the things I didn’t understand, but I don’t think they were replicating the serum – I think they were trying to neutralize it, neutralize Steve specifically.”

And there was no way I was going to leave that there, was left unspoken, but she heard it. Of course she did; this was Natasha Romanoff you were talking to. She didn’t need you two to be friends to read between the lines of what you were saying.

“I see,” she said slowly, the damn intensity of her gaze not relenting. “And you didn’t tell Steve that when he was yelling you down, because…?”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Bullshit.”

“He wouldn’t believe me.”

She scoffed, glaring you down. “That’s bullshit too and you know it.”

Okay, that was fair. But believing was a lot different from taking action. His damn pride would have still had him snapping you back to your real body even if you had yelled at him through the comms what kind of intel you had been carrying on the drive before he messed it up for you – and him. What the heck had he been thinking, breaking your concentration like that? The utter confusion at his actions – because surely it couldn’t have been he had been so angry with you to endanger the mission – only made the matter of your fight worse.

Natasha was right, however – that was just water under bridge. You sure as hell weren’t about to go ask him what possessed him to be more insufferable than normal and you could hardly fly to the pile of debris you had left behind when the place blew up to search for scraps of hard drives.

“Fine. I didn’t think he’d take it seriously,” you admitted at last.

“Now we’re talking,” Natasha said, nodding, a small smirk appearing on her lips, making you frown.

She sure was taking it in stride all of sudden, almost as if--- was she amused? You hoped that was only a mask and in her sharp mind, she was already building a battleplan. She had to. She was one of Steve’s closest friends, real friends, you knew as much. Sometimes her nonchalance truly irritated you. Would it kill her to show more emotion?

Hypocrite.

“But that’s not enough,” she added. “Steve, bless his heart, can be an ass, but not a complete idiot. Any other particular reason why you’d keep it from him?”

Your face was a mask of neutrality. Or you hoped so.

“Nope.”

Natasha watched you sceptically and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

Naturally, there was a plethora of reasons and on top of them sat the fact that he’d know. He’d know how much you cared. He probably figured out anyway and maybe he wasn’t one to make fun of you for that – scratch that, he definitely wasn’t, he was too much of a good guy for that – but that meant nothing. Caring for people was dangerous; caring for people when you failed meant they’d be taken away. Having people to care for – good people – was a privilege, a reward, one that could easily be confiscated unless you reached perfection.

And yes. You knew Steve Rogers was a good guy, even when he decided to yell at you in front of everyone and challenged you and made you want to smash him against the wall and bite into his stupid plump lower lip and then cuddle him and tell him he didn’t have to be so strong and that people cared about his safety too. Of course you knew he felt pain, but he just never showed it, and it was just so damn irritating, because you needed him to be only human too, so you wouldn’t feel so pathetic despite your powers, so you’d feel a little more worthy. You were well-aware that your way of thinking wasn’t healthy, especially since Steve was a person you could never and should never compare yourself to because that standard was just impossibly high, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to meet it. That didn’t mean your family hadn’t set the standards just as high. Perfection was not an unreachable standard, even as it always seemed to be out of reach for you.

However, knowing that precisely that was one of the main reasons why you admired Steve as much as you wanted to punch him to his perfect teeth didn’t help you coexist with him or stopped you from acting like a five-year-old in his vicinity.

On top of that, you were fully aware of how disappointed he would be in you for failing in one particular task which you were sure he considered the most important one: to have your teammates’ six. And you wouldn’t handle that; you were selfish even to that point. To have Captain Rogers learn you hadn’t been strong and fast enough to retrieve data which increased the chance of keeping a key member of your team safe and watch his reaction up close would break your damn barely patched up heart.

Natasha continued to watch you as you zoned out, her smirk growing. “Right. No other reason at all then.”

Oh, she knew about it all, alright. You had no doubt. She might not show much emotion, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t mastered reading other people’s tells. If you had any emotional capacity left, you’d be ashamed at how your face burned under her watchful gaze.

“Will you please tell the others about the files?” you asked instead, causing her to tilt her head to side a fraction again.

“I will, but why should I? Why, when you can be the one to do it? If nothing else, you should tell Steve,” she said, almost motherly you supposed – not that you’d know. “Those were files about him – he deserves the truth and to hear it from you. I’m sure he’d be less angry with you too.”

Somehow, her last suggestion was even more terrifying than Steve Rogers being all in your face and snarling. You attempted a smile, masking the anxiety curling in your gut by exhaustion.

“Maybe. I just… it might be childish, but I don’t… I don’t have the energy for that now. Tell me what else I can do and I will, but not that.”

She watched you silently for several long moments, a small smile curling up her lips – almost a compassionate one. What was it with people and their damn compassion today? You had fucked up. Why was Steve the only one to acknowledge that and why was he relatively nice about it in the end, just like Natasha now? Frankly, as much as you preferred not being completely on Black Widow’s bad side, earning her pity was exponentially worse.

“You know, most things are not going to go away just because you pretend that they don’t exist. Least of all feelings.”

It’s been working out pretty well for you, you wanted to throw back, but Bucky Barnes, the love and the lover who was one of the few people who could slip under the hard shell of Natasha Romanoff, would probably argue with you that it worked for her the best when she did let someone in. But unlike you, Natasha Romanoff did not make mistakes and was an epitome of perfection herself so she could afford that. Natasha Romanoff was terrifying; you’d like to watch someone try to mess with her.

You, on the other hand, were no Black Widow. You could and even had to keep pretending in order to exist.

“Just watch me.”

She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Go to bed, Spectre. I know you still feel that gunshot wound.”

You froze.

Your heart skipped a beat – several beats, you were sure – because your chest suddenly hurt, panic clawing up your throat anew.

She knew. She knew.

How did she--- how? You always fought so hard to hide it, as much as of a pain that was; horrible pun included.

Yes, you sure as hell still felt the gunshot wound. With every move. With every breath. Every time you had strained your muscles to yell back at Steve.

The pain of whatever injury your spectre sustained alwayslingered. Ironically, it was only thing you actually were able to carry when you snapped back. It stayed with you for a while; not the whole time that it would take for the wound to heal, but it still took days sometimes, days of pain whose intensity slowly faded away. An invisible aching wound – like a pain in a phantom limb. There was no evidence of an injury in your body, but your brain still registered it. No therapeutic approach had worked when you finally accepted that despite what you had been taught, this wasn’t normal; only for having to accept that with no solution in sight, it actually was normal. Then again, what was normal when you only had one sample to examine?

“You mostly hide it well, don’t worry,” Natasha’s voice snapped you from your dark thoughts, uncharacteristically soft. “Your secret is safe with me. But that doesn’t mean it should.”

“It definitely should,” you said in at instant, eyes hard despite the tell-tale burn of tears you felt. If anyone knew – anyone else, that was, apparently – you’d be done. Benched forever.

I do feel pain and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body, Steve had thrown at you. If he hadn’t noticed, you were good; you had indeed hid it well enough and that was all that mattered; despite bickering and yelling, he was still willing to work with you. But that would change very quickly; and he had the authority to kick you out of this team and this business completely.

Sure, Natasha had the power to bench you and even fire you as well, but judging by the way she was looking at you now, no matter how disapprovingly and somewhat proud at once, she wouldn’t. It would be okay – as long as she’d keep her mouth shut about it just as Andy had. Andrew Garner, the only person who had known your painful secret and encouraged you to engage with various therapy approaches to rid you off your burden. He had taken the secret to the grave, never having told nor Coulson, nor the rest of his team.

The one person who had known about this was dead; and if that wasn’t a clear enough message that no one else was supposed be trusted with this, you didn’t know what else would.

“It should,” you repeated, inhaling and instantly regretting it. You swallowed as Natasha didn’t miss the tiny hitch in your breath. Dammit you needed to get better at hiding it. And you would. “Please. Tell me what else I can do.”

Perhaps it was your true superpower to make people sigh, not to project into another room, because the redhead observed you for another long moment before sighing again.

“I meant it, Spectre – go to bed. After I’ll tell the others, we might need you. Rested. With as much as you can give.”

One corner of your lips rose in a tired defiant smirk. “I can give everything.”

The look Natasha gave you before you spun on your heels told you that precisely that was both the blessing and the problem. But you didn’t need to be told more than twice to go to bed.

As you walked out, trying your hardest to walk completely straight and not hunch over even a bit, you heard Natasha’s completely exhausted sigh.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Alright folks, life's been quite busy so this was born through sweat and tears and I don't think it will get better any time soon, but hopefully the result will be worth it 🥰

There are and will be a few distant references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I think you should be fine whout having watched the show.

Thank you for reading 🥰 As always, if you have he time and energy, I'd greatly appreciate your reblogs and feedback, be it even a key smash or yelling at me should the need arise 🤭

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Watch and Learn, City Boy, Part 2: Autumn

A/N: This is a follow-up to Part 1, which I wrote last year. The muse struck on the autumnal equinox, and who am I to reject her overture? Yes, I switched tenses, and no, I’m not sorry. Enjoy! 

Pairing: Hound x Reader (Fem)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI) 

Wordcount: 2.8K

Warnings and tags: fluff; domesticity; language; little bit of SMUT; one (1) slap on the ass; tickling; pinning; allusions to bondage; Reader is a bit of a brat; Hound is a playful switch (I don’t make the rules); this isn't as kinky as it sounds; I made up pretty much everything about Alderaanian culture, holiday observances, and spirituality for this fic, so don’t take anything here as having a basis in canon.

Summary: Autumn has come to Alderaan, and you’re stuck on kriffin’ Coruscant. But Hound won’t let that stop you from celebrating.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Hempz Apple Cinnamon Shortbread body lotion (autumn leaves; warm spices)

Part 1 | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Grizzer launched herself off of your mattress with a ferocious snarl before you even heard the door chime. Hound startled awake with a muffled grunt, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes groggily and fumbling for your datapad to check the security holo.

“‘S goin’ on?” he mumbled.

“Groceries,” you rasped as you crawled out of bed and slipped into a robe. “I’ll take care of it. Go back to sleep.”

Grizzer was prancing triumphantly at the front door, and she greeted you with a loud, delighted snort to let you know that she had successfully repelled the invading force and secured the perimeter.

