#“and we kept everything professional” is the one i was thinking of

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Six - Competitive

Summary: The day to present your designs has come. You knew Steve cared about winning, but you didn’t realize just how competitive he really was until now. You also find out that not everyone played fair. Some people on the team apparently made their own rules.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of Y/N, workplace competition, rivalry, cheating, unfairness, Steve gives cold shoulder, Luxe and Steve have tension, workplace drama, Argyle is a great guy, Robin and Eddie lowkey being annoying

Word Count: 4.4k

Note: This chapter is short but chapter seven is super duper long!! The next chapter will only be Steve and Luxe centered, so look forward to all that chapter has to offer hehe. Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter and what you think will happen in the next!!

Series Masterlist

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You and Steve stood at the front of the meeting room, presenting your project to the team. Ever since you walked in that morning, he’d barely looked at you. When you asked him a question, he gave you short, clipped responses, never meeting your eyes.

You felt awful about your outburst yesterday. He didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t done anything wrong. You were angry, and you didn’t know how to deal with it, so you lashed out. Things were actually starting to get better between you two, and then you went and ruined it.

You kept telling yourself it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of you or how cold he’s being now, but there was something inside you that still wanted to fix it. It was like there was this force pulling you towards him.

Despite the strain, you made it through the presentation smoothly. Both of you kept things clear and concise, explaining everything so your coworkers could follow along without feeling overwhelmed. There were no stumbles or awkward silences, just two professional people doing their job.

Steve nodded at you before turning back to the team. “So, to sum it up,” he said, voice steady. “Our design proves that sustainability doesn’t have to sacrifice the planet. Y/N and I wanted to create something that feels like streetwear, showcasing its boldness, but still respects our environment. That balance is what we were aiming for with this piece.”

You glanced at him briefly, surprised at the mention of your name. You don’t think he’s ever said it until now. You cleared your throat, stepping in to add the final words. “We designed this to show that style can evolve with our values. Sustainable fashion should feel wearable and authentic. That’s what we tried to capture here. It’s about shifting the way we think about fashion. We can be cool without being completely careless.”

You glanced around the room, putting on your best smile as everyone began to applaud. The designer smiled as she clapped along with the rest of the team, and you glanced at Steve, only to see him already looking at you.

Nancy stood from her seat, a wide grin lighting up her face as she looked between the two of you. “Incredible! Absolutely amazing! Great job, you two!”

You and Steve returned to the table, sliding into your seats beside each other. You glanced over at him, silently hoping for a smile or even a nod or just something, but Steve subtly shifted away, angling his body toward the front just as Jonathan and Argyle got up to present.

“Looks like Y/N and Steve are in the lead,” Nancy announced, settling back into her seat with a proud grin.

Eddie scoffed. “They were the first ones to go.”

“Exactly,” Nancy shot back, her tone playful.

You tried to smile at the banter, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Even with all the praise, all you could think about was the way Steve didn’t look at you, and how much it hurt that he didn’t.

Why you were feeling this way, you didn’t know.

You watched as the other two groups presented their designs, bringing a much different energy than you and Steve had. Argyle and Jonathan’s presentation was laid back and effortlessly cool, and their easy banter made the whole thing feel hilarious.

Then came Robin and Eddie, and their presentation was pure chaos in the best way. There were fake fog effects, dramatic lighting from a flashlight, and their outfits were a different story. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at their antics, half in disbelief and half impressed.

After everyone wrapped up their presentations, Nancy and the designer disappeared into her office to deliberate. The rest of you stayed behind in the meeting room, leading to playful banter.

“You guys were good,” Robin said casually, arms crossed as she leaned back in her seat. “But not as good as us.”

“Stop being so smug, Buckley,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes.

“He’s just jealous,” Eddie chimed in, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yo, I gotta admit,” Argyle said, nodding toward them. “Those special effects were kinda sick.”

Steve scoffed. “Their outfits were tacky.”

“That’s the jealousy talking, Harrington,” Eddie shot back, grinning wider.

You glanced at Steve out of the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched tight, and he had his arms crossed so hard, it looked like he might snap them off. You could see the frustration behind his eyes. He had a feeling Robin and Eddie cheated again, but with the designer here, he couldn’t risk calling them out.

The chatter died down when the door finally opened. Nancy stepped in, followed closely by the designer, who had a clipboard tucked under one arm and a satisfied smile on her face.

“Alright, everyone,” Nancy announced, her voice bright with excitement. “That was amazing to watch. Honestly, all of you brought something unique to the table. But obviously, we had to choose a winner.”

You looked around the room as she began to speak again.

“The winners are…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Robin and Eddie!”

Robin threw her arms up, cheering. “Fifth time in a row, woo!”

Eddie leapt to his feet with a mock bow, before bringing Robin into a bear hug. “We are undefeated!”

The room erupted in applause. Everyone clapped, even Argyle and Jonathan. Everyone except Steve. You glanced at him again. He hadn’t moved. His arms were still folded, jaw tighter than ever, his eyes narrowed at the front of the room. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

Nancy continued. “Second place goes to Jonathan and Argyle. Great job, guys..”

Jonathan high-fived Argyle, and the room erupted into applause again.

“And third, we have Steve and Y/N. You two were superb! Don’t let the ranking discourage you. Your vision was strong.”

You smiled politely and nodded. You genuinely didn’t mind the outcome. But beside you, Steve looked like he might implode. Still, he said nothing, his eyes trained forward, burning holes into the floor.

The designer stepped forward then, walking up to Eddie and Robin. “You two did a wonderful job,” she said, shaking both their hands. “I’d love to chat more and look into developing this line further.”

Steve huffed and stomped out of the room, arms crossed tightly. You pursed your lips, watching Robin and Eddie chat with the designer, clearly not over their win. You furrowed your brows and decided to follow Steve, but by the time you turned the corner, his office door had already slammed shut.

You sighed, pausing outside the door. After a moment, you decided not to bother him. Instead, you headed toward the breakroom, in desperate need of caffeine.

As you poured yourself a cup of coffee, the breakroom door swung open and in came Robin and Eddie, laughing and high-fiving one another.

“Hey, sweets!” Eddie beamed, pulling you into a tight, dramatic hug before you could even react. Your arms stayed limp at your sides, your eyebrows knit together at the sudden contact.

“Congrats, you two,” you mumbled once he let go, rubbing your shoulder where he’d practically crushed your bones.

“Thanks, babe. We really poured our blood, sweat, and glitter into this one,” Robin said with a wink.

You gave her a tight smile, sipping your coffee as Steve entered the room, holding a single sheet of paper in his hand. It was slightly crumpled, like he’d been gripping it tightly.

Robin turned, smiling. “Hey, dingus! No hard feelings, right? You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” Steve said, voice clipped. He walked right past them, heading to the counter like he didn’t care, but then turned on his heel. “Actually, scratch that. I am mad. Because I found this on my computer.”

He held up the paper dramatically. Eddie squinted. “What is that?”

Steve walked over and slapped it on the breakroom table. “It’s a printout of the point breakdown spreadsheet. The one Nancy made before she locked it. You guys somehow added an extra twenty points to one of the categories. And it just happens to apply to your design only.”

Robin groaned. “Oh my God. Steve, that is so petty—”

“Petty?” Steve snapped, arms folded again. “You literally hacked the scoring system.”

“We didn’t hack it,” Eddie defended, holding his hands up innocently. “We…creatively used our resources to help our chances.”

“Oh my goodness,” you muttered.

Robin rolled her eyes. “It’s not like anyone died. We just knew Nancy wouldn’t check again after locking it, and those points were just sitting there in our hearts, waiting to be validated.”

Just then, Nancy stepped into the breakroom with a folder in hand, stopping short when she saw the scene. “Um. What’s going on?”

Steve looked at her and then pointed to the paper. “Ask your ‘top team’ how they magically gained twenty points overnight.”

Nancy took the paper, scanning it. Her brows furrowed. “Robin? Eddie?”

Robin bit her lip. “Okay. In our defense—”

“You cheated.”

“We tweaked it.”

Nancy exhaled sharply. “Unbelievable. That category wasn’t even approved. Come on, you guys.”

Robin and Eddie didn’t say anything, shifting on their feet uncomfortably as Nancy shook her head in disappointment.

Nancy sighed, before turning to you and Steve, guilt creeping into her voice. “I’m sorry, you two. If I had known…I never would’ve let this happen. But it’s too late to do anything now. The designer already signed with them.”

You gave her a shrug “It’s okay. I don’t really mind.”

Steve didn’t respond. He just stood there, jaw tight and arms crossed. Robin and Eddie looked between each other, and the grin that was once on Eddie’s face completely wiped off.

“Whatever,” Steve said flatly, brushing past all of you toward the door. You turned slightly, watching as he pushed the breakroom door open and let it shut behind him with a loud thud.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie added, shrugging with his hands raised in mock surrender. “We didn’t mess with Jonathan and Argyle’s points. They won second place fair and square.”

You offered a tight lipped smile, nodding, but your mind was elsewhere. “I’ll try to talk to him,” you said, stepping away from the counter and brushing off your clothes, trying to distract yourself.

As you headed out into the hallway, your heels clicking against the tile, you couldn’t help but think that Steve was seriously competitive. You knew he was stubborn, but this was personal. And maybe, if you were honest with yourself, that kind of passion was oddly attractive.

No, what were you saying? Where was this coming from?

You hesitated outside his office, hand hovering near the door. You took a deep breath, debating if this was a good idea. You didn’t know why you wanted to check up on him so badly. You didn’t even like him. Perhaps it was the guilt from yesterday, for blowing up on him, so you wanted to make things right.

You knocked lightly. You waited, but didn’t get a response. You waited for a few more seconds before rolling your eyes, turning the knob to push the door open. “Steve?”

He didn’t even look at you as he paced behind his desk. “I’m busy.”

You stepped inside anyway, ignoring the coldness in his voice. “You stormed off like a child. Figured I’d check if you combusted.”

Steve gave you a flat look from where he stood, arms crossed and jaw tight. “I’m fine.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’re about to flip over your desk.”