“Good girl,” you yawned. “So brave. Gonna tell Fox to give you a medal and a promotion.”

She plopped down resolutely in front of the door and refused to budge until you had administered what she deemed to be an appropriate number of scritches between the spines on her back. At length, she shuffled out of the way so you could open the door and dart out into the hallway just long enough to retrieve your grocery delivery, silently beseeching the Force not to let your well-meaning but nosy neighbors catch you in your bathrobe. Gods knew you and Hound already gave them plenty of fodder for gossip.

Once the groceries were safely inside, Grizzer had to complete an exhaustive sniff-spection of every single bag before she would allow you to put the food away, and then she gave you a meaningful look and lumbered over to the back door. You tapped the panel and shivered at the blast of cold air that rushed in as the door hissed open. 

Grizzer sauntered out to do her business on the comically tiny patch of fake grass you’d installed on your balcony once you realized she and Hound would be staying over as many nights as they could possibly sneak away from the barracks. By the time you’d finished stashing the perishables in the conservator, she was back inside and waiting for her breakfast.

You activated the cleaning droid to deal with her mess, dumped a scoop of massiff chow in her bowl, and finally returned to the bedroom. Hound’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, but he wordlessly pulled the blankets back as you climbed into bed and snuggled your ass into the nook of his body, extending his other arm for you to use as a pillow.

Stars, he’s so warm. This is the best part of my day.

You barely had time to settle in before Grizzer hopped up onto the bed, circled a few times, then flopped against you hard enough to knock the wind out of you.

“Ugh, careful with the spikes, Grizz. Don’t you have breakfast to eat?” you muttered.

Despite your grumbles, you couldn’t resist the pleading look she shot you, and you reached down to pat her lazily as she settled her chin onto your leg with a happy sigh. Kriffin’ massiff always wants to be the littlest spoon.  

You shifted, looking for a comfortable position while being smooshed between your two favorite beings, then tucked your feet closer to Hound, trying to get warm. He flinched as he felt your icy feet against his shins, but instead of pulling away, he rested his hand on your hip and drew you more firmly against his body, then slid up your torso to cup your breast. He nuzzled his face into your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Mornin’,” he rumbled. ”Happy equinox. I assume you've planned somethin’ festive for today?”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumbled, privately reflecting that he was using far too many words for this early on a Benduday morning. “‘S why I ordered groceries.”

He hummed his approval and began to kiss a path down your spine. “Does it involve tying me to a kitchen chair and licking a jar of honey off my skin?”

You laughed quietly and kissed the scar on his forearm that rested beneath your head. “Is that a specific fantasy you have, or are you just looking for an excuse to get me to tie you up and have my wicked way with you?”

“Two things can be true, angel.” He squeezed your breast gently, then trailed his fingertips down the centerline of your body, unerringly finding his way between your thighs. “Your feet are like kriffin’ icicles. You go on an expedition to Ilum for those groceries or somethin’?”

“Grizz was extra needy this morning,” you explained. “Mm, that feels nice. Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. His fingers slipped over your clit and into your pussy, and he shifted slightly to grind his cock against your ass. “Feel how hard you made me? Prancin’ around in that little thing you call a bathrobe. Probably gave the neighbors a coronary.”

“Nobody saw me,” you laughed, then gasped as he slid deeper. “At least I—fuck—I didn’t see anyone.”

“Grizz, off,” he ordered, to the massiff’s vocal disgust. Nevertheless, she complied, jumping off the bed with a huff of protest and wandering out of the bedroom in search of the breakfast she’d previously snubbed. “Guess we’ll find out if anyone saw you when they send a thank-you holocard. Damn, little one, you’re kriffin’ soaked. What were you dreamin’ about, dirty girl?”

It wasn’t a dream, it’s just you, you thought, but rather than inflate his already impressive ego, you wiggled your butt against his hips and replied in your most provocative tone. 

“Thorn.”

He laughed, then withdrew from between your thighs and gave you a firm little slap on the ass. You let out a shrill squeak and squirmed out of his arms just far enough to launch yourself off the mattress and tackle him, pinning him briefly and digging your fingers into his ribs to tickle him ruthlessly. 

Alas, your vengeance was short lived. After the briefest moment of being incapacitated by laughter, he managed to roll over on top of you, capturing your wrists and holding them against the pillow on either side of your head.

“Oh, you asked for it, darlin’,” he said with a wicked grin. 

The morning light caught in his eyes and illuminated them to honey gold. They danced with mischief, and you felt an odd flutter in your chest that you didn’t have enough time to examine before he pounced, and the only thing on your mind was holding on while your ARF trooper took you for the ride of your life.

When the pair of you finally stumbled out of bed, you mentally scratched off a few of the activities you’d planned, since you were running two hours behind schedule—a sacrifice you were more than willing to make, all things considered. There was still plenty of time to visit the Alderaanian shrine of the ancestors in the Federal District and make it home in time to cook dinner—a meal that you’d been planning with meticulous care for weeks, going to great lengths to source Alderaanian ingredients that were often difficult to find in the Core Worlds.

“You sure they’ll let me in?” Hound asked as he surveyed the entrance to the temple with obvious doubt in his eyes.

“They will,” you replied firmly. “They don’t turn anyone away. If you ever find yourself in trouble and need a place to lie low, they’ll give you sanctuary.”

“Even though I did absolutely depraved things to you an hour ago?” he murmured in your ear, sending tingles of awareness down your neck.

“... Maybe don’t mention that part.”

“You know, this whole sanctuary thing sounds a little illegal,” he joked.

“Who are you, the police?”

He snorted, then allowed you to lead him inside. The temple was crowded, and not a single person recognized Hound as a clone trooper, or if they did, nobody mentioned it. Hound was fascinated by the vibrant—not to say chaotic—energy inside. 

“The only temple I’ve ever been inside is the Jedi temple,” he said. “This one is really different.”

“I imagine so,” you laughed. “I’ve never been inside the Jedi Temple, but I’ve heard it’s really tranquil. This is… not that.”

He grinned in acknowledgment. “Do you come here every equinox?”

You shook your head. “I’m not really that observant most of the time. When I’m at home, we just have a family celebration. But here on Coruscant, it’s kind of nice to come to a place where I can meet other Alderaanians. For me, it’s really more about staying in touch with my culture, but a lot of people are very devout.”

When the pair of you finally made your way through the temple and to the shrine, he followed you inside and observed respectfully but with keen interest as you lit a stick of incense and left a small offering for the shrine guardian spirit. You were in and out in under a minute, and as the pair of you rejoined the thronging crowd headed toward the exit, Hound leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“That was quick.”

“No point in monopolizing it,” you replied under your breath. “Bad form when the temple is this busy.”

The temple wasn’t the only thing that was busy. Traffic was fully gridlocked, and the trip home took ages. By the time you arrived, you were both ravenous, which was deeply unfortunate, given that you’d planned a fairly elaborate dinner. Still, you were determined to make it work and salvage what was left of the equinox. 

Grizzer was beside herself when you walked through the door. She barreled into Hound with a delighted squeal, and he knelt down for their ritual greeting. She sat patiently until he was within reach and then, with a gentleness that was wholly improbable for a creature of her size, she touched her snout against his nose.

“I’m here, too, Grizz,” you teased, and if a massiff were capable of rolling its eyes, she would have. Nevertheless, she eagerly snuggled up to you, demanding her tribute of affection.

“Do I have time to take her for a quick  run before dinner?” Hound asked.

“I think so. It’ll be a refreshing change to cook without my reptile sous chef.”

“Don’t listen to her, Grizz,” Hound said, covering the massiff’s ear holes. “She’d be lost in the kitchen without you.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agreed solemnly. “What ever shall I do without constant supervision and the in-house quality assurance expert?”

Hound gave you a quick kiss and headed out, and you set to work, swallowing down a faint feeling of disappointment that so many of your plans had fallen through. Dinner would make up for it, though. Dinner would be perfect.. Within minutes, the entire flat began to fill with delicious smells. Everything was proceeding swimmingly. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Gods damn it!”

Your frustrated curse was the first thing Hound heard when he opened the door. Grizzer charged inside and skidded to a halt, prancing around the kitchen.

“Not now, sweetie,” you said, your tone softening a bit as you saw the massiff.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hound asked.

“That karking shopper droid brought me decorative mini pumpkins instead of edible ones,” you groaned. “And to make matters worse, the pumpkin stems mutilated my Force-damned tomato.”

“Damn, looks like it got squashed,” he murmured.

“That is a terrible pun, and this is no laughing matter!”

“You’re right,” he said apologetically. “It’s an obvious case of assault with a deadly veggie.”

“Still not funny. Look at this carnage!”

You held up the mangled tomato, and he inspected it closely before gravely replying. “That’s a pretty gore-dy victim. Better shield Grizzer’s innocent eyes before she’s permanently scarred.”

You snorted, obstinately refusing to laugh. “I knew I should have just gone to the market myself.”

“Why don’t we go now?” he asked, giving up on his quest to distract you with the worst puns in the Core Worlds. “We can pick up some pumpkins that are actually edible, maybe have a little tour of the market district, get some fresh air?”

You glanced at the clock and sighed. “If we do that, we’ll be eating at midnight. I’ll figure something out.”

Grizzer whined at the sharpness in your tone, then curled up in the corner of your living room so she could keep an eye on you, sensing your frustration. You glared at the offending gourds for a moment, and would have bet every last credit of his nonexistent salary that you were contemplating hurling them into the abyss of the Coruscant underworld. Seeing how much the kriff-up had upset you, Hound ventured into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s really bothering you, love?” he asked. “You’re always good at coming up with contingency plans. Is this really such a big problem that it’ll ruin your equinox?”

You sighed and leaned back against him, closing your eyes. “No. Not really. It’s just… My mom always makes this for the autumn equinox. I really wanted it to be perfect, you know?”

“You miss her.”

You nodded. “I do. I miss home, too. It’s weird to celebrate an Alderaanian equinox holiday on a planet that doesn’t even have seasons. And I really wanted this to be perfect so you could have the experience even though you weren’t able to get leave to travel back home with me, and we had to cancel almost all of our plans, and now dinner is ruined, too, and I’m just so fucking tired and hungry.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He kissed the side of your head, then turned you around slowly so he could look into your eyes. His chest squeezed when he saw the beginnings of tears in your eyes, and he brushed his thumb across your cheek to wipe them away. “It is perfect, because I’m spendin’ it with you. No place I’d rather be in the galaxy.”

“Not even a musty old tent surrounded by wolf-cats?” you muttered rebelliously.

“As tempting as that sounds—and if I recall correctly, you were extremely tempting—no. But I’d eat rations and sleep in a musty old tent every night for the rest of my life if it meant I got to wake up next to you.” He didn’t say the words he desperately wanted to. It was too soon, and he didn’t want to scare you off. Instead, he pressed his lips to your forehead and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. “Kriff the pumpkins. We’ll get takeout and go for a speeder bike ride in the entertainment district.”

You gasped. “Blasphemy! How dare you insinuate that I can’t salvage this disaster? Stand aside and watch the master at work.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. 

“Hmph,” you replied haughtily, unable to quite repress the smile at the corner of your lips.

You started toward the stove, but as you took your first step, Hound caught you by your apron ties and tugged you back into his arms for a devastating kiss. He was extremely thorough, and by the time he released you, you were dizzy and breathless, and he made damn sure you couldn’t remember that mini pumpkins even existed.

“That. Was. Incredible,” Hound said as he cleaned the last few morsels from his plate. 

“Not quite as aesthetically pleasing as Mom’s,” you hedged. 

“It was rustic,” he insisted. “Homestyle. Deconstructed.”

“You really need to stop watching cooking shows on the holonet.”

“How else will I learn all the terms to describe your food to make my brothers insane with jealousy? You think clone troopers have a reason to say ‘craveable’ on a daily basis?”

“Oh, yeah? You tell Thorn all about me?” you teased.

“Easy now, darlin’,” he replied with a lazy grin. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

“Don’t worry, I could never leave Grizzer.”

He laughed. “Lucky thing for me.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then stood up and began to clear away the dishes. You groped his ass shamelessly from your seat, then wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face against his abdomen.

“Thanks for celebrating with me,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I know I kind of lost the plot there.”

He set down the plates and wrapped his arms around you. “Not the first time I’ve seen you hangry; won’t be the last.”

You laughed into his belly, then tugged his shirt up so you could kiss his warm, smooth skin. “You know, there’s one equinox tradition that we haven’t observed yet.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It involves a kitchen chair, a pair of your binders, and a jar of honey.”

“Dank farrik, I’m in love with you.” The words slipped out, and by the time Hound realized what he’d said, it was too late to call them back.

You drew back and stared up at him with an expression of shock. “What?”

“Uh…”

Kriff.

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[thisismeracing]

This love is ours | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader ― Word count: 1.4k ― Warnings: mentions of food, daddy issues, an ex-girlfriend, and reader getting hate; ― Summary: Relationships aren’t usually easy. Add to it the fact that you date a world champion racing driver, and your dad doesn’t really like said driver, and the media is ready to dissect every move you make. At the end of the day, the stakes are high and the waters can be rough, but what you share with Lewis is true love, and it’s yours (Based on this request).

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You knew what came with dating Lewis, knew that his past lovers would eventually resurface — some fans would bring them to the table, others would bring themselves, like that one time she showed up in the paddock. Lip Gloss glowing, hair perfectly styled, and doe eyes.

“Hey, Lew!” she had a beaming smile on her face. One you can only get when you still hold something tender for the person in front of you. When they still represent something to you. And considering he was the one that ended things, it wasn’t hard to figure that maybe ‘something tender’ was aching desire, love, and intention of getting back together.

“Hey,” he gave her a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgment. And when his fingers dug into your waist, bringing you closer you released a small breath of air you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“How’s life? I missed you so much!”

The way she held her arms beside her body, fidgeting with her hands you could tell she wanted to hug him, wanted him to do something, but then again, everyone would want affection from Lewis. It was like an antidote. He would smile at you, hug you, shake your hand, pat your back, and suddenly the sky wouldn’t look as gray.

You couldn’t blame her, but you did feel a bit uneasy with her presence.

“Life is great. Have you met my girlfriend Yn?” Lewis turns to you, and this time his smile is softer, you can see his teeth, and the gap between them you adored. His hold on you tightens and you’re so into your own world gazing into each other's eyes that you don’t even notice how said ex-girlfriend gulped, moving from one foot to the other in clear discomfort.

No one else’s mattered when you had each other.

Ghosts from the past weren’t the only problem you faced with Lewis too. You had villains from the present too, and unfortunately, they happened to be close to you two, not by choice, but by blood.

“So, how's the racing career?” There’s a hint of judgment in your father’s voice.

It was typical of him to start things during family dinners. It wouldn’t be the first time, but you and Lewis were together for about a year now, and you were tired of listening to whatever bad thing your dad had to say about him. He would usually stick with snarky remarks about his piercings, and style, and though Lewis would always tell you he didn’t mind, you knew it hurt him because, in all honesty, it hurt you too.

“Good, we’re making some improvements on the car, hopefully, we’ll get pole this Sunday,” Lewis answers, completely ignoring your father’s tone and intentions. He lived with “kill ‘em with kindness” most of the time, but that was him not you, because the second your dad made yet another snarky remark, this time about his tattoos, you dropped your silverware on the table.

“Can you please leave us? Stop pointing your judging eyes at Lewis as if you were the best person in the universe. I’m tired of your conservative attitude, while you go around doing all the wrong things. Yes, Lewis got a new tattoo, and yes I fucking love it, and you know what? I will be getting one soon too. Do I lose my value because I decided to paint my body? I don’t think so, right, dad?”

You felt your face hot with anger, and by the stare your mom gave you, you knew it was clear how your words were actually thrown and not simply stated. You didn’t care. You were tired of the constant critique.

“I suppose those are old jokes, huh? I’m going to try and move past them,” your dad stated as if the things he had been saying had any hint of humor in them. Lewis’ hand found your leg, and he gave it a light squeeze, making you take a deep breath, and lace your fingers under the table.

He had you, and you had him.

Side by side no bad comment would bring you down and let you there.

And as it happens, when you’re dating someone as famous as Lewis, it may seem like there's always someone who disapproves. Someone to judge as if they know him and you, but you came to learn that those verdicts usually came from those with nothing else to do.

You had just opened your socials to check what was happening world-wise but came face to face with some gossip magazine hate article about how you did not support Lewis properly. You frowned reading the title but still clicked to see what their point was. And just like you predicted before reading everything it was a total of five terribly written paragraphs, based on nothing but false perceptions they had. It wasn’t the first time you got hate online because you were associated with Lewis. He was loved around the globe, but he was also hated because with the kind of fame and talent he had it came with both, the good and the bad. Whereas you would get pissed with those who bad-mouthed him, you wouldn’t spare a glance when the hate was towards you, too busy trying to focus on the good things to worry about people who had no idea about what was really going on.

Of course, some comments would hurt, and one thing here and there could plant a small seed in your head for a weekend, but it wouldn’t go past that. You wouldn’t let it. Lewis wouldn’t let it.

“What is it, love?” Lewis’ soft tone took your attention away from the phone.

You smiled up at him, closing your eyes when his lips found your forehead.

“Just people being hateful,” you explained, making space for him on the bed.

The Brit sighed, passing one arm over your shoulders, and bringing you close, “and you’re reading it?”

There’s no judgment on his voice, but rather sheer curiosity as to why you would indulge in something you know wouldn’t be good. You shrug, “I wanted to see what the point was, this one says I don’t support you properly.”

“They’re probably aiming to implant cheerleaders into F1 or something,” he joked, as he usually did, blessing the room with his giggle. You loved how he would laugh with his own jokes.

“Possibly,” you bit your lips and chuckle.

You wouldn’t post much about Lewis’ racing career on your socials, limiting it to commenting on his posts or liking an article here and there. On your profile, he was just your boyfriend, and if there was someone in the world who didn’t know who Lewis Hamilton was and saw him there, they would probably just guess he was a rich guy and go about their days. Both of you had agreed on keeping things like this, Lewis agreed with whatever would make you comfortable. And though you wouldn’t post much, you were by his side every Sunday, some weeks getting to him on Friday.

“They don’t know about me and you, love,” he stated simply, and you threw your phone somewhere in the room, getting comfortable beside the one person who matters. Your person.

Life played its part in love too. It could make everything look hard, and turn the stakes high, but once you’re set in your commitment, love is something worth trying for. At least that was something you and Lewis were sure about since the beginning.

“I’m sorry, I just really miss you and I was stressed,” Lewis spoke apologetically the second you picked up the phone.

He was somewhere around the globe, getting ready for Sunday, while you were at home, dealing with work and personal business. You wanted to be with him just like every weekend, but this time you weren’t able to and Lewis pushed a bit during a call, asking yet again for you to join him when you two had already talked about it.

You sigh, body relaxing on the couch. You hated when they fought being each on one side of the world. “It’s ok, Lew. I get it you’re under a lot of pressure. Don’t worry about me giving up because of a small fight,” you joked by the end making him chuckle. “We promised to try,” you reminded.

Lewis nodded even though you couldn’t see him, “Our love is worth it, it’s ours.”

“Yes, honey. This love is ours.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you liked the piece, this was a request based on ours by Taylor Swift as I guess most of you could tell hihi. I hope this narrative switch with italics and regular writing didn't get you guys confused. Let me know if you liked it *mwah*  I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Coffee (my coffee emoji anon on Tumblr) for proofreading this <3.  

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[pholla-jm]

"I Do..."

IMAGINE: " I DO..." ~ GOJO X READER GENRE: HURT cw: arranged marriage. term 'wife' used. not proof read. use of (y/n). this is going to be a series! so I promise it'll get better. *************

The brushes fluff against your skin, making sure that everything is perfect. Moving the strand into the right place, and then spraying a holding spray to keep it in place. 

“There,” the woman speaks while bringing the veil down to cover your face, “you look perfect.” 

The woman takes a step back to get a better look at you. 

The make up perfectly sat on your face, your hair- not a single stray out of place, and the dress covered you completely. Almost looking like a doll. Truthfully, you thought the dress was too conservative. It was obvious that the elders picked it out. 

“Thank you, mother.” You say, voice steady and monotone as you keep your gaze forward. 