He turned away from you, muttering something under his breath as he fiddled with a stack of papers. You watched him for a moment, could see how tense his shoulders were, the way he avoided your eyes, the red flush that still lingered on his cheeks.

“You’re seriously upset about losing,” you said, more amused than anything. “I mean…it’s not the end of the world. You’re still Steve Harrington, the very stubborn Brand Manager.”

That got a scoff out of him, but still, he didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t know you were this competitive,” you continued, walking slowly toward his desk. “I mean, everyone has a competitiveness streak here and there but this is just wow. It’s a whole new level.”

He finally turned to face you, eyes sharp. “It’s not just about losing.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Then what is it about?”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to yell, but instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s about integrity,” he muttered. “Robin and Eddie screwed with our score. They cheated. And everyone’s acting like it’s funny.” He shook his head, lips pressed into a tight line. “They made us come in last, Luxe. They do this every time, but I just could never find proof.”

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out. “Okay, but like, you do know this isn’t the Olympics, right?”

He glared at you, making you grin right back.

“I’m not saying you don’t have a point,” you added quickly. “It’s just…wow. You really care.”

“I care about the work. It’s about fairness.”

You smiled a little. “And winning.”

“And winning,” he admitted with a sigh.

He looked at you for a long moment, not saying anything at all. He just stared. You shifted a little, unsure if he was going to respond, but Steve was locked in place. His jaw was tense, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for the right thing to say.

He wanted to say something. He really did. There was a smartass comment on the tip of his tongue, something that could’ve made you roll your eyes or laugh, something that might’ve brought you both back to that ease the two of you had for the last few days.

But he didn’t forget what you said yesterday. The way you blew up at him. The way you got angry at him for no reason, like everything that happened between you didn’t matter. So instead, his voice came out tight.

“Thanks,” he said flatly. “Appreciate the feedback.”

Your smile dropped and the teasing glint in your eyes faded. You lingered a moment longer, hoping he’d soften, that maybe he’d crack a joke. He didn’t.

So you pushed off the edge of the desk, nodding once. “Right,” you muttered. “Cool. I’ll leave you alone.”

The door shut behind you with a loud thud. Steve sighed, sitting in his chair and leaning back, before dragging a hand over his face.

You walked back to your desk, a frown etched onto your face. You plopped into your chair and tried to focus, but your fingers just hovered above your keyboard.

“You look like someone just told you brunch was canceled,” a voice chimed beside you.

You blinked, jumping a little in your seat before turning your head. Argyle stood there with a lopsided grin, holding a plant. Where he got it from, you had no idea.

“What…are you doing?” You asked slowly.

“I’m rehoming Marjorie. She didn’t like sitting by the breakroom microwave. She told me.”

You didn’t remember ever seeing a plant by the microwave. Maybe you just didn’t pay close enough attention. You stared at him for a second. “Right. Of course. The plant told you.”

“She’s dramatic,” he said, placing it gently on the corner of your desk. “Fits in here.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

Argyle grinned like he’d won a prize. “There it is. I’ve literally never heard you laugh before. Thought it might be against your personal brand or something.”

“I laugh,” you said defensively.

“Yeah, like a girl who just got told her trust fund is getting delayed.”

Your mouth dropped open in mock offense. “That’s so rude.”

“Am I wrong though?”

Your silence said enough.

Argyle plopped into the chair beside you like he had nothing better to do. “So, what’s got you looking like someone just told you your credit card got declined?”

You snorted despite yourself. “Steve’s being an asshole.”

He nodded. “Ah. Mr. Golden Boy. Yeah, we all saw him storm away earlier. Pretty dramatic if you ask me.”

You gave a breathy laugh and shook your head. “I don’t even get him sometimes. One minute he’s nice, the next he’s cold, and I…I don’t know.”

Argyle tilted his head. “Guess that’s a him problem.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning back. “You’re chill. A little high maintenance, maybe, like if lip gloss were a person. You may have been a bit cold at first, but I don’t think you’re mean. I think he’s just allergic to unresolved tension.”

You crossed your arms. “Wow. That was…oddly insightful.”

He gave a proud nod. “I’m a pretty smart guy, or so the legends say.”

There was a second before you cracked a smile. “Okay, Argyle. I actually enjoyed your little pep talk. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“No problem, my dude,” he said with a dramatic bow. “Anytime you need someone to be weirdly philosophical, I got you.”

Your laugh came out loud this time. “Thanks for this. I know I was a bit of a bitch when I came here, but I’m working on it.”

“You were like if Vogue came to life and judged my sneakers.”

“I won’t even lie. I did judge them.”

“I know.”

You both laughed, and it felt good. For a moment, the tension with Steve faded into the background, and all you could focus on was how unexpectedly easy it was to talk to Argyle. You wondered where he was all your life and why you were just talking to him now.

Maybe Braiser you wouldn’t have even bothered. But this version of you was learning that people didn’t need to come from your world to make you feel seen.

The thought struck you a little harder than you expected. That version of you, the one who’d built walls so high she couldn’t see over them, would’ve rolled her eyes at a guy like Argyle. Would’ve dismissed him with a raised brow and a sarcastic comment, never letting him get a word in. You hadn’t realized how much you’d changed until now, until you heard your own laugh in a place like this, surrounded by people you would’ve never associated yourself with. This version of you was still complicated. You were still guarded and still easily irritated, but you were learning.

Argyle nudged the small potted plant closer to you on the table. “Anyway. Marjorie likes you. She stays.”

You looked at the plant. Its leaves were sort of floppy. “She better not die.”

“She won’t,” Argyle said confidently. “I also gave her a pep talk. She’s got high hopes for you, my dude.”

You smiled at the joke. “Alright then,” you murmured, brushing one finger against a leaf. “Welcome to the team, Marjorie.”

Just then, Jane walked up to your desk, clutching a folder in her hands.

“Hey Y/N!” She said brightly. “Are you ready for the work trip?”

Your smile dropped. “What work trip?”

Argyle scrunched his nose. “Oh…”

Jane blinked. “Wait…they didn’t tell you?”

Mike suddenly popped up behind her like a human jump scare, a granola bar halfway to his mouth. “Oops. Guess someone forgot to explain the part about last place doing extra work.”

You stared at them. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Yeah,” Mike said through a mouthful. “The team in last place has to assist the planning committee. You know, like setting things up, lifting boxes, taking notes, maybe even building furniture if you’re lucky. General manual labor. Nothing glamorous. Definitely not rich girl approved.”

Jane winced apologetically. “It’s not that bad. Plus, it’s only a three day trip.”

“It’s upstate in a rural area,” Mike added, grinning. “You’ll love it. Bugs, dirt, sweat, no Wi-Fi.”

You turned slowly to Argyle. “You knew about this?”

He held up his hands. “I thought you knew!”

You groaned and slumped back into your chair. “This place is a fever dream.”

Just as you were debating whether to run away and fake an injury, Nancy came over, arms crossed like she’d been waiting for the right moment. Mike, Jane, and Argyle took the hint and quietly slipped away, clearly wanting no part in whatever storm was about to hit.

“You knew about this too?” You asked, eyes narrowing. “Wait, don’t answer that. You’re literally the boss.”

Nancy winced. “Okay, yes. I’m sorry. But to be fair, you have the right to refuse.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh, I do? Great. What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” Nancy said quickly. “Except…Steve already agreed to go.”

Your mouth parted. “So?”

“So…if you don’t go, he’ll be the only one from the team there. Alone. With the planning committee. In the heat.”

You stared at her, frustration building up inside of you.

Nancy gave a shrug and a small smile. “Totally your choice.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, eyes falling shut as you ran through everything in your head. You could say no, step back, forget about it entirely. But then you thought of the brunette man, of how his stubbornness made you want to smack him upside the head. You didn’t sign up to spend extra time with Steve Harrington.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel bad. You weren’t cruel. Maybe you had been once, back when you only thought about yourself, when no one else mattered, but you weren’t that girl from Braiser anymore. Your gaze drifted toward Nancy. She was quiet, watching you carefully, brows pulled together like she already knew the answer but didn’t want to push you.

You didn’t like this. You didn’t want to go. And you definitely didn’t want to be stuck on a work trip doing work with someone who thought nicknaming you Luxe was the height of comedy. But, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t want him to do it alone.

“I’m going to regret this,” you finally said.

She tilted her head slightly. “So…that’s a yes?”

“I swear, if this turns into a bonding experience or something, I will physically walk into traffic.”

Nancy let out a small laugh. “Okay, so you guys are basically helping the design team organize materials. It’s nothing too serious.”

You gave her a pointed look. “Sounded like it was going to be messy”

She tried to hide her grin. “If Mike said something, he was overexaggerating.”

You huffed. You didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or sigh. “I’m not doing this for him, just so you know” you said, mostly to yourself. You don’t know why you just said that.

“No, of course not,” Nancy replied gently. “You’re doing it for you.”

You gave her a long, narrowed look. “Don’t give me that look.” Nancy laughed. You crossed your arms, then dropped them again, then pinched the bridge of your nose. “God, I really am going to regret this.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “And if it’s any consolation…the cabin doesn’t have rats.”

You squinted. “That’s a low bar.”

Nancy giggled. “It’s still something.”

“Great.”

You didn’t wait for her to follow you as you stood up and stomped back toward the breakroom, muttering curses under your breath. You weren’t sure if they were meant for her or yourself, but either way, they felt necessary.

You weren’t doing this for Steve. God, no. You weren’t that kind of girl that fell over themselves to please some boy with perfect hair and a boyish grin. You had pride and standards and boundaries. So why did you agree so easily?

You shoved the door to the breakroom open, only to stop before you fully walked inside. Because there he was, the man that was currently consuming your thoughts. Steve was standing by the counter, arms casually braced on either side of his mug. His head tilted back as he laughed at something Eddie said, the sound low and warm. Robin stood beside him, sipping from a paper cup and nodding along with a smug little smile, like everything was right in the world again.