Your mother clicks her tongue, a happy smile on her face as she continues to look at you. Your face is completely opposite of hers. You didn’t dare make a single facial expression, in fear of creasing the makeup that was applied. 

“Don’t forget the training. You must be the perfect wife, don’t anger him in any way. Always obey him. And most importantly, have a son.” Your mother reminds you and you nod your head. 

Trained. That’s right. You were trained to be the perfect lady, a wife starting at a very young age. You weren’t raised to be your own person. No, you were trained for someone else. Like an object or a pet.  

“Yes, mother.” 

Your mother stood proud in front of you, “you may go.” She tells the stylist. They nod their head before leaving the two of you. 

Your mothers takes a deep inhale before walking back up to you, “I believe in you. You’re going to do great.” 

Your heart flutters a bit, not used to getting compliments. However, you push those feelings aside, knowing that if it all became too much then there would be dire consequences. 

You nod again, acknowledging what she says. 

A knock on the door gains both of your attention. You knew what it meant. 

“It’s time.” Your mother says. 

You nod once again, standing up. The dress makes ruffling sounds at every move you make. Your mother takes your arm and walks you down the hallways of the venue. It was eerily quiet, not a single sound could be heard. As if everyone was holding their breath for your arrival. 

Two large doors stood in front of you. Just behind those doors stood the man you were supposed to get married to, a crowd full of elders and family members who pushed this marriage together. 

This marriage has probably been planned since you were born. Once the elders knew of your abilities, they knew that you had to be controlled. 

Your father stood in front of the doors, waiting for you. His face shows no emotions as he holds out his arm for you. You take it without hesitation, the doors now opening. 

At the sound of the door opening, everyone stands up. Music playing as the both of you walk down the aisle. You kept your gaze forwards, refusing to look at any of the guests that stared at awe. 

Your gaze stayed on the man in front of you. It was the first time seeing him. You have never seen any pictures of him, but you have heard his name plenty of times. Oh, so many times. 

Gojo Satoru.

He was strikingly beautiful. Tall and slim, with white hair and blue eyes that pierce your own eyes. He didn’t look happy to be there, but neither were you. 

Well, you couldn’t really show if you were happy or not. Let alone actually feel those strong emotions. 

Once at the altar, your father lets go of your arm. You continue to walk up the altar, only stopping when you stand in front of the man. 

It was a strange feeling. Standing in front of a man that you didn’t know, and you were going to marry him. It felt even weirder knowing that this was your first time seeing him. 

You wondered what he was like? Is he cruel and mean? Is he going to force you against your will? Did he have a sense of humor? Laid back? You wondered what his favorite color or his favorite food is. 

You were just itching to know this man that stood in front of you. 

You wondered why though. Maybe because it is going to be the first real interaction with someone that is around your age. Even though this interaction is planned, doesn’t mean that every single thing after this will be. 

So caught up in your thoughts you didn’t realize that it was time to say the ‘I do’s’. 

“I do.” You say, like you have practiced this multiple times. No real emotion behind it. 

The man in front of you could only stare. Wondering what in the world was wrong with you. It was like he was getting married to someone that was dead. Sure, they were alive on the outside, but on the inside they weren’t really alive. 

With a deep breath he answers, “I do.” 

He didn’t really want to though. Of course he didn’t want to have this arranged marriage! Especially to someone who he has never meant. But he didn’t have a choice in this matter. Threatening to take the things he loved from him. All so that he could have a strong heir. 

He couldn’t wait for the elders to die off. 

Lifting the veil from your face, his breath catches in his throat. 

It was like he was staring right at a doll. Makeup done so perfectly, that there was no imperfection. However, as he stared into your eyes, he couldn’t see any life in them. Not a single flicker of life or light in the eyes. You were just a body without a soul. 

And he couldn’t be more disturbed and disgusted at the same time. 

Swallowing his emotions down, he leans down to place his lips onto yours. 

It was nothing special. No butterflies in the stomach, no sparks of electricity- just a simple peck to the lips to seal the wedding. 

The sound of applause erupted around the two of you as you pulled away. You gave him a blank stare as he gave you a tight lip smile. He almost felt…. awkward about kissing you. 

Truth be told, you felt a bit awkward too. Even as he took your hand to drag you down the altar and down the aisle. 

All eyes were on the both of you, applauding at the two of you being married. All of them had bright smiles on their faces, like they didn’t force this marriage together. It was normal to them though, most of them are married due to power statues or convenience. 

Why would this be any different? 

The sound of a door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You were standing in front of a black car, Gojo holding the door open for you. 

You blink a couple times, wondering how you were so deep in thought you didn’t even notice that the both of you have stepped outside of the venue. 

You look back at the venue, seeing your family. They were smiling down at you, like they were proud. But you knew that they weren’t proud of you. No, they were proud that their child was going to marry the most powerful sorcerer in all of history. 

You look back at Gojo Satoru, the man you just married. He was waiting patiently for you to get into the car. You give him a little nod before getting the car. A couple seconds later, Satoru gets to the other side of the car. 

The door thuds shut and a silence envelops the both of you. You look at him from the corner of your eye. Normally this is where he would show his true colors. 

But he sat in silence, his chin resting on his fist as he looked out the window. You noticed that his eyes were still out, and you were well aware of his six eyes. You wondered if that had any physical burden on his eyes. 

“Do your eyes hurt?” You ask him and he freezes up at the sound of your voice. 

It was actually the first time he has heard you speak, beside the ‘I do’. It sounded real, and not scripted. 

Satoru looks away from the window to look at you. You were staring at him with that same look since you first met. It began to unsettle him, and he finally took a good look at you. 

His six eyes couldn’t pick up any significant curse energy off of you. If you didn’t marry him for power, because you surely weren’t strong, then your family must have married you off for money. 

“How do you know?” He asks like he wasn’t popular in the jujutsu world. “I know that you carry the six eyes. That mustn’t be the easiest on your eyes. You haven’t worn any covering since the wedding.” You answer promptly. 

Satoru chuckles at your response and digs his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a white blindfold. “What else do you know about me?” He asks while pulling the blindfold over his eyes. “Nothing else. You are Gojo Satoru, my husband. One of the strongest sorcerers.” You respond and his lips purse at the word husband. 

“Right,” he whispers, “what about you?” You tilt your head, “I don’t understand.” “Who are you?” 

“My name is (L/n) (Y/n) - I’m sorry, Gojo (y/n) - daughter of the (l/n) clan. I will be your dutiful wife.” You tell him and Satoru cringes at your answer. 

At this point, he felt like he was talking to a robot- giving him AI answers. 

“Hm, I never heard of the (l/n) clan. You must be pretty weak then.” 

At his words, you turn your head, facing the front of the car again. You don’t respond to his words, knowing that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. 

From this little reaction, you knew the type of man Gojo Satoru is. To you, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you fulfilled the duties that were given to you. 

You were going to be the wife of Gojo Satoru.

[athforskz]

What would SKZ be as an overprotective baby brother to his older sister - will he show her off but ban his members from interacting with her, will the fact that she is older than all of them be the reason he 'hides' her from his members, will he just be happy that she's happy?

I like this concept so I turned it into a little drabble!

Thank you for your request! Hopefully I did it justice and you enjoy 💕

Dearest Little Brother - OT8! SKZ

Masterlist

Warnings: None

Chan He is very proud that you are his older sister so of course he’d show you off to his members, but he’s very protective over you. If one of his members ever showed interest in you romantically he would nip it in the bud. There’s no way he would allow any of the boys to pursue you. Chan thinks you deserve the absolute best and if he has to hand pick them himself then so be it.

Minho Doesn’t tell the others at first that he has an older sister. In some ways he’s a little envious of you because whenever you step into a room all attention is on you. It’s no different when the other boys eventually find out about you. Of course they’re absolutely enthralled with your presence, but your little brother, Minho is sulking in the corner. You’re his sister, not theirs. If he had it his way you would be home and under the radar.

Changbin Absolutely over the moon to show off his older sister to the members. You and Binnie had a great sibling relationship growing up and he would love nothing more than to share such an amazing person in his life with his group. You can’t come around much, but when you do, Changbin is the first one in line to parade you around.

Hyunjin Although he loved you as his big sister, he didn’t want the other boys chasing after you. He was extra cautious when you came around for practice or to the dorms, side-eyeing any of the boys that even dared to talk to you. He’d even go as far as stepping in between you and Chan when he came to you for a hug. Everyone knows Chan is a hugger and means nothing romantic by it, but Hyunjin was taking no chances.

Han Doesn’t mind that his members are actually pretty fond of you. You’re his older sister, who wouldn’t be? But Han is honestly a bit clueless of some of their advances towards you sometimes. The other boys don’t mean it seriously, it’s more of a tease, but it doesn’t work when Han pretty much has a question mark above his head whenever you tell him that Minho was blatantly flirting with you.

Felix Lowkey tries to set you up with one of his hyungs. He thinks one of them Changbin would be perfect for you. However, you aren’t all that interested in any of the boys. You see all of them as an extension of your little brother, Felix, and much prefer to keep it that way. That doesn’t necessarily stop them from trying though.

Seungmin Yes, he’s your younger brother and he loves you, but couldn’t care less about your relationship with the members. You are your own person and he totally respects that. Plus he knows his boys wouldn’t do anything to wrong or hurt you. You’re all practically family.

Jeongin The biggest overprotective little brother there is. He would introduce you to the other members but make it crystal clear that they are not to contact you without letting him know first. You and I.N come from a conservative family and he knows the boys can get a little cantankerous.

Taglist: @doitforbangchan / @jehhskz

[frvnkcastles]

hii i’m not sure if this request is acceptable for you to write, but i was thinking a scenario where the reader is a naturally introverted & quiet person. she also struggles with self image/body issues & social anxiety. maybe reader & frank castle are at a small gathering to meet reader’s childhood bff. but she starts to become insecure & feel inadequate b/c the bff is the total opposite of her (friendly, outgoing, & etc), always has all the guys attention, & all the crushes the reader has had on a guy would reject her & pursue the bff instead. reader also dresses conservatively, doesn’t wear makeup either & the bff is the complete opposite of that. i know this is a lot to request and regardless if you do write it, i thank you for taking the time to read this!! :) <33

just a side note: reader absolutely loves her bff and would do anything for her!! she’s just so in love with frank castle & worries that she might not be enough for him :’)

ALWAYS BE THIS WAY ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You introduce Frank to your friend — cue unwarranted jealousy and a bout of insecurities.