The three of them had clearly made up, like nothing had ever happened. Like Steve hadn’t found them cheating an hour ago. They hadn’t noticed you yet, you only hovered in the doorway, eyes fixed on the back of Steve’s head as the buzz of their laughter continued to fill the room.

Of course they made up right when you began to get angry at them. You weren’t initially mad that you lost, but now you wanted to strangle Robin and Eddie for messing this entire thing up. They cheated and still got to laugh and drink their coffee like they didn’t turn your next few days upside down. Now you were the one stuck on some stupid work trip, alone, with Steve Harrington.

You had never done this kind of thing in your life, volunteering to help. That was for people like them, people below your kind, the ones who were too kind and always happy to help others. You never had to deal with this. You had people deal with it for you. But not this time.

You slowly stepped back and leaned back against the wall just outside the breakroom, hoping none of them noticed you lurking like a weirdo, and tilted your head back with a sigh so deep it almost made your bones ache.

You couldn’t believe you said yes. You couldn’t believe you were going to do this. You’d be spending hours in a car with him. Talking to painfully cheerful people. Dealing with cabin rooms and probably a bad breakfast. All because Robin and Eddie couldn’t finish a damn project like adults. And the worst part was that you’d be alone with Steve. You closed your eyes, already preparing yourself for the onslaught of small talk, awkward silences, and hateful glances.

Without permission, your mind drifted back to him. To the way his mouth quirked when he laughed, or how he ran a hand through his hair constantly. You could still hear his voice in your head, the way he threw his words at you, his sarcasm, the way he said your name today for the first time during the presentation today.

You told yourself you didn’t want to spend time with him. Though, no matter how hard you tried, there was that quiet voice inside of you that kept telling you the opposite.

[minniethemoocherda]

Oops!

A/N: Two fanfics in two days!?!?!??!!! I blame @classjezter for this! Plus everyone else who has been making sparkling content recently as I too have now gotten into a baby craze! Anyway hope you enjoyed my first(?) mech preg related fic! (does this count?) Idk I feel like I've unlocked an internet achievement anyway Lol! Xxxxxxx

Ao3 link

"I think I'm sparked. I've got all the symptoms. The exhaustion, the inability to keep energon in my intakes, and what energon I can keep down isn't being distributed as efficiently as it should. And I told you my baffles need to be upgraded but with the war and everything I know we didn't think we should bother Ratchet about it since he's so busy trying to keep everyone alive and we only interfaced once since anyway so statistically getting sparked should've been near impossible but obviously not completely impossible since-"

Usually Sunstreaker could listen to Bluestreak ramblings for hours. But honestly he'd stopped listening after that first sentence.

When Bluestreak had unceremoniously dragged him into his berthroom that evening this was not what he had expected to happen.

Instead he was now he was coming to terms with the fact that he was currently a walking dark engeron infused offspring of Unicron because as soon as Prowl found out that he'd sparked up his little brother, he was dead.

It was a feelings he hadn't felt since he'd been shoved into the gladiatorial pits of Kaon.

There was no way he could bring a bitlet into this word. He'd only been a sparkling himself when he'd first been forced to kill. He could not be trusted to hold a sparkling, let alone raise one, not with his energon stained servos.

[You okay bro?] Sideswipe commed having no doubt felt his impending doom over their bond.

[Bluestreak's sparked]

[BLUESTREAK'S WHAT!?]

[Sparked you idiot which I now have to somehow deal with without Prowl finding out.]

[Yeah so about that... I might've shouted that last comm outloud... and I might be in the middle of a game of black-jack....with Hot Rod and Blaster ... and Smokescreen]

Fuck.

Well if the news wasn't already all over the base gossip thanks to Blaster and Hot Rod, then out of fear of his own death if found out he'd kept this secret then Smokescreen was definitely going to tell his cousin.

Something he must've done in the last few clicks because there was a knock on the door.

[It was nice knowing you bro] Sideswipe signed off as the door beeped with the tell tale noise of the emergency over ride codes.

But it looked like Sunstreaker had a few more moments left on Earth as instead of the Autobot third in command, it was their second.

"Get in." Jazz ordered from inside the back of Optimus Prime's trailer.

For once Sunstreaker listened to his superiors and climbed in. Stashed in the back of Optimus' trailer as it hurtled across the Ark, Sunstreaker felt like he was headed for battle. In a way he supposed he was.

Jazz sat across from them, the perfect picture of professional casualness. But even with that visor, Sunstreaker could tell that the spy was looking at them with sympathy. Sunstreaker didn't need his pity. He never had. But as Jazz didn't start looking at them with judgement Sunstreaker would keep his mouth shut, otherwise would have to call him out for hypocrisy given whatever the fuck the spy's situationship with Prowl was! Sure they'd only been together a few of Earth's months but at least him and Bluestreak were actually in a committed relationship! Which made Sunstreaker realise just how shit of a boyfriend he was being right now as he tuned back into Bluestreak's ramblings.

"Are you mad at me? Cus you haven't said anything yet so I'm assuming your mad at me. Which I totally understand! I should have mentioned the baffles things before we were in the moment and-"

Sunstreaker held his shaking servo.

"I could never be mad at you. I love you." Sunstreaker reminded him in case he wouldn't get a other chance.

Bluestreak smiled, still shaken but thankful.

Sunstreaker had been so stuck in his own head, he hadn't processed until now that whatever he was going through, was nothing compared to what Bluestreak would have to go through as a carrier. He'd seen the hardships first hand on the streets and the pits. And whilst some folk liked to say that carrying was a gift from Primus Sunstreaker knew that it could also be a torture from Unicron itself.

But Bluestreak wouldn't go through it alone. Sunstreaker had protected him for many a battle, and would do so again.

All too soon they came to a stop outside the med-bay. Optimus gave them an apologetic look as he left them there. The Prime knowing that there was nothing even he could do to stop his third in command.

Sunstreaker held Bluestreak even tighter as Jazz lead them inside to where Ratchet was already waiting.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible, scraplet brained stunts you two morons have pulled that have ended you up in my med-bay, getting yourselves sparked on an alien planet in the middle of a war takes the FUCKING ENERGON CAKE!"

Sunstreaker helped Bluestreak onto the berth, placing his back between the CMO and his partner as though he could protect him from the words being thrown at them. And even as Ratchet hocked Bluestreak up to his equipment, Sunstreaker made sure to never let go of his boyfriend's hand.

BANG

The med-bay doors opened.

Silhouetted against the ember oranges of the outside hallway, the Autobot Third in Command looked like an angel of Unicron, sent to take Sunstreaker straight to the pits.

"Prowler, baby why don't we go someplace to calm down."

Even the curves of Jazz's chassis wasn't enough to distract Prowl as he marched towards him with the same singular focus he would whilst on a mission.

"Prowl don't! We were both stupid okay! You can't blame Sunstreaker without also blaming me! As the humans say it takes two to tango!"

But Prowl ignored his little brother, his blazing blue optics burned only at Sunstreaker

Even after the worst pranks they'd pulled, Sunstreaker never seen Prowl looking this pissed.

Still, Sunstreaker stood in front of Bluestreak's berth. He couldn't blame Prowl for being angry. Bluestreak deserved better than to be sparked up by a low life like him. And even though he knew Prowl would never hurt his little brother, Sunstreaker had always fought for those he loved. Something he couldn't do if he was dead. And as grateful as he was to Prowl for seeing the potential in him and his twin when no other authority figures had, he had no choice but fight to stay alive to protect his partner and their sparkling.

But before Prowl could kill him, Ratchet once again saved his life.

"As much as I am in favour of slicing off Sunstreaker's spike so that this situation doesn't happen again, you should probably know that Bluestreak isn't sparked."

"I'm not?" Bluestreak cried to everyone's collective relief.

"You've just got a bad case cyber-cold, it was rare on Cybertron but has become more common since interacting with the humans."

"But I had all the symptoms! The exhaustion! The inability to keep energon in my intakes! And what energon I can keep down isn't being distributed as efficiently as it should and-"

Sunstreaker recognised the blank calculating expression Prowl's face before he crashed.

Despite being seconds away from being circumcised, Sunstreaker still caught his superior before he could slam face first into the floor.

Jazz was quick to help him move Prowl onto the berth that Bluestreak had climbed out of.

Sunstreaker stood next to the seat that Bluestreak had settled into since Jazz had taken the other seat on the opposite side of the berth. Normally Sunstreaker would be taking pleasure in watching Ratchet complain about his new patient instead of himself. But all he could about was Bluestreak who had become unusually quiet.

"Are you disappointed?" He asked.

Bluestreak shrugged.

"I'd been too busy panicking to actually think about it. I mean ever since the destruction of Praxius I assumed I'd have sparklings some day. With so few of our frame type life I kinds felt like it was my duty."

"But do you want sparklings?"

"Again I haven't had the chance to to actually think about it. Maybe someday when the war is over and there's enough energon to go around. What about you?"

"It doesn't matter what I want."

Because it never had. He never wanted his creators to abandon him. He never wanted to kill for the entertainment of his captors. And he didn't want to corrupt all the beauty and hope and light that he knew any sparklings of Bluestreak's would carry.

"Hey!" Bluestreak cried, jumping out his chair so that he could look him in the optic. "I know you believe that because of all the trauma and death you've been forced to face, you're not worthy of being a creator. But if you believe that then you'd have to think that I was unworthy too. And I know that you don't. So don't your waste time, because someday when the war is over, I would be honoured to share a sparkling that is able to see the same beauty that you bring to the world."

"Someday?" Sunstreaker couldn't help but whisper, the idea almost to fanciful to say out loud.

"Someday." Bluestreak said, sealing the promise a smile.

BEEP

Of course that was when Ratchet's machine had to announce it had finished whatever scan it was doing.

Sunstreaker turned his head, his optics automatically drawn the flashing image capture of a pulsing light circling Prowl's spark.

Sometimes Sunstreaker would forget that his boyfriend was essentially an assassin.

That was until times like this when Bluestreak set his silent sniper stare on the Head of Spec Ops.