Warnings: Feminine nicknames, insecurities, anxiety, fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Author’s note: Anon, I sympathize with you!! Sometimes I hurt my own feelings when I’m daydreaming about Frank because I start to wonder if he’d pay me any attention at all, or if he’d prefer my friends, instead. But that’s why we have fanfiction to reassure us of the opposite :) You sound like a wonderful person, I’m sending you lots of love <33 (Sidenote, I missed the part in your request where you said ’small gathering’ and the plot kinda got away from me, but I hope you like it regardless!)

The November air around you was crisp and you found yourself itching to take Frank’s hand, only to settle on shoving yours deep into your pockets. The house where you were headed was booming with noise and so very reminiscent of college parties, making you flush at the prospect of bringing Frank to one. He didn’t seem fazed, but you couldn’t tell if that was how he was truly feeling or if he was just really good at keeping a straight face.

You couldn’t believe that you had invited Frank to a party. You also couldn’t believe that he had actually said yes, but as you neared the doorstep side by side, you were actually grateful for the safe company. Your childhood best friend was to be blamed, or thanked, for the event of the night and you hadn’t had the heart to decline — she was dear to you, after all, even if you were not a party person.

”Sure about this?” Frank asked right before you reached for the doorhandle, and with wide eyes, you faced him.

”Do you wanna leave?” you asked, panicking internally at the thought of him leaving you here all alone, but the warm chuckle he gave you was reassuring in effect.

”Nah, ’m good. You just kinda look like you want the ground to swallow ya up”, Frank noted with his hands in his pockets, and awkwardly, you glanced at your feet before giving him a shrug.

”It’s not really my scene. But I love her and I want to be here for her”, you explained, and nodding, Frank promised he understood. In fact, he could respect you going out of your comfort-zone for a loved one — he was the type to put family first, too, after all.

With a deep inhale of courage, you opened the door and was welcomed with the loud music and the colorful lights inside the house. It really was quite adolescent from the looks of it, but you weren’t that surprised — your friend had found a passion in throwing parties for her sorority, and clearly, she was yet to move on. You had always felt kind of guilty for missing out on all the supposed fun, but as you stepped in now, you felt more exposed than anything.

Awkwardly, you adjusted your jacket over your dress, the one that you had worn maybe once or twice and then deemed ’too much’ for you, and glanced over your shoulder to find Frank scanning the room. He stood behind you like a bodyguard, and it only added to the insecure feeling eating you from the inside. This really wasn’t a place you’d usually be at on a Friday night, and the drinking and dancing around you was definitely a little too bold for you.

”Oh my gosh, there you are!” your friend called your name as she emerged from the crowd, her gorgeous outfit gaining all your attention right up until she grabbed your hand and started yanking you further into the house. ”Come, let’s get you something to drink”, she gushed, and as you were dragged towards the kitchen, you looked behind to make sure Frank was still following — he was.

As your friend poured you a soda, Frank grabbed a beer and was satisfied in sipping it in the background while the two of you got caught up. There was much to discuss, considering it had been months since you had seen each other, but eventually, she noticed the man you had come with, a sly smile on her face.

”Well, are you gonna introduce me to your friend or what?” she teased you with a nudge, and with an awkward laugh, you gestured between her and Frank, who stuck out one hand to the woman.

”This is Frank. He’s my, uh, friend”, you briefed her, and as soon as the word friend left your mouth, you regretted it. You wished it could have been something more, wished you could have held Frank’s hand and linked arms with him, leaned into him and kissed his cheek, but alas, you could not. And now that it was aired out, he was basically fair game, and you already knew your friend would ask for your permission to flirt with him later. And you’d say yes, because… because what else could you say? He wasn’t yours. You just wished he was.

”Pleasure”, Frank spoke gruffly, and with a giggle, your friend batted her eyelashes at him.

”It’s all mine, Frank. Make yourself at home, okay?” she replied with a casual brush against his arm, completely innocent, and yet it had your blood boiling. This happened every time — guys always went for her, not you. You had been able to cope with it before, but Frank was… well, Frank. He wasn’t just a potential one night stand or a casual fling at all. He was special and you really, really cared for him.

You just couldn’t tell if the feeling was mutual.

”Oh, I love this song!” your friend cheered when another pop song blasted through the speakers, and grabbing Frank’s hand, she began leading him to the living room for the homemade dance floor. You followed behind them, but stayed in the doorway, not really sure what to do with yourself as you watched her dance with her best efforts to get Frank in the mood, as well. If you hadn’t been so paralyzed with envy and insecurity, you would have laughed at the sight of him, stiff and out of place with his hands trying to find somewhere to be.

You shifted your jacket over your dress again, utterly uncomfortable around all these people, dressed in something you would have never worn otherwise. You felt out of place, too, and you had a hard time imagining that any of these people would care for a conversation with you. It felt like the walls were coming down on you, like it was getting a little harder to breathe, so you turned back to lock eyes on the one person who always grounded you — Frank.

Just as you did, you saw him finally placing his hands on her hips, and your heart sank. Before it could shatter into a million pieces, though, he gently and respectfully pushed her away, leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and then turned on his heel and headed directly your way. You straightened your position against the doorway and fiddled with your hands as he towered over you, his low voice barely audible through the music.

”Wanna get outta here?” he asked, and with an eager nod, you accepted his offer. The two of you aimed for the front door, but before you could make it, your friend grabbed your arm through the crowd and you turned back to face her, all the while Frank was still sneaking through all the dancing people and towards the door.

”Hey, I’m sorry, I would’ve never tried to dance with him like that if I had known”, she shouted over the music, and with a frown, you couldn’t say anything. Known what?

She kissed your cheek, and with that, she was gone again. Confused, you continued your way back to the entrance, where Frank awaited and offered his hand to you as soon as you were within reach. With warm cheeks, you accepted his gesture and took a gentle hold of his bigger hand, your heart racing in your chest as you strolled across the street and back to your car.

”Didn’t seem like you were havin’ the best time”, Frank finally spoke up, ”figured we could do somethin’ better.”

You looked up at him, but as soon as he turned to meet your gaze, you glanced away. ”Thank you, Frankie”, you chuckled. ”I guess I just always feel a little… inadequate in situations like that”, you added quietly, and with a frown, Frank looked at you again.

”How do you mean?” he wondered, and with a shrug, you subconsciously squeezed his hand.

”Not pretty enough. Not wild enough. Not fun enough. I dunno. I love her but I’ve never been like her or her other friends. I just don’t feel… Well, I guess enough was the key word here”, you elaborated, the words just pouring out of you, and anxiety slowly leaving your body along with them. The tension that built up in you through the night was finally exiting, and you felt like you could breathe again.

”Hey”, Frank grunted as the two of you reached your car, his hand still tightly holding onto yours when you stopped walking. ”I think you’re enough. You’re goddamn amazin’, actually. It probably ain’t gonna help much but I just need ya to know that I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I like you the way you are”, he continued, dead-serious, and as much was obvious from the stare he gave you — almost intimidating but you knew it was coming from a place of affection.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you broke into a soft smile. ”Thank you, Frank”, you hummed. He was about to let go and walk to his side of the car, but with a sudden rush of bravery, you stopped him. ”Hey, what did you tell her? When you left her on the dance floor?” you asked, supposing your friend’s cryptic comment may have had something to do with that. Your face felt hot and your stomach was full of butterflies, but Frank was just as casual as ever, even when he shared his confession with you.

”Told her what I just told you. I like you. You. Don’t wanna dance with anyone else”, he shrugged. Your smile faltered, and your first instinct was to wonder if he was messing with you, if they had figured out you had a crush on him and were now playing a cruel joke on you.

But then you remembered who you were looking at. He would have never done that to you, and he wouldn’t have lied to you. And the way he stared at you still, the way he stood by his words, meant he was completely serious and honest about his feelings.

”Really?” you whispered, and with a quiet laugh, Frank gave you a look.

”Gonna make me repeat it, girl?”

Giggling, you pursed your lips together in fake-thought. ”I might. It sounded good”, you teased before gulping and turning more serious. ”I like you too, you know”, you admitted, and with a smile spreading over his lips, Frank nodded. Slowly, he leaned over to you so he could press his lips against your forehead in a soft, loving kiss, and in an instant, your heart rested easy and you felt safe and at home.

”I was hoping you’d say that.”

[cannibalizedlove]

Love ur work and I'm quite happy u visit my blog 😇 ♥︎

do u take requests? If so, I'd like to request lee x nonbinary reader but if u don't take requests that's fine! Either way, dont wanna bother u and u don't have to do it if u don't want to!

I love taking requests, you can always send them my way and I’m obsessed with your blog! I hope this is good enough for you!

Acceptance.

Information and warnings — coming out, comfort, non eater reader, nonbinary reader, Lee’s an absolute sweetheart, pure fluff.

You had met Lee in a diner on your way through the midwest. You had to get out of your cramped hometown, you’d out grown it all, the conservative views, the unapproving stares, but most of all; the truth.

That’s how you ended up here, sat alone in a window seat at a random diner in the middle of nowhere. As you downed your cup of black coffee, the only thing you could afford, you looked up to see a handsome man, around your age, quietly looking around for a seat.

Your gaze was brought down to the newspaper on the table, only for your eyes to snap in front of you. Now face to face with the scrawny man from before. He had dark unkempt curls, with faded red blending into the top. His hands were tattooed, and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat and dirt.

“Can I sit here?” He asked softly, he looked tired and severely due for a meal.

“Yes, of course that’s no problem.” You nervously sputtered out, gesturing to the booth on the other side of your table.

“Thank you. I saw you from across the place. I thought you may just need to talk to someone. I’m Lee, by the way.” The man explained, a blush heated up your cheeks.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

You were instantly drawn to him, your shared sense of loneliness tied you two together. Lee had ordered multiple plates of food, and scarfed them down while the two of you chatted about anything and everything.

“Hey, let’s get out of here, yeah?” Lee asked, wiping the syrup from his pancakes off of his face and hands.