Jazz's dark face paled and the Autobot's best spy and Second in Command high-tailed it out of there.

Sunstreaker let Bluestreak stalk after him.

Sunstreaker would help Blue to hide the body later.

For now he would take what pleasure he could in knowing that his future brother in law a fucking hypocrite.

[insomnya777]

hi i just want to say i reallllyyy love your smalletho superhero au on ao3 it's amazing and aughhhh im so so insane about it and i cant sayy anyyythinggg to my friends cause ofc theyre twitter people and i have to be insane about your fic alone *sad face*

i love love love the amount of taylor swift titles btw

(also id go insane if you name a fic after false god or i can see you lyrics just a thought hehe)

awwww thank u so much omg! i lovelovelove naming things after songs i love (which is why there's so much taylor and olivia rodrigo LOL) and omg ive been thinking about lyrics from i can see you for a while now actually!!

[itz-pandora]

Thank you guys for dealing with me

[doctorweebmd]

last graduation celebration of my medical training happened last night and it was so beautiful and touching; for the first time it felt real and in that same sense, final. it felt like the perfect way to close the curtain on this phase and the start of the next.

goodbye academia. hello the rest of my actual life.

[xcziel]

.

[ama3003]

Everything's Just Perfect

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”

“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”

She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.

“We can’t leave him.”

Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”

“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”

“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”

“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”

“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”

“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”

John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”

Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”

“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”

Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”

John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”

That shut them all up.

Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.

He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.

“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”

Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.

The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.

A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”

“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”

Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”

John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”

“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”

Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”

“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.

“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”

“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.

Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.

“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”

They all stopped short.

“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.

“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.

Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”

John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.

“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.

“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”

They finally quieted.

The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.

Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.

He hated this.

He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.

Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.

“Does she cook?” “I hope she has a comfy couch.” “If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.

He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.

But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Too late.

The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.

Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.

“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.

Then it was gone.

“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.

Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”

“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.

“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”

The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.

Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.

Then something soft brushed against his leg.

He glanced down and froze.

A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.

“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”

She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.

You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.

Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.

“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.

Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”

It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.

Bucky nodded toward the group. “Uh, yeah. That’s Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and... that’s John.”

They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.

You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.

“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.

John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”

Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Anything.”

You turned to Alexei.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.

“How strong?”

“Very strong.”

You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.

“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”

Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”

“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.

“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”

Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”

Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”

A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.

“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”

He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”

You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.

“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”

“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.

You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.

Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.

You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.

He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”

“Look, Y/N—”

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”

“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”

His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”

You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.

“Lunch.”

A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.

Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.

Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.

John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.

“And then—oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”

Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.

John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”

“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”

“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”

“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.

Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.

It wasn’t there.

His stomach dropped.

Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.

No. No no no.

He never took it off. Ever.

His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.

“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”

“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”

Panic etched across his face.

At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.

When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.

It was a chain.

And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.

“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to look.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”

He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.

Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.

“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.

Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”

Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.

The silence that followed was very loud.

He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.

He didn’t say anything.

He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.

“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”

Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”

“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.

Of course you knew where he was.

You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.

You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.

“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”

Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.

“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”

Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.

“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.

He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”

He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”

You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.

“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."

His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.

“I know you did.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”

He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”

“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.

“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.

His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.

“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”

“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.

And for a while, it was enough.

Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.

And then—

CRASH.

You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.

“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.

“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.

You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”

He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”

You didn’t argue.

And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.

********

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”

“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”

“We can’t. Look at them.”

“They look like a cute, happy family.”

“We should take a picture.”

The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.

Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

This was what peace felt like. This was home.

“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”

Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”

The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.

He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.

“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.

[ddlydevotion]

Grace and Bo Chow both being infatuated with you 💌 ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing this! This post contains nsfw content/slightly obsessive behavior so proceed with caution. This is also quite long so I apologize for that. Look out for a part two!

currently listening to: Cupid by Sam Cooke

You met Bo first. You applied for a job at the shop and proved yourself to be incredibly dependable. He allowed you to count the money in the register, keep logs of what was going in & out of the store, and take care of client records and accounts. The two of you had a purely professional relationship, but if a professional relationship consisted of longing glances, lingering touches, and endearing nicknames.

You knew he was married, the golden band around his ring finger didn't let you forget the fact that he was. You felt horrible for even entertaining the nicknames and the close contact he kept with you, but you considered yourself to be on the safe side of things. As long as the two of you kept the touchiness to a minimum and didn't take your affection for one another to the bedroom, everything was fine.

His wife, Grace, tended to their shared store on the white side of town. She'd occasionally pop into the store to check in on Bo & their daughter, making sure she completed her tasks for the day. Afterwards, she'd never fail to make her way up to you and ask about your day.

"How are ye doin? Bo been treatin' you well?"

"You're doin' a good job around 'ere, girl. We gotta keep you here, don't want the other stores to try an' take ye from us."

Bo would affirm her praise by nodding his head and adding in his own little two cents. Grace wouldn't shy away from rubbing your arm or placing a delicate finger underneath your chin while saying "you're a real pretty girl, y'know that?". Her physical touch could be disguised as something playful and sweet, something between two women that were fond of one another. But, as the two of them made eye contact over your head they knew that what they had in store for you was anything but playful.

The playful banter between the three of you continued for weeks after that. You didn't expect anything more to blossom from your friendship with the married couple, but the clueless cloud you had over your head was quickly blown away one night. It was usual for them to invite you over to have dinner at their shared home. It was a common occurrence that even Lisa looked forward to as you were never anything but kind to her.

If you try to tell them that you wouldn't be able to make it due to a packed schedule, they'd do everything in their power to convince you to show anyway.

"Oh, we promise we won't keep you long. C'mon ya could just come on over for some dinner and make your way home after that. promise."

"awe are ya sure? Lisa was really lookin' forward to seeing ya again."

Sure, it was common for them to invite you over for dinner. However, it wasn't all too common for them to invite you into their bedroom. They'd usually keep you past midnight to have conversation going in the kitchen, but Bo offered to move the late night ritual into their bedroom. The conversation went on as normal and the wine in your glass disappeared by the minute. You sat with your legs crossed on their wooden-framed bed, the couple sat right in front of you. Bo's hand made a home for itself on the skin of your thigh that peaked from underneath your dress, he rarely ever showed such explicit affection like this. You expected Grace to become angry with the two of you, rightfully so, and have the night come to an end. Instead, she moved towards you and swept your hair out of your face with those delicate fingers of hers you've come to admire.

"I don't think ya know just how pretty ya are. I mean, jus' look at that face, baby. You just might be the prettiest damn thing I've ever seen." Bo's hand moved towards the inside of your thigh and a small smile stretched across his lips. "s'true, sweetheart", both of his hands eventually moved towards the inside of your thighs, spreading you open for him, Grace shuffling behind you before positioning your head to lay on her lap.

The night ended with your legs curved around Bo's slender waist as he pumped his cock into you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock stimulating your pulsing clit once he finally bottomed out. Grace kept herself busy, too. She rubbed your throbbing clit with her middle & ring finger, occasionally cradling your flushed cheeks and encouraging you to "take that cock, baby. s'so big, ain't it? I know, I know", shushing your whines and cooing at your fucked out expression. She couldn’t help but smile when you let out a surprised squeal at the feeling of her fingers tweaking and pinching your sensitive nipples.

Your relationship with the Chow's was never made public to the town, I mean, why would it be? Everyone in your close circle knew that the three of you were quite the close bunch of friends, but they didn't know the rest of it.

I can definitely see the both of them being possessive over you. They could see you talking with a friend of yours outside of the store and immediately interrogate you about it.

"She's just a good friend of mine! What's this all about?"

"Y'know damn well what this is all about. She looked like she was imaginin' what ya looked like without your clothes on."

It'd make them inexplicably upset to see you in a relationship with anyone that isn't them. They'd never allow you to do so without putting up a fight, though. It'd be foolish for you to think they'd let you go so easily. Even if you did get romantically involved with anyone else, you'd never be truly satisfied. Grace and Bo raised your standards to the damn moon and it'd be impossible for anyone to try and fill their shoes. Whenever your partner did anything wrong, you couldn't help but think "they'd never do that to me."

Helping Grace whenever she's working on a sign for a client. She doesn't hold back on sharing just how proud she is of you when you finish up a paint job.

Sharing many passion filled nights with the couple at the Juke Joint. You spend so much time sat at the bar without ordering anything just to talk to Grace. Bo pulls you in to dance with him and no one around bats an eye. What's wrong with two friends sharing a dance together? However, the way his glistening eyes gaze into yours with such intense passion behind them is anything but platonic.

It's incredibly easy for you and Grace to hide the true nature of your relationship. Nobody suspects anything even when her arm is firmly wrapped around your waist, or when her lips graze your cheek in a sweet peck. That's just how good friends celebrate one another.

They always find themselves on your front porch with gifts and they hardly ever show up empty handed. The gifts range from sundresses perfect for the southern heat, pastries they know you'll enjoy, savory treats the both of them worked on.

You're constantly heading over to their home and being convinced to stay the night by the sweet-talking couple. They don't entertain the possibility of you staying in a spare room, they want you to make yourself familiar & comfortable with their bedroom. Their spare room is honestly quite useful in having visitors believe that's where you stay, assisting in avoiding any questions about the true nature of your 'friendship'.

Bo wraps himself around your body like a koala and Grace curls herself into a fetal position in front of you, relishing in the feeling of your warm arms around her.

taglist: @officialthrad @bochowswife @thegr33nc0met @missroro @mjwhis @foreid let me know if you'd like to be added!

[asxgard]

Healing | [2/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant!wife!doctor!f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: Healing comes in stages.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: ayy, this idea came while I was thinking about a one-shot/possible continuation of Heartbeat lol ended up adding this and another part. gender was a coin toss, so don’t be upset with me😊

Word Count: 3.3k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, some angst, foul language, pregnancy, hospital mentions, medical inaccuracies, drug mentions (Langdon), struggling with feelings, vague ptsd, some fluff, pet names (my love, sweetheart)

not beta read

The month that followed the chaos of Pittfest was not an easy one — not only was there damage control, but there was also a hell of a lot of clean up. Both physically and emotionally. You saw the blood on your hands when you closed your eyes, but you kept repeating, “I did everything I could with the resources we had”. That only worked for about a week.

Your temper flared whenever you came to be in Gloria’s company after that, and you could plainly see you were testing her patience. Hospital politics and satisfaction scores meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the ED, and the budget cuts and bare-bones resources meant everything if another mass casualty event rocked Pittsburgh. You had bypassed Michael entirely when you complained about it — which left him frustrated, but more-so over the fact that you were right and Gloria was still playing politics.

While Gloria had clearly stepped up during the tragedy, she was not much help in the aftermath.

In the wake of that shift Michael had worked, you could see it still weighed on him. You hated that you had taken that day off — sure, it had been for a checkup with your OB to check on your bouncing baby boy, but you had been needed. You hated that Michael had only called for you when he started to crack, but that was the man he was. That was the man you had married, fully knowing that fact. You were lucky he called for help at all.

Despite the fact that you were both fighting for better resources and an increase in the ED budget, you both found small comforts at home. Mostly in his touch, but in a handful of new hobbies you began to start to prevent your mind from wandering too close to the horrors you saw daily. Michael took to building your baby’s crib. Then their dresser. And then a wooden rocking horse.

Whatever it took to keep his hands and mind occupied.

Jake warmed back up to Michael sometime between Leah’s funeral and your birthday that month. Jake’s guilt had manifested as disbelief at first, dissolving into anger, and finally acceptance. He had shown up to your house on your birthday with flowers and a smile, asking if Michael was home.

They both talked out on the balcony for a good chunk of the afternoon, coming back inside with smiles and quiet laughs. It made you feel worlds better.

—

“Dr. R squared!” Dana called happily when you and Michael walked in together one morning, calling the attention of all the newer faces. You were happy she had decided to stay, but she had nearly gotten the nurses union up in arms about the violence they faced, which caused a big headache for Gloria. You were thrilled.

Whitaker and Javadi exchanged glances, while Santos let out a surprised laugh.

“I knew it!”

You enjoyed keeping your personal life private, but your marriage to Michael was more of an open secret, anyways. You were professional inside the hospital, so you could see how it took them awhile to catch on.

“Damn, Dana, you ruined my bet. I had another month to go before I thought they’d catch on.” Michael said with a fake frown.

You barked a laugh, “You haven’t exactly been subtle. I win.”

“That’s gotta count as foul play.”

“A bet’s a bet, Michael.”

Since your pregnancy, Michael had hovered more and left more lingering touches on your skin, touching your back when you were helping a patient or passing in the hall.

You noticed Princess and Perlah exchange a few bills, and it was then you were certain a similar bet had taken place in the ED as well. You smirked.

“Wait…wait. You guys are married?” Whitaker asked, looking back at you, face flushing.

“Happily.” Michael supplied, tone low, heavy gaze on the poor kid.

You knew how it looked — a younger woman with a much older man. You were also very obviously pregnant. But you were proud of your marriage, and if it weren’t for the board watching how you interacted together, you would have shouted it from the rooftops.

“...but your last name..?” Javadi whispered out.

“Less confusion with my maiden name, Dana’s just proud of her little nickname,” you told her with a grin. “Plus, the Pitt only has room for one Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Should I take offense to that?” Michael asked with an amused raise of an eyebrow.

You only smirked at him, before moving to put your things behind the charge desk.

“Alright, everyone back to work.” Michael said, following after you to put his bag down. “Residents, I want your reports.”

Michael quickly fell into his role as Chief ED Attending, and you fell into yours, moving to triage as you usually did at the start of your shift. You had a good eye for finding cases that could very easily slip into critical, and you had a knack for clearing away the cases that definitely did not need to be in the ED clogging up chairs. Sniffles, papercuts, and symptoms better suited for their primary care physician rather than the hospital.

Sliding in next to Michael to drop off a tablet, you smirked at him, “So…what’s for dinner tonight?”

Your bet had consisted of who was going to make dinners for the next month and Michael had lost. You were looking forward to not having to worry about that for a month, seeing as typically you and Michael traded off or cooked together.

His eyes still on his computer, he frowned, “I was thinking take-out.”

“Sore loser.”

He smirked, “Thai?”

“How dare you use my cravings against me.” You scoffed with a smile.

He looked at you fondly, eyes going back to the screen, “I’ll even get you ice cream after.”

You huffed, trying to maintain a frown, “I accept only if it’s a cinnamon roll from Grandview.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. Grandview Bakery was wildly out of the way, but you had been craving the sweet treat for days.

“What? It’s for your son, not me.”

Michael grinned and relented, agreeing to your terms.

—

Michael opened up to you about that shift two weeks later, on a quiet evening in. You were attempting to knit a small hat, but one of the rows had gotten uneven forcing you to backtrack. Your feet were in Michael’s lap while he watched a Penguins game, hand absentmindedly running along your leg.

“I think the choice I made with Adamson is still affecting me.” He said, not looking at you.

You glanced up at him, “It was a choice you never should have had to make.”

“Who else?” His brown eyes met yours, filled with a sadness that broke your heart. “Who else could have made it?”

Adamson had been a mentor figure to you as well, but not to the extent he had been for Michael. They had met a handful of years after Michael’s residency at Big Charity in New Orleans, and he had taken him under his wing. He had learned a lot from Adamson in the nearly fifteen years they spent together, while you had only known Adamson for a quarter of that, before he passed.

“It shouldn’t have been you.” You stressed again, putting your knitting aside. “But it was. That little girl ended up living, and Adamson would’ve been proud of you. In fact, if he saw the man you are today, I know he would be.”

Tears came, his face scrunched up and you moved forward to hold him. It was not the hysterical, fully body sobs you had seen in the Peds room after trying to save Leah, but it still burrowed its way into your chest. You curled yourself around his body, pulling him as close as your bump would allow and let him cry.

“I remember all their faces, I remember all of them.” He whispered into your neck, your skin wet from his tears.

Your own tears came, and you held him tighter, feeling heartache for how haunted your husband had become.

It was a reality you faced as well, and while you had never properly learned of a way to deal with it, you frequently found you had it mostly under control. But Pittfest? It had torn through your coping mechanisms like they were paper, leaving zero time to compartmentalize, and left you open and vulnerable by the time you began to process it all.

“I know.” You got out. “I’m here.”

Recognition was the only thing you could give him. Empty promises and sweet words had no place here; you could not placate him with a solution, because you had none to give. You only held him and did not let go, knowing that would be enough. All he needed was an anchor to help him weather the storm in his mind.

Michael moved from your grasp sometime later that evening, having held onto you long after he stopped crying. You had kissed along the parts of him you could reach, the length of his shoulder, the shell of his ear.

His eyes were red when he moved to sit up, still holding you close. He pulled you effortlessly into his lap, resting a hand on your bump and finally looking at you.

“Langdon was stealing benzos.” He told you, voice quiet and raw.

You blinked at him. You had known something had happened with Frank — Michael had taken him under his wing not long after he had started his residency in the Pitt. After the tragedy that had happened at Pittfest, Langdon had gone to rehab, putting his residency on hold.

“He was what?” You searched Michael’s eyes. You figured there was a drug problem if he was opting for rehab, but stealing from the ED? That was a whole other can of worms.

“Santos noticed some irregularities.” He said simply. “He avoided it when I confronted him. Found librium in his locker from Louie.”

“Not just stealing…but stealing from patients?” You asked, nausea rolling around in your gut. You had trusted Frank, helped him whenever possible. You had even hung out with his wife a few times.

Michael nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “I let him leave when I found them…I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t know what I was going to do, I barely had time to think before Pittfest happened and then he was just back. I was still worried about Jake, and everything else, and I let him stay. He was probably fucking high and I let him stay.”

You processed his words slowly. Even in the chaos, you had noticed a palpable shift between Michael and Langdon, a tension that (at the time) you were sure was due to them butting heads over a patient earlier in the shift.

You had trusted him, with your own patients, and it made you sick to think he might have taken advantage of that trust to score drugs.

You swallowed your thoughts, “We needed all hands on deck.”

It was a rationalization and not a very good one.

Michael saw right through it. “I compromised patient care because I was too fucking overwhelmed.”

“So, what? You were going to cause a scene right in the middle of all that shit? Take everyone’s attention away from patient care?” You asked, voice harder, “You were stuck between a rock and a hard place. If any one of the residents or nurses felt he wasn’t making the right decisions, they would’ve told you. Or Abbott. Or me.”

Silence came over you as you held each other’s gaze. He brought a hand to rub across his face, a long breath escaping him. You moved one hand to the back of his head, to fiddle with his hair.

“I told him before I left that he could either go to rehab or I would report my findings to the board.” He said to you after a few minutes.

Going to the board would have effectively ended Langdon’s career. Though, he took that risk when he started stealing from the ED.

“I’m glad he chose rehab.” You admitted quietly.

“Me too.”

It went unspoken that you both had no idea how you would navigate him returning to the Pitt, trust torn to shreds — forcing him to start even below square one. How would he gain back your trust? The care you had shown him? How could you trust him after all of it?

Did you even want to?

You moved your hand to play with Michael’s fingers, eyes on your hands.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about names recently,” you started, only glancing at him while your cheeks heated.

“The world doesn’t need a Michael Jr.”

A quiet laugh rushed through your nose, “Don’t be so self centered.” You looked at him. “I was thinking Adam.”

All the air escaped Michael’s lungs, watching you while water blurred his vision, but he did not cry.

“I like that one a lot.”

Adam Robinavitch.

—

It was easy enough to warm up to the new med students, intern, and year two resident after several shifts together. Though Santos had a habit of rubbing you the wrong way — far too cocky for your liking, frequently taking unnecessary risks without consulting her senior resident or any of the attendings. You felt she was better suited for surgery, lacking the kind of empathy the ED required. But she grew on you. Like a weed.