You nodded, raising your hand to call the waitress over for the check. Lee shook his head laughing, took your hand, and ran out of the dinner, resulting in an angry waiter to yell multiple curses at the two of you.

“Where are we going?” You asked, looking at him while he was driving. He was so beautiful, and the moonlight through the windows shined on his face, lighting up his striking green eyes and soft freckles that perfectly spotted his cheeks and nose.

“A great spot for star gazing.” He replied, smiling while keeping his eyes on the road.

Soon, you reached your destination. An old, beat up barn, with a ladder on the side. “Come on, let’s go.” Lee announced gleefully, flinging and slamming his truck door shut. You giggled as you watched him sprint to the ladder, and began jogging after him.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights.” He teased, looking back at you with a smirk, beginning to climb the ladder. “I am. You better not let me fall.” You replied, smiling back at him.

As you took Lee’s hand on the final step, he pulled you up to the roof, and sat down, looking up at the stars. “This is beautiful Lee, just beautiful.” You were amazed, and laid down for a better view.

“Almost as beautiful as you.” Lee said with a flirtatious grin, tapping you playfully with his foot.

Damnit, you thought. This is how it always plays out, someone’s interested in you, they find out how you identify and then leave.

“Lee, I have to tell you something, but I doubt you’ll see me the same.” You spoke in a shaky voice, worried about messing things up with the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

“You can tell me anything, I’m not one to judge. I promise.” He assured you, adjusting himself closer to you, limiting the space between the two of you.

“I’m nonbinary. I’m sorry if that’s something you’re not into, but I don’t wanna have to pretend with you.” You said while staring at your hands, you couldn’t bare to see the disgusted look on his face.

“I think what I have to tell you is much more damning.”

Lee huffed out with a sarcastic laugh, mixed in with a bit of sadness. He began to explain what he was, an eater, he told you about his animalistic nature, and the life he’s been forced to lead. By the end of it, a few tears stained his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m a terrible person.” He spoke between tears, wiping his nose and clenching his jaw.

“I don’t care about that, none of that is your fault.” You said softly, cupping his cheek and wiping his tears.

“I know what it’s like to feel different, I’m outcasted by everyone I meet.”

You admitted in the moment of shared vulnerability, though the two of you fought very different battles, you understood each other. You both recognized the pain of being an outsider in a world that doesn’t understand you.

“I don’t care about your gender, Y/N,” Lee whispered, “I’ll always accept you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching.

“You’ll always have a place to belong with me, I’ll protect you.”

This time you closed the space between the both of you, pressing your lips into his and holding his face gently. Lee placed a hand on your neck, and kept you close to his body. You spent the rest of the night, cuddled up with him on the roof, holding him close.

[featheredclover]

September Rain

Chapter Two

Also on Wattpad

Read from the beginning

Chapter One> <

“NK is quite cute isn’t he?” 

Khushi rolled her eyes.

“What use is it? You’ll never ever ask him for a dance”

Preetika gave a sharp tug at her hair.

“Ouch!” Khushi winced.

“Serves you right, Khushi!” Mona mumbled, applying a generous amount of lip gloss.

“Don’t you know Preetika believes that a boy should ask a girl out? Not the other way around!”

“So what?” Preetika frowned.

Khushi turned around in her chair.

“Preetika those days are long gone by. You should ask a guy if you like him. Simple as that!”

“Simple as that?” Preetika frowned.

“Boys don’t wait. If they like a girl, they’ll let her know! So if a guy isn’t telling you he likes you- news flash! It’s because he doesn’t!”

Khushi’s heart lurched painfully.

“Oh come on!” Mona said.

“They are humans just like us! If we hesitate to confess, so do they”

“Mona is right”

“Whatever, call me conservative but I stick to my views” Preetika said with a shrug.

Khushi exchanged an amused glance with Mona.

“We actually call you an old hag”

They burst into laughter, dodging the twin pillows aimed at their head.

————

The disco light twirled, creating a mosaic across the room, the red draperies and every symbol of the red house dormitory fading in the background.

Khushi laughed as NK lifted her up.

“Put me down you psycho!”

“You came!” NK settled her on her feet.

“Of course I came! I couldn’t miss seeing you become the hottest thing in Woodsmith, could I ?”

“Yes, let’s leave the boring jobs to Aman and Arnav. I am here to live up to the Khurana name, darling “ NK winked.

“Hi NK” Preetika interrupted softly.

“Oh hey! Preetika and Mona! Glad you guys came! The food is there, the drinks are there and the party? It is right here!”

“Clever” Mona said dryly.

Khushi grabbed a cup and left the bickering pair discreetly. She hummed along with music, swaying as she took a sip.

She looked curiously at a couple dancing on the centre of the floor.

Looks like they forgot about the rest of the world!

Her smile broadened in surprise as she saw Aman holding Naina as they moved to the music.

“Things worked out for him, didn’t it?”

“God! You startled me!” She jumped.

“You know Arnav, phantom would be your alter ego’s name”

“Phantom? Yes, I am at fault because you are so unaware of your surroundings…..Or maybe you don’t look for me.”

“What?” 

She had to have heard him wrong.

“Nothing “ Arnav slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Where are the others?”

Khushi wrinkled her nose.

“Mona is probably this close to swinging at NK”

“Someone should remind them, they are not twelve anymore “ he said with a shake of his head.

“Where is the fun in growing up?” She shrugged.

“Let’s dance,” he whispered into her ear.

————

Khushi lifted her hands, her hips moving with the beats.

She laughed as Arnav awkwardly imitated her moves.

He gave up and pulled her to him with a tug on her waist.

“No, wonder you are not leaving the dance club”

“Well, someone has to play that role here” She shouted over the music.

“Alright! That’s it! We are ditching Gupta”

Before she could react, he pulled her out of the sardine packed dance floor.

“It’s 9 o'clock Arnav. Where are we even ditching to?”

“To my haven” 

———

The full moon shone brilliantly upon the terrace.

“You have a knack for finding hideaways “

“Well, the reds don’t believe in privacy. A man has to live, Khushi ”

“Sure” She shook her head with a smile.

Sitting down, Khushi patted the spot beside her.

“You know yesterday’s rain got me thinking “, he sat down.

“What?”

“The unexpected rain. I don’t like it so much”

“No one does Arnav. It gets you wet, you never see it coming and-“

“No, no Khushi. If it rained in September, I wouldn’t mind. Even if I got wet, wearing the most expensive suit, I would be happy. There is just something special about September rain”

Khushi smiled ,“Because it’s predictable? Because it gives you comfort?”

“Maybe. Maybe because you know it’s coming. The clouds tempt you, the sun hides from you. But when it drenches you….you love it as much as you did last September and…”

He paused. 

With a sigh, he turned his face up to look at the star ridden sky.

“And?” She whispered into the night.

Her breath hitched as his eyes met hers.

How can someone be so damn perfect?

“And I know I’ll love it every September of my life”

——————

Tagging: @arshifiesta

@hand-picked-star @phuljari @msbhagirathi @thenainitaldisaster @thedupattaknowswhatsup @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @barshifan @andli @shiyaravi @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @minpdnim @bigfatreader @arshiradio @simplycurlz @scorpio-smiles @bengudill @exosexosekai @0218fm

[ave09]

free

indiana jones x wife!reader

note: this is inspired by true events. this has never happened but the character of “your mother” is inspired by my own, a woman who has such high expectations for me and is very controlling that it literally kills me. i was going through a tough time and ended up writing this because i like to force my problems onto fictional characters and the only one i could seek comfort in was indiana jones.

“this is a lovely meal, honey.” 

a smile graced your lips as indiana complimented you, shooting you a dazzling grin as he continued to shove more of the delicious food into his mouth. 

on the other side of the table, your mother grimaced, “are you positive you peeled the skin off of the shrimp?” 

you fought the urge to scream.

since you were little, your mother was adamant on making sure you did everything correctly. she had very high expectations , ones that you sometimes struggled to reach. 

you thought that things would be different now that you were an adult. you had your own home, your own life, your own husband. there should’ve been nothing to correct.

and yet she found a way.

the moment the woman entered your home, she had made comments about the decor. it was simple pastels, mixed with some artifacts on display that indiana had brought home.

“you should put those away. they clash.”

“they’re beautiful. indy wouldn’t bring something home if it didn’t somehow find a way to fit in.” 

“tell him to do better.”

you liked how the house was set up. you had a vision, and you’d achieved it. but now here your mother was, finding a way to slander it.

to the unknowing eye, one would think she was trying to help. of course, that’s what she thought she was doing. but you had endured twenty-five long years of constant criticism and correcting.

you couldn’t bear it.

her next comment was about your clothing. you were clad in a beautiful sundress that indiana had gifted you with when he returned from a visit to cairo. it had been a gift from your good friend sallah. 

it was chic and comfortable, and you adored it.

but your mother did not.

“what are you wearing?” she had asked.

you frowned, “a dress?”

she wrinkled her nose, “i am not a fan of the style.” of course she wasn’t. your mother was known to wear modest conserving clothing. this dress that hugged your curves and displayed some cleavage seemed to be a sin to her. 

“it’s beautiful, mom.” you had replied, wishing that indiana would return home soon so you wouldn’t have to deal with her alone.

when your were younger, your father had always defended you. he was there in those late nights where you sobbed, believing you weren’t enough because you could fulfill your mother’s wishes.

but since the divorce, he had been living in london, as far away from your mother as possible.

only indiana could save you now.

it had been an hour or so since her arrival when indiana returned home. he had been catching up on grading schoolwork and had gotten caught up with marcus, who apparently had another job for him.

you were happy for him when he came home with the news.

your mother was not.

“henry, i do not understand how you can just leave your wife at home all alone.” 

indiana furrowed his brows, “she’s a strong woman. plus, i think she likes it when i’m gone.”

you had rolled your eyes, “oh yes because i love it when my husband is halfway around the world.” 

you were joking of course. the sarcasm in your voice was prominent. you loved when indiana went away mainly because of the happiness it gave him.

exploring the world was his calling. and often times he’d take you with him. after all, he couldn’t always leave without his best girl.

and of course, your mother did not approve once again.

“it cannot be healthy! leaving her all alone! i couldn’t bear it.” she then turned to you, a rude comment ready on her tongue. you weren’t prepared. you were currently setting the table for the delicious supper you’d been working on all evening. it was a special italian shrimp sauce, one that was usually reserved for christmas in your childhood home.

because your mother was coming over, you wanted to prove that you could make it just as good.

prove that you could do something right.

“maybe you should’ve married that scientist your father was friends with.. what was his name..?” 

you almost dropped the plate you were holding, glancing at indiana who held the same expression you did.

how dare she?

you watched as indiana’s fists clenched, and you were sure he was going to lose it soon. 

so you set down the plates and took matters into your own hands, “i love indy, mom. he is a great husband who treats me well. i am very thankful to have him.”

“of course, but-“

“would you like a drink, mom? i bought that brand of red that you like.” this was a distraction, you needed to escape for even a few minutes. “indy? love, could you help me?”

he nodded, “of course honey.” and follows you into the kitchen. you exhaled deeply, moving toward the alcohol cabinet, “the nerve of that woman.” he humbled, leaning against the counter, “i tell ya, sweetheart, if she wasn’t your mother, i’d have kicked her to the curb.”

you stifled a laugh, “tell me about it..” you retrieved the bottle of wine, handing it to your husband, “open that for me?” he obliged, and then you moved to the refrigerator, retrieving a large bottle of vodka, one that was only brought out on special occasions.

you lifted the bottle to your lips, taking a large swig. indiana stared at you in concern, “take it easy on that.” he said, but didn’t try and stop you. you were stressed, and if this was the only way to cool your nerves now, then so be it. 

you took a few more gulps, placing the bottle onto the counter, your head falling into your hands, “why do i even try anymore?” you murmured. 

“you’re a daughter trying to have a relationship with her mother. it’s not a crime.”

you sighed deeply, blinking back tears. you could hear the clink of the wine glasses, and suddenly indiana’s arms were around you, embracing you tightly. 

this was what you needed. an escape. a way out from these unachievable expectations. 

indiana was your escape.

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “just one hour left, baby. one hour, and she’s gone. okay?” 

you nodded slowly, “yeah. yeah, one hour.” you glanced up at him, a soft smile toying on your lips, “thank you for being here.”

“i’m always here, sweetheart.” he leaned forward, his lips encasing yours in a sweet kiss.

“where’s the wine!”

you stifled a groan, “duty calls.” you muttered. 

and now here you were, at the dinner table, doing everything in your power not to cry. she did not deserve your tears.

“yes mom, i bought the already peeled shrimp.” you replied coolly. she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “something isn’t right, did you buy the correct sauce? it was bold of you to try and recreate such a meal, i had hope looking at it, but eating it now, there’s something wrong-“

you couldn’t do it. 

“oh my god, just because it isn’t your way doesn’t mean i did something wrong!” you exclaimed, your patience gone. your mother’s eyes widened, “are you really getting upset with me because i corrected you?”

you scoffed, setting down your utensils, “mom, the moment you walked into my house, you’ve insulted my home, you’ve insulted my husband, and you have insulted me.”

“oh please-“

you rose quickly in your seat, chair clattering against the hardwood floor, shocking both indiana and your mother.

“for twenty-five goddamn years i have tried. i have tried so fucking hard to be good. i wanted to make you proud, that’s all i’ve ever wanted. but lately, i have come to the realization that… i will never be good enough for you.” 

tears threatened to spill but you blinked them away. just a few more seconds. finish what you need to say.

“and i’m sorry. i am. but, i’m not going to do this anymore, i’m not going to be put down constantly just because i cannot achieve your high expectations. so,” you took a deep breath, “i want you to leave.” 

your mother rose from her chair, almost as if challenging you. “what did you just say?”

“oh i’m sorry, maybe i wasn’t clear enough-get the fuck out of my house.” 

she gasped, offended. but you did not care, not anymore. 

your mother huffed, grabbing her purse, “you are no daughter of mine.” 

“fine by me.” you shot back, and without another word, you turned on your heel and rushed upstairs. 

indiana was absolutely surprised by your actions, but he could not be more proud of you. all your life you’d followed orders like a soldier, and now you finally stood up to her. 

he was beaming with pride. your mother turned to him, narrowing her eyes, “you are a bad influence, henry. you have ruined her.” 

 “didn’t my wife just tell you to get the fuck out?” 

it wasn’t long before she left. indiana locked the door behind her before he went upstairs. the master bedroom door was closed. he rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, “sweetheart? you okay?” 

his hand grasped the door handle, pushing it open. he found you curled in a ball in the corner of the room, your head buried into your knees. he rushed toward you, dropping to his knees, “hey, hey, it’s alright.” 

your shoulders shook with sobs. you didn’t know what you were feeling, happiness, sadness, but there was one thing you certainly felt, and that was freedom. the chains of perfection had been taken off. 

you were free.

indiana pulled you close to him, rubbing your back soothingly, “you did it, baby. you stood your ground-you stood your ground and i am so proud of you.” 

maybe you were never able to make your mother feel proud of you, but you had made indiana swell with pride by doing the simple actions.

and his approval was all you needed.

he kissed your forehead gently, resting his head against yours, “you’re free baby. you’re finally free.” 

[stellarspecter]

I'd Much Rather Be Jorting

@astrangersummer week 1: short shorts

1k, steddie, much talk about jorts

Read on AO3

Steve nearly choked on his own spit when he saw Eddie. It was the first truly sweltering day of the summer, and apparently that meant it was time to break out the shorts. The short shorts. The kind with the ragged edges and pockets hanging out the hems. Steve was almost disappointed they were black and not light wash denim. 

“Where the hell are they selling shorts like that, Munson,” he asked once he’d regained his breath.

“Selling?” Eddie quirked a brow. “Oh, Stevie. Jorts this good aren’t found, they’re made.” He did a little spin to show them off (as if Steve wasn’t already looking too much), finishing with a flourish of his hairy leg.

“Huh?” Steve said faintly. All he could think about was the pale expanse of thigh, visible for the first time, being paraded in front of him.

“You’ve never made jorts?” Eddie asked, the most adorable pout on his face. “Well fuck, babe, we’re gonna have to fix that.”

And Steve couldn’t help it. When Eddie called him that, he was weak to his every whim.

Which is how he found himself sitting at his kitchen table, a pair of jeans and scissors in his hands.

“Step 1 of jorts: choose the jeans,” Eddie instructed across from him. “You want a pair that’s well-worn, so that you’re not wasting too much fabric by cutting them.”

Steve glanced at Eddie’s own selection, which were more holes than denim at this point. “So your whole wardrobe?”

Eddie snorted. “Okay, rich boy, sorry I’ve got style.” He winked, which Steve was not equipped to deal with at the current moment. He cleared his throat and looked back at his soon-to-be-jorted jeans. 

“What’s next?”

“Deciding the length,” Eddie answered. “The holes in mine usually decide for me, but you can do whatever feels right.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Steve muttered. He stared at the jeans in front of him, wondering how he was supposed to conjure a leg measurement out of nowhere. 

“You don’t like ‘em?” Eddie asked, clearly teasing.

Steve blushed. “I didn’t say that.”

Eddie smirked, satisfied at his reaction. “That looks like a good length.”

Steve looked down to find a line drawn in washable marker on his jeans. Maybe about mid-thigh? Whatever. He’d wear whatever, as long as Eddie said it looked good.

“Okay. So now we cut it?”

“Got it in one,” Eddie confirmed with a smile, and Steve had to focus hard on his scissors to make sure he didn’t accidentally cut himself while he was busy daydreaming about his friend’s lips.

“And there we are! Some brand new jorts to welcome in the summer,” Eddie announced, holding his own up proudly. These ones were regular blue jeans cut to a much more conservative length than the pair he was wearing.

Steve held up his own pair, a bit uncertain that they were going to be any good. He’d only ever bought clothes from a store and thrown them out whenever they got their first tear. Cutting clothes up on purpose felt blasphemous. But, he supposed, Eddie had been doing it for years, and clearly he pulled it off.

“Do I… try them on?” He hazarded.

“Yes, try them on! See how they feel!” Eddie waved him towards the bathroom to change. 

He came out with his new shorts on, tugging awkwardly at the hems. They sat a bit higher than he’d anticipated, but still nowhere near as short as Eddie’s.

“So?” Eddie waited expectantly for his verdict.

Steve shrugged. “They’re okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie exclaimed. “Just okay? Steve, jorts are more than okay, they’re great! They let you partake in the act of creation! That’s the kind of thing people write poetry about!”

“Poems,” Steve repeated flatly. “About jorts. Sure, man.”

Eddie squinted at him, then stepped away from the table and drew himself up to his full height. “The days of spring will surely bring the birds and bees cavorting,” he recited, the sing-song cadence making it clear that this was a poem. “But since I am a gentleman, I’d much rather be jorting. Hempstead Snarlton, 1943.” He paused, clearly expecting Steve to be proud of him for reciting poetry from memory.

Steve leveled him with a look. “You just made that up.”

Eddie squawked. “No I didn’t! It’s a real poem, look it up!”

“The word ‘jorts’ didn’t even exist in 1943!” 

“You don’t know that!”

Steve scoffed. “I can take a pretty good fucking guess.”

“Whatever,” Eddie sulked. “You just don’t think that gentlemen should be jorting.”

Steve blinked in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself when you talk.”

“Do you?” Eddie retorted. “Are you saying we’re not gentlemen? You don’t think I’m a gentleman, Stevie?”

“Why is this the hill you’re dying on?” Steve wondered out loud, baffled that this is the same man that scrambles his brain with just the sight of his legs.

“Because I’m jorting!” Eddie exclaimed.

Steve shook his head in bemusement and put his sunglasses on. “I’m gonna go back outside. Have fun with your… jorting.”

“Oh, I will,” Eddie shot back. “Outside, also.”

“Just can’t stand a single minute without me, can you, Eds?” Steve teased as he slid the back door open and ushered Eddie ahead of him. 

“What can I say, Stevie,” he sighed, “You and me are like gentlemen and jorting: we just belong together, don’t you agree?” He dramatically rested a hand on his chest and gave Steve a simpering look. 

Steve couldn’t ignore the flutter in his heart at hearing him say that they belonged together. Despite his ridiculousness, he couldn’t deny that he was still madly, deeply, head over heels for this man. As he watched him scamper off to wet his feet in the pool, he sighed. 