Javadi reminded you too much of yourself, thrown into the world of medicine at an early age. You were no prodigy, but you started earlier than most had. While she was textbook, you were hands on, and you thought to bring her under your wing — to help her in the areas you knew she needed. She steadily got better at patient interactions under your careful supervision.

You found Whitaker endearing, but he frequently internalized too much of the job. You had learned in passing from Collins that he had taken his first patient death particularly hard — but so had you, and most attendings you knew. He was kind and patient, knew not to linger, and was eager to get his hands dirty, even if he was a little insecure and clumsy at times.

And Mel King? You quickly grew a soft spot for her. She was capable and knowledgeable, and you quickly began to rely on her as you once had with Langdon. You could see her rolling with the punches, but in the quiet moments, you would see her take a moment for herself. It made you think that out of all the newcomers, she would be best suited for the ED. The Pitt needed more attendings who had healthy coping mechanisms rather than the Robinavitch-Abbot Method of Bury Your Feelings Until You Die.

In the latter months of your pregnancy, you leaned more heavily on the residents as Michael became more and more overbearing. With the uptick in violence against staff and no budget to get more security, you could understand the restlessness he had.

Michael would come running even if a patient or family member so much as raised their voice at you, or in your general vicinity. You appreciated your husband being near, but his careful gaze made you feel like you were being watched. You nearly made the decision to switch to nights, but you knew Abbott would not have been much different.

He just would have been more subtle.

You knew he would have been hurt by your decision, especially if you did not run it by him first, so you opted to do the only rational thing: talk to him.

Easier said than done.

You opted to not bring it up during your shift, knowing you did not want your personal life to bleed onto the job any more than it already had.

In the quiet of the car, more of a necessity now with how far along you were (though you missed your walks together), you broached the topic carefully. Michael didn’t need kid gloves, but you knew his concern was coming from a good place, and you did not want him to think you didn’t appreciate it.

“My love,” You started, turning down the R&B station, rubbing anxious circles on your belly.

He hummed simply to let you know you had his attention, moving one hand from the steering wheel to grab ahold of yours.

Hey, you’ve been increasingly overbearing and making me doubt myself as a doctor? No.

Hey, I’ve noticed you hover a lot more recently and it makes me antsy? Better, but no.

You really need to cool it? Definitely not.

“I’ve really appreciated all the concern you’ve shown whenever I have a difficult patient, and I’m grateful you have my back, trust me, but it’s edging on just too much, I think.”

“You’re my wife, I’m always going to worry about you.”

“I’ve been your wife for almost four years, Mike. You were never like this before I was pregnant. I’m not asking for you to not worry about me at all, but I would appreciate it if you relaxed, just a little. It makes me feel like you’re doubting me as a doctor rather than protecting me as your wife.”

He frowned as he digested it.

Did he use to step in before when someone got particularly aggressive? Yes. Was he always there when you needed? Of course. But it had increased tenfold since you first found out you were pregnant.

“I feel like there’s got to be some middle ground here.” You said after he stayed silent.

He pulled the car into the driveway, turning the car off before resting back in his seat. You stared ahead to the bricks of your townhouse.

“After Dana got hit, I realized how easily it could’ve been you had you been working. You would have been dealing with him in triage. I never would have forgiven myself.” He paused to swallow thickly. “And Pittfest…with Jake — it just takes a fucking moment for someone you love to be ripped away from you. With what we do every day, I never wanted you to be at any risk. I figured if I could put myself in the middle…if I could shield you, you would be safe. I never want anything to jeopardize your life or our son’s life. I don’t—I couldn’t—”

You grabbed his hand, processing just how badly that shift had affected him. You knew it would have a lasting impact, but now you understood just how great. Of course he would become more protective after that shift, how had you not put it together sooner?

“I didn’t really think about it like that.” You told him quietly. This was his way of dealing with that shift.

He intertwined your fingers, brushing a thumb over the wedding band you wore to work (your pretty engagement ring sat safe from the grime of your job in a jewelry box, which you wore whenever you were not working). You squeezed his hand, pulling his attention back to your face.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m being overbearing or doubting you. I just can’t lose you.” He told you.

“And you won’t, my love. I’m here.” You brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. “We’re gonna get through this.”

He released a long breath, “Just promise you’ll come to me if you need me.”

It went unsaid that this was his way of promising you the same.

“Promise. Don’t get me wrong, the protective husband thing is really hot. Just perhaps a bit more of a subtle approach would be better.”

He met your eyes with a tiny quirk in his brow, “I can work with that.”

“Through thick and thin, yeah?”

A soft smile formed, “Through thick and thin, sweetheart.”

[ Next ]

want to join any of my tag lists? feel free to shoot me a message!

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy

Dr. Adamson’s first name is Montgomery (according to a screen grab of the plaque), and well, I couldn’t work with that, so that’s how I settled on Adam lol

Will I be writing something about last night’s episode? Yes, yes I will. (two, possibly three, parts planned already oof who gave me free-will??)

[zaczenemiji]

Hi I hope you are having a lovely day my dear ♥. I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x reader where the reader is an assistant manager to him and one day he like acts arrogantly towards her during one of his interviews when he sees a pretty journalist amongst the crowed of ppl interviewing him and he says some hurtful things to reader and collectively ignoring her and instead choosing to focus on the journalists girl. Ever since that day reader has been silent around Sato and he thought he didn't care but it bothered him because even though she is usually quite, these days she is *too* quite and then there is like a mini celebration for like a baseball game win and reader goes with a guy who is like an athlete but is not as famous as Sato. So the kicker is reader is absolutely DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and ppl at the party even think she is a model. So Sato get jealous and he acts all possessive and protective of her , while she is still angry at him but eventually he makes it up to her over time. If you have anything else to add please do.

Shattered Pride

Kenji Sato x AssistantManager!Reader

Word Count: 1,873

Genre/Warnings: Character Development, Eventual Romance, Forgiveness, Jealousy, Regret, Redemption

Author’s Note: The idea behind this was just fantastic! Thank you so much for the request, writing this was my honor.

MASTERLIST

Being Kenji Sato’s assistant manager is not an easy task. I repeat: Not. An. Easy. Task. Throughout his baseball career, he has had several assistants who quit as soon as they were hired because, for one thing, Kenji is stubborn.

Ghosted interviews, off-topic answers, and insults to other players were just some of the many things about him that gave you a headache.

You remember being referred to him by his last assistant saying that it was a high-paying job. However, you were skeptical at how quickly and willing they were to give off their job to another person.

You understood why the first time you met him. After the meeting, you asked him, “Is there anything else you need from me today?”

In response, he gave an irritated sigh. “If I needed something, I would have asked.”

Thankfully, you were more on the nonchalant scale, and how people respond to you didn’t bother you much. You were here to do your job—and excellently at that, not exactly to be friends with an arrogant baseball star.

Kenji’s behavior was… challenging, that’s the best word for it. He barked orders, rarely said thank you, and seemed to take your presence for granted. But in conditions like these, you thrive the most; you succeed where others have failed.

Today was a usual day with the usual crowd of journalists and fans gathering in the conference room. You stood by his side, ensuring everything was in order for yet another post-game interview.

It was going all smooth and well when Kenji suddenly paused mid-sentence. It was a very short pause that wouldn’t be noticeable to others but you, with all the time you spent as his assistant, noticed it.

Your eyes looked in the direction he kept glancing at. A girl, of course, strikingly beautiful with long sleek back hair that cascaded down in soft waves.

When it was her turn to ask, Kenji leaned forward to give her a dazzling smile. “Why don’t you ask me a question?” he said, ignoring the list of pre-approved questions you handed him before the interview started.

Kenji was holding court with this journalist longer than he should. You noticed that the others in line were starting to murmur in annoyance.

You stepped forward, maintaining your professional demeanor. “Excuse me, Mr. Sato, but we need to move on,” you said. “Other journalists are waiting for their turn.”

“I’m not done here,” he said arrogantly, not bothering to look your way.

You took a deep breath, wanting to handle this situation diplomatically. “I understand,” you said. “But we’ve exceeded the time limit, and it’s only fair to give everyone a chance.”

Whichever agency’s plan was it to send her here to get ahead of other journalists, it’s working. She gave you a polite smile, clearly enjoying the extra attention.

Kenji frowned and turned to you. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” He asked. “If you can’t manage your job properly, maybe you should reconsider.”

Your eyes widened. You could feel others’ on you, their stares almost cutting through your professional facade.

Swallowing your pride, you nodded and stepped back, keeping your expression neutral. But as neutral as you looked, deep down you felt a mix of anger and humiliation.

From that day on, you remained silent around Kenji, only speaking when necessary. You remained professional though, and you made sure that your job was not compromised.

During meetings, you no longer offered insights unless directly asked. When you did speak, your tone was strictly professional. Well, it has always been, but the warmth that characterized your interactions was now gone.

Like that one time during a team strategy meeting. Kenji asked for input on a new play. The room fell silent as everyone waited for your usual insightful suggestions, but you simply looked down at your notes, saying nothing.

The coach glanced at you, surprised. "Any thoughts, (y/n)?" You shook your head. "No, Coach. Nothing to add."

At first, Kenji was oblivious to all of this. He was absorbed in his own world and the adulation of his fans, as always. But as the days turned into weeks, your silence grew too loud to ignore that even he finally noticed it.

A month later, the team planned on celebrating a recent major win. This time, they have decided to invite other athletes as guests of honor. The organizers wanted to have a mix of established stars and up-and-coming talents from the sports world.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to have yourself pampered. You have been working hard, after all. Despite the obvious tension between you and Kenji, you were still able to do your job well.

That’s why at the party, you were stunning. Drop dead gorgeous, as the team said. Though the lights were dim, it seemed as if a spotlight was following you as everyone you passed by turned their heads to look.

You decided to settle by the bar for drinks. “Hey there,” came a familiar voice. You turned to see Jake approaching. He was one of the promising young athletes and a rising star in the sports world who was invited to this party.

He plays as a forward for a popular soccer team and has recently garnered attention for his impressive performance in the league. This wasn’t the first time you met as Jake and Kenji ran into each other a couple times before at different events.

He leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender for a drink. “It’s nice to see you again and this time, enjoying yourself,” he said. “You looked like you needed a break at the last event we were at.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating his observation. "Yeah, it's been a bit hectic lately."

Jake's drink arrived, and he took a sip, his eyes studying you with genuine interest. “Well, you look incredible tonight,” he said. “Have you been hearing what the others are saying?”

Jake turned to glance at the crowd, then back at you. “They were all asking if you were a model or something,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you replied, smiling. “You clean up pretty well yourself."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that put you at ease. "So, how's work been treating you? Still managing the chaos that is Kenji Sato?"

You hesitated, the memory of Kenji's recent behavior still fresh. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But I manage."

Jake's expression softened with understanding. "I can imagine. He's got a reputation for being difficult."

Unbeknownst to both of you, the baseball star you were talking about has finally arrived. His presence commanded attention as he navigated through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes.

As he made his way deeper into the club, his eyes caught sight of you. At that moment he froze. Or was it time that froze? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that for a little while, he couldn’t breathe.

You were stunning. Your outfit, a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated your every curve, made you look like you had just stepped off a runway. Your hair was styled to perfection, your makeup highlighting your natural beauty.

Suddenly, he noticed the man you were talking to, Jake. “That rookie soccer player,” he thought. Gosh, you deserved so much better. At that moment, with firm resolve, he declared upon himself that he would work to be the better that you deserved.

Kenjl's jaw clenched as his own possessive instincts flared up, a mix of jealousy and protectiveness surging through him. He made his way over to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

On your end, you noticed the crowd parted slightly, and you saw Kenji making his way towards you.

Turning slightly, you met Kenji’s gaze with a cool, indifferent look. "Kenji," you acknowledged, your tone polite but distant.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Jake looked at you, his gaze asking if you were fine with it. You smiled at him, a genuine and warm expression, something you haven’t given Kenji in a while. “I’ll go on ahead,” you told Jake. “See you around.”

Kenji led you away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner of the club. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned to you, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Kenji asked, his frustration evident.

You scoffed. “First of all, you didn’t ask me to.” You crossed your arms, fixing him with a hard stare. "And you made it very clear where I stand with you. Or rather, where I don't."

He winced, the memory of his hurtful words coming back to haunt him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I was wrong. I was an idiot."

You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I've been a jerk, and I know it,” he continued. “I was arrogant, dismissive, and I took you for granted.”

You watch him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Yet you looked away, the hurt still fresh. "You hurt me, Kenji,” you said. “You made me feel worthless and unimportant."

Kenji steps closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know, I'm so sorry. I was so focused on myself, on my career, that I didn't see how much I was hurting you. Your silence has been killing me. I miss your insights, your presence.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “I miss you.” He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“You're more than just my assistant,” he said. “You're the reason I can do what I do. You make everything better, and I've been too blind to see it. Please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to earn back your trust.”

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity. All you saw was genuine regret and a longing to make things right. "This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Kenji."

"I know," he said quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I just... I can't lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "We'll see," you said. "But it won't be easy."

He nodded, relief flooding his features. "I understand,” he said. “Thank you, (y/n)—for giving me a chance.”

As you walked back to the party, Kenji stayed close by your side, protective and possessive. arm subtly wrapped around your waist, a clear signal to everyone around that you were with him.

As the night came to an end, Kenji offered to drive you home. To which, you agreed. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything else, it was rather hopeful.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Kenji found you alone in the office. “Hey," he said softly, "I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just the two of us."

You looked up, surprised. "Dinner?"

He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. "Yeah. To thank you for everything. And to make up for being such an idiot."

You smiled at him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Dinner sounds nice."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie

[tellingtell5]

Mr. Blue Sky 《Clark Kent, superman x reader》

Clark Kent, Superman x femreader

Summary: The day starts out perfect, everything going Superman’s way. He’s even glowing with joy at giving his girlfriend an exclusive as Superman, but then things take a turn.

A/N: So… I watched Superman (2025). I thought I was fine with myself, that this wouldn’t turn into a new hyperfixation, but here we are. I’ve been absolutely smitten with this Superman for a couple of days now, reading some stories, and I just wanted to write something soft and sweet about him. Thank you for reading and for all the support. I hope this reaches someone. 🖤

Sun is shinin' in the sky. There ain't a cloud in sight. It's stopped rainin', everybody's in the play, And don't you know, It's a beautiful new day? Hey

The day was nearly perfect.

He’d woken up with the first rays of sunlight brushing his face, his energy recharged to its fullest. He rolled out of bed with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

Yes, this morning he’d head to the Daily Planet, but not as Clark. He’d don the suit, take a few laps around the globe to fix a couple of pressing issues, and then land at the front steps of the newsroom, ready to give an interview worthy of Superman.

Giving an exclusive to his own girlfriend hadn’t been on his bingo card for the year. But then again, you had no idea you were about to be asking questions to the man you kissed goodnight nearly every evening. To you, Clark Kent and Superman were entirely different people. The idea that they could even be related had never crossed your mind.

He was sure of that, mostly because you loved to call Clark “nerdy”, affectionately, of course. You said you liked that about him.

He smiled, involuntarily, remembering the way you'd adjusted his glasses yesterday, pushing a few unruly curls off his forehead with a quiet “hold still, Kent.”

You were such a good girl. Warm in a way that made even the sun feel second best.

"Superman! Right on time, thank you." There you were, the woman who made his always-steady, always-calm heart do those strange, looping flips inside his chest. Your face held none of the warmth you usually reserved for him. No familiar grin. Just a professional courtesy-smile, the kind you gave strangers.

Right. A stranger. Superman. Not Clarkie. He had to remind himself of that every two seconds just to stop his hand from instinctively reaching out to brush your cheek.

He nodded, still wearing that smile he'd had on since sunrise.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet my number one critic.” He folded his hands behind his back and leaned forward slightly, like he was sharing a secret.

Because the truth was, the person he loved the most was also the one who had been hardest on him, at least in print. Your articles on Superman often questioned his choices, dissected his motives, challenged his actions. Half the time he hadn’t even considered the angles you brought up.

But instead of a witty retort, your lips stayed pressed in a polite, almost tight line. Your tone was formal. He cleared his throat, surprised to find himself… uncomfortable. With you.

You gestured forward with your portfolio, murmuring a soft, “Shall we?” that barely carried above the newsroom noise. He followed without thinking, keeping a respectful distance, resisting the urge to walk beside you. Clark Kent would’ve matched your stride. Superman held back.

He felt the eyes on him. But not the familiar, teasing glances of coworkers—there was no recognition in them. Just awe, curiosity, and a touch of suspicion. The swish of his cape dragged against desks as he walked by. For the first time in his life, he felt like an intruder in his own workplace.

He nearly stopped at your desk out of habit. But then you kept going—toward a little-used conference room. He followed. You held the door open with a flick of your wrist and nodded him inside. As he brushed past you, he accidentally grazed your arm and muttered a quiet “sorry.” Your scent hit him like a freight train. His shampoo. You’d used it yesterday after showering at his place.

He barely managed to hold back a low hum of satisfaction.

The door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the sound of the newsroom.

He smiled again—soft, utterly smitten—just from seeing you back in his line of sight. You were sorting papers, focused, all business.

“You may sit, Superman,” you said, without looking up.

He blinked out of his daze. “Of course,” he murmured and moved toward the chair.

In one smooth motion that turned into a complete disaster, he sat—only to trap part of his cape beneath him. The fabric pulled taut at his neck, cutting slightly into his throat. He shot up, pulling at the cape to free it, which jostled the table hard enough to knock into the pitcher of water you’d set out. He reached to stop it and smacked knees with you under the table.

“Sorry—! I, uh, sorry—” he kept repeating as the pitcher wobbled, nearly tipped, then settled with a splash. Your papers fluttered from the breeze of his movements.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the ground would swallow him. Then he heard it: a tiny laugh.

His eyes opened slowly, one at a time.

You were smiling, just a little,and it made something unfurl in his chest.

“I’m not… usually like this,” he said.

“I should be the one apologizing,” you replied, your voice cool but amused. “Had I known you were this… large, I might’ve chosen a room with more space. I assumed you’d be about the same size as my…”

You stopped. Mid-thought. Mid-sentence.

He leaned forward slightly, waiting. Hoping. You never called him your boyfriend, not out loud. Not officially. But the way you moved, the way you curled around him in your sleep, he felt it. Still, it would’ve meant the world to hear you say it.

Instead, you shook your head and looked away, focusing on your notes.

He sat back, watching you. Watching the way your fingers moved across your pages, the way your brows furrowed in concentration. He fidgeted beneath the table, twisting his cape in his hands just to keep himself from reaching over and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Then, you opened your portfolio too fast, and several papers flew out. Instinctively, he reached to help.

And there it was.

A photograph.

Small, worn from being carried around. It had slipped between pages and tumbled out onto the table, face up. His heart stopped. It was of you and Clark, well…him. You were kissing his cheek, catching him off guard mid-laugh. His glasses were crooked. The photo was blurry from motion, but your smile? Clear as day.

He stared at it for a moment longer than he should have. You gave him the sun, every single time you smiled like that.

He handed it to you, trying not to tremble.

“You and him… is he your boyfriend?” he asked, carefully.

Your fingers took the photo back, slipping it into your folder with barely a glance.

“Something like that,” you said.

His body reacted slower than his mind.

He’d leaned in, waiting for your answer, nervous, even. The euphoria had already burst through his veins before he truly registered what you said.

Something like that.

He collapsed against the back of the chair, the wood groaning beneath his weight as though something inside him had deflated. He couldn’t stop his face from reacting. His mouth twisted briefly, his lips pushing forward in what looked like a clumsy kiss of confusion. His brows pulled impossibly tight at the center of his forehead.

He couldn’t make sense of your words. He couldn’t process that the same woman who kept a photo of the two of you, laughing, happy, had dismissed the idea of being together so easily.

If someone asked him the same thing, he’d smile and say it clear as day: yes. He was yours.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

There was no safe way to ask what you meant without sounding nosy… or letting the mask slip. But then you looked up, eyes catching the confusion on his face.

He watched as you opened your mouth, like you were going to say something—maybe explain. But you closed it just as fast and turned your attention back to the scattered sheets on the table.

Without looking at him, you asked:

“What about you, Superman? Do you have someone?”

You sounded indifferent. Detached. Like the question was purely conversational. But something twisted in his gut, jealousy, maybe. Of himself. And wasn’t that just ridiculous?

“Is this off the record?” he asked, careful.

“Of course. I’m not a gossip columnist. I’m just trying to ease the tension. You seem nervous.”

He nearly blurted out that it wasn’t nerves. That what made him act this way was you. You, filling the small room with your presence, your scent in every corner, muffling his super senses. You, whose steady heartbeat was the lullaby he fell asleep to on countless nights.

But instead, he just told you the truth.

“Yes. I have someone.”

You looked surprised. Like you hadn’t expected him to actually answer. And just like that, your expression shifted—back to professional, guarded. The air changed.

“Oh. And… is she okay with all this?”

“Sorry?”

You weren’t looking through your notes anymore. You weren’t preparing for the interview. All your focus was on him—and while he usually adored when your attention was on him, now it made the hairs on his arms stand up.

You were angry. He just didn’t understand why.

“Well, yes. I think so. She’s worth the effort.”

“You think so?” you echoed, eyes narrowing slightly. “So… she doesn’t know?”

“It’s better this way,” he said, more defensively than intended.

“Better this way,” you repeated, almost to yourself. Like the words tasted wrong on your tongue. He felt exposed. Judged. But… how could you judge him? You weren’t supposed to know him. Not like that.

And then you said:

“Can I ask you something else? Off the record, again.”

He was already angry with himself, for how easily he'd slipped. For letting your questions pull at the seams of his disguise. His mind was racing, calculating, connecting the dots, wondering why you seemed so damn interested in Superman’s relationship.

“How long,” you asked, soft but sharp, “have you thought your girlfriend was stupid?”

His instinct was to respond, fast, almost automatic, but then he processed what you said. He planted his palms flat on the table, needing something solid to calm the chaos in his head.

“I—Sorry, I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

You tilted your head, lips curling in something colder than amusement.

“For someone with super hearing, that’s disappointing.”

His mouth twitched again. That same puzzled little frown. His brows hadn’t relaxed since you first minimized your relationship with him. But now he realized something else had changed.

Your breathing was louder. Not erratic—controlled, but forceful. Your nostrils flared slightly. A flush spread across your cheeks.

You were furious.

And suddenly, everything, the way you redirected the conversation, your body language, your eyes, clicked into place. He let out a slow, tired breath, his entire frame softening. Like he’d been carrying tension for too long without knowing it.

Your name slipped from his mouth, not an accusation. A plea.

“How long have you known?”

“Does it matter?”

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you mirrored his posture, putting distance between you. But the space felt like more than a few feet, it was a chasm. And despite his speed, he wasn’t sure he could cross it.

You straightened again. But this time, you looked… hurt.

You toyed with your pen, like your hands didn’t know what to do.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, Clark?”

The name landed like a blow to the chest.

No one called him that when he wore the suit. It wasn’t just his name—it was the truth, spoken aloud like a secret stripped bare.

“God, last week I fixed that same stubborn curl again.” You pointed at his forehead.

His hand shot up to push the curl aside. Too late. Useless.

“I really think you believe I’m an idiot. How could I not notice? Same height. Same build. Same heart.”

At the mention of that heart, his own did a full somersault. He nearly staggered.

“If I hadn’t figured it out sooner, I would’ve the second I saw you in the hallway this morning.”

You leaned in now. Your voice softened, but your eyes were burning.

“There’s only one man in my life who’s ever looked at me like that, Clark. And you looked at me the same way again today.”

He blinked.

His breath caught. Something caved in behind his ribs, like a door giving way under pressure. He looked like he wanted to speak—maybe even apologize—but you raised a hand before he could say a single word.

“Don’t,” you said sharply. “Don’t say it was to protect me. Don’t you dare come out with some noble crap like ‘I just wanted you safe.’”

He flinched, not because you were wrong, but because he’d almost said it.

You pressed on, voice low but trembling: “You knew. You knew I’d figure it out eventually. And you still lied. Every single day, Clark.”

“I didn’t do it to protect you,” he said suddenly. Urgently. “That’s not—it wasn’t that.”

You faltered. He sounded so raw, like his chest had split open and the words were spilling out faster than he could shape them.

“I did it because I was scared,” he said, eyes fixed on yours. “Because I didn’t know if you’d still want to be with me once you knew. Not just me, but everything I come with. Everything I carry. I was afraid I’d lose you the second you saw the whole picture. That I’d never be able to give you a normal life. That I’d always have to leave, that I might not come back.”

That silenced you.

The heat in your chest, the stubborn burn of betrayal—it flickered, twisted into something more complicated.

Clark Kent, who faced down aliens and firestorms and god-knows-what on a daily basis, had been terrified… of you walking away.

You let out a slow breath.

His hand was still braced on the table, knuckles white. He looked smaller now, somehow, like his strength couldn’t shield him from this. And he wasn’t hiding behind the Superman voice anymore. This was just Clark. Your Clark. Messy. Afraid. Honest.

“I never wanted you to be someone else,” you said, finally. He stared. “You’re not perfect. God, you’re so far from it. You burn your toast. You forget your keys. You talk to my cat like she understands quantum physics. And you lie like someone who’s never had to before.” You smiled, barely. “But you also take care of everyone. And I mean everyone. Even when you’re breaking inside”

Those last words hung in the air like a charge. He didn’t even seem to notice his own breath hitching, how his posture straightened like something vital had just anchored him to the moment.

“It’s this, this maddening, impossibly good part of you, that’s exactly what made me fall in love with you.”

He blinked.

Fell in love.

With him.

You didn’t notice the way he went still. Or maybe you did.

He felt breathless.

He swallowed. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Fragile.

“You said you… love me.”

You met his gaze. Steady. No fear in your eyes now, just the kind of truth he’d always been afraid to reach for.

“I do.”

It landed like a miracle.

He’d flown through storms. He’d held up buildings, outpaced explosions, taken bullets to the chest, but nothing had ever struck him as hard or as beautifully as that.

“You love me,” he repeated, like he was testing the shape of it in his mouth. Holding it between his teeth like a secret he'd kept even from himself.

You gave a soft, shaky laugh.

“I just… I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say it.”

“Well,” you said, stepping closer, “maybe next time, don’t lie to your girlfriend for six months.”

He moves before he thinks.

Not fast, he’s fast, of course, but this isn’t that. This is slow, trembling, reverent. He leans in like something sacred’s pulling him forward by the ribs, because you just said you love him, and that’s all he’s ever needed, all he’s ever wanted—

But your fingers press to his chest before he reaches you.

“Easy, big guy,” you murmur, gaze flicking toward the ceiling like it’s got teeth. “The walls have eyes.”

He freezes.

Right. Right. Interview room. Security cameras. Superman costume. Full heart, no brain.

He steps back quickly, heat flaring up the back of his neck, cape tangling briefly around his leg like it’s laughing at him. He clears his throat, awkward and giant and suddenly very aware of how broad his shoulders are in this tiny room.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I got a little—uh—caught up.”

You smiled at him, and for a moment Clark felt like every shield he had ever worn (the suit, the cape, the persona) was made of paper. He looked nothing like the hero who could hold up collapsing bridges or drag people out of burning wreckage. Right now, he was just a man, all raw edges and open nerves. You saw that. And something in your anger softened at the sight, like a knot loosening. Not gone, not entirely—because lies leave splinters—but enough that he could breathe again.

You’d told him you were in love with him, and the way his face had lit up—like the sun had risen twice—made your fury feel almost petty. Almost. Because no matter how much you loved him, the truth was he had lied. And that still stung.

With that sharp clarity anger gives, you cleared your throat. A tiny, deliberate sound that sliced the air between you. Clark’s senses tuned to it instantly, watching how you shifted, sliding back into your professional skin, the one that looked at him not like a man but like a headline waiting to be written. It struck him, for half a heartbeat, that maybe you weren’t so different from him. Maybe you had two faces too. Sweet, sleepy girlfriend in the mornings; relentless, razor-edged reporter once the sun went down.

Your hand moved toward the recorder. Slow, intentional. Like you wanted him to notice every inch of the motion, to make sure he understood that the game had changed. A soft click, a red LED. Recording.

“So, Superman,” you said, your tone shifting into that velvet-steel cadence he knew too well, “is there some kind of green card for immigrants from other planets? How is that kind of migration even handled?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came. Whiplash. One second he was holding onto your love like it was the last warm thing on Earth, and the next you were tossing him a policy question like this was the six o’clock news.

“Gosh da—” he muttered under his breath, catching himself because, oh God, Ma would hear that from space.

You arched a brow, eyes gleaming.

“Careful with the language, Superman. I’m recording.”

And there it was again, that mix of affection and fire that left him more undone than kryptonite ever could.

[steddiehyperfixation]

a silly little notes app fic abt eddie's hair for my @steddiebingo free space | 795 words | T |

"So...Eddie's still not let you get your hands on his hair yet?" Robin asks during the slow hours of their shift at Family Video. 

It used to be all Steve would talk about. In the throes of crushing and pining, Steve talked about Eddie Munson near constantly anyways, but the guy's hair was a point he kept coming back to the most. For months, Robin had been made to listen to Steve's lamentations about how badly he wanted to run his fingers through Eddie's hair and teach him how to tame all the tangles and frizz. ("He'd have such gorgeous curls," Steve would sigh a minimum of twice a day; and Robin would tolerate it, because at least it was better than his lamentations about wanting to get in Eddie's pants.) 

When Steve and Eddie finally got together, Robin figured that would've been Steve's first order of business. She fully expected to be met with a glossy-curled Eddie within days of their new relationship. But it's been several weeks now, and Robin saw