“Yeah, Eds.” Lovelorn on the deck, he watched his jorts-clad crush send ripples through the water. “I do.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics

title and poem and general inspo from bdg's "how to make jorts" video, because i am, to my core, silly. thanks for reading

[happybird16]

"Give 'em here,"

"Hm?" Levi hums distractedly, briefly glancing up at you from his desk. A solid stack of paper rests on the dark wood, one he's been slowly working through for more than an hour. Eyes flicking back down to his current page, he grimaces, fingers tightening on the pen. Black ink continues across the page in a tight, stiff scrawl.

You approach his side, dragging your fingers across the smooth, recently polished mahogany. Unlike Erwin's gargantuan desk, his is a more conservative workspace, kept mostly clear besides whatever he's currently working on, a small candle in the far corner and the occasional steaming cup of tea. Sliding the white pages to the side, you take their place, plopping down onto the hardwood. Plucking the pen from his grasp, it quickly joins the pages by your hip. You reach out, miming a grabbing gesture like an eager child, "Your hand. Gimme."

“Are you really so needy? Already?” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Running his fingers through his bangs, Levi glares up at you. "I still have 20 pages to finish."

"Nope," you say with a firm pop. "I've noticed you taking little breaks. Stopping to try to stretch your fingers. Give it here."

“Weren’t you supposed to be reading?” His eyes flick toward the office’s couch, your book resting closed on the middle cushion. “Couldn’t keep your eyes off of me?”

You smirk, “How could I, with you hissing in pain over here.” You wiggle your fingers again. “I think I even heard you whimper a few times. Now gimme.”

Eyes narrowing, his fingers twitch from where they're resting on his thigh. “Is this just some shitty excuse to hold my hand?”

Teasing, you knock into his knee with your own. “Like I need to ask?" This.. this whatever it is between you might be new, but it's nice. It's refreshing. Something easy while everything else seems to be difficult. "No silly! I’m going to give you a hand massage!”

His nose curls up, brows drawing tight. At his thigh, the digits in question curl into the fabric of his thigh. “A what?”

Holding your hand out, palm open in askance, you try again. “It’ll help. I promise.”

“Fine.” Finally his hand falls into yours. It's stiff, the digits held firm and tense like those of a wary animal.

Patting the back of his hand, you cheer exaggeratedly. “There you go! That’s a good boy!”

He clicks his tongue, “Don’t praise me like i’m some fucking cat.”

“Then don’t act like one.” Twisting the back of his hand to rest on your thigh, you interlace your fingers loosely with his, rubbing your thumb firmly into the meat of his palm. “Relax.”

With a sigh, he does, if only a little bit. Still, his shoulders are tight, eyes locked onto where your hand is wrapped around his, following the firm press of your thumb into the meat beneath his own.

“You have such beautiful hands,” you murmur, torn between watching your work and watching him watching you. Suddenly, you feel warm, anxious excitement prickling along your spine. You'd gone into this so confidently, you can only hope that it actually helps. “Have I told you how much I love your hands?”

His lips curl, a filthy smirk peeking up along the edges. “My fingers, yes. Loudly.” His fingers loosen, curling to press along the back of your hand.

"Ha," you snort, happy to see him a bit more relaxed. Stretching his hand out flat, you glide your fingers along the length of each of his digits, one after the other. They pop a little bit, small airy noises.

"You take such good care of your hands," you note, twisting it to press his palm to your thigh. He has callouses, that's for sure, rough little patches at the base of each finger. There's little knicks too, white lines of thin aged scars. A particularly deep one is gouged into the length of his pointer finger, right along the outer edge. Still, his skin is soft, you tell him as much.

He shrugs, swallowing heavily and watching you follow along his fingers, pressing heavily into the skin. "Just like to keep clean. You know that."

Huffing, you reply, "I'm pretty sure everyone on base knows that." Even his nails are pretty, perfectly trimmed without even a single bit of dirt beneath them. Even the cuticles have been pushed up. Dragging the tip of your finger along the perfectly smooth rounded edge of his nail, you note, "I'd love to paint your nails. It'd be like a good old fashioned sleepover."

Levi hums, eyes heavy. His hand is no longer stiff, relaxed completely into your grip. "What's that?"

You gasp, "A sleepover? You don't know what a sleep over is?"

His lips thin, somewhere between a frown and a scowl. "I didn't exactly have a normal up-bringing, remember."

"Oh," you breathe. Sometimes it's so easy to forget that his missed out on most normal childhood experiences. "Don't let Hange ever find out. They'll go on a whole rampage."

Levi rolls his eyes, "I'm sure. So what is it?"

"Hmm," you struggle, "It's sort of like a girl's night?"

He replies slowly, not quite understanding, "Girls..night?"

"Boys had them too!! And there were mixed ones! They were fun!" Hand still working against his, you trace your fingers along the boney lines on the back of his hand, watching the skin shift as you press into him. "It's like... pillow fights! And painting each others nails!"

His brows scrunch up in confusion, eyes distant as he tries to imagine the experience. "That sounds...fun."

Excited, you continue, "There were games too! Truth and Dare! Oooh and spin the bottle!"

Levi's eyes widen in horror, no doubt recognizing those as games the younger scouts play, often under the influence of heavy amounts of alcohol. "Hange would go on a rampage," he agrees solemnly.

Pressing his palm down into the meat of your thigh, you push into his first knuckle. It pops, loud and resonant, beneath the press of your thumb. Levi tenses, hissing at the uncomfortable sensation.

Heedless, you continue onto the next, earning another loud pop. And another. And another, until all five joints have been released. “It’s such a shame that your hands been bothering you.”

His shoulders dip in a long sigh, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s really not that big of a deal. It’s fine.”

Flipping his hand back over, you tug at his forefinger, quickly pulling the length to pop it. “You’ve been holding your fingers weird for awhile now. How long have they been hurting?”

“It’s nothing. An ache, if anything,” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. As you tug at another one of his fingers, he grunts. “A couple weeks.”

You switch your grasp, pinching your fingers together and pulling along the lengths of his own, no longer popping them, merely soothing the sore muscles. "Do you think it's gear aches?"

He grumbles something under his breath, low enough that you can't really catch it. "I'm not some fucking brand-new cadet."

As with most physical activities, using ODM gear hurts at first. The constant grip strength makes your hands ache, burning with red hot pain as muscles build and callouses form. New cadets complain constantly about the pains, dubbing them 'gear aches' and constantly whine to the medical staff for lotion to sooth their hands until they can adjust.

"It's not just new cadets," you note with a hum, "Sometimes scouts complain about them after training particularly hard."

"I never even had them when I started out," Levi clicks his tongue. "Izzy had them pretty bad though. Had to find some lotion for her."

"Find or steal?" The glower you get in response is answer enough. You smooth your thumb along his palm, repeating your earlier actions and working the digit hard enough into his muscle to earn a grunt. "Of course you didn't get gear aches. Is there anything you're not immediately perfect at?"

Levi purses his lips, but you cut in before he can speak, "Ah ah, no self deprecating."

He grumbles something very quiet under his breath.

"What was that?"

He responds quietly, barely audible. "I'm shit at paperwork."

"It's just something new. You'll get used to it eventually." Levi's hands are so small, his palm wide and the fingers long and thin. The skin is pale enough that you can trace the blue lines of his veins, where they twist and curve along the back of his hand and across his palm. Dainty. His hands are dainty, graceful yet somehow still masculine. "Okay.. so it's not gear aches. What is it then?"

You can barely catch it, but Levi's eyes flicker towards the stack of papers by your thigh. At just the same time, your fingers catch a rough spot on the side of his middle finger. A callous. It seems to be newer, up towards the top of the digit, near the first joint. Wait a minute..

The realizations strikes you so fast, you can't help but blurt out, "It's the paperwork!"

Levi scowls, fingers twisting into your palm. He looks shy, ducking his head down. "It's fucking useless anyways. Why do those pigs need to know every time someone on my team scrapes their knee? Or fucks up their uniform in training?"

You stiffen your shoulders, pitching your voice low in a rough imitation of Erwin. "Levi, cataloging our mistakes is an important measure to prevent them going forward. A mere scrape during training could equate to a loss of-"

"-Stop. Shut the fuck up," Levi cuts you off with a small laugh, "That's such a shitty imitation of him."

You're happy to see him smile and the sound of his laughter has your heart doing somersaults in your chest. You pat his hand softly, "You don't need to stress so much about it. Most of it just ends up decorating some tiny little storeroom in the basement of headquarters. Erwin might glance at some of the more important ones, like incident reports- but the higher ups don't really care.

The fingers of Levi's free hand disappear into the inky blackness of his bangs, frustration oozing from his features, "If they're just going to end up in some musty-ass storeroom, then why the fuck do I have to fill out 50 fucking pages every week?"

"If you're lucky some higher up might even use the pages to wipe his ass," you chirp, enjoying the resulting snort. "Us scouts are scrutinized pretty heavily, ya' know. Sometimes I think Erwin is just desperately trying to keep us funded."

Levi frowns, "And so he's, what? Overloading them with useless nonsense?"

"Maybe? I certainly wouldn't put it past him. Something you're actually bad at is relaxing. Just take breaks every once and awhile. You don't need to do it all in one sitting." At some point during the conversation you'd stopped massaging his hand, instead merely fiddling with the lengths of his fingers. "Did the massage help?"

Levi grunts, "Yeah." His finger pat your thigh. "It was nice. Thanks."

"They don't ache anymore?" His hand is still limp and heavy, warm against your thigh.

"No." His hand rises, fingers stretching cautiously. "Feels kind of fuzzy, actually."

"That's good. I'm glad." You expect him to scoot you back to the couch so he can get back to the paperwork, but he doesn't. He just sits there, not wanting you to move. "If I had some lotion it probably would've been even better."

"Maybe next time," he replies. He shuffles in his seat, scootching forward several inches so his knees knock the inside of your thighs.

"Next time?" Your surprise is doubled when his other hand falls into your lap, palm up with back pressed to the fat of your thigh.

His eyes ask the question that his mouth doesn't and your fingers immediately start kneeding into the meat of his palm.

Next time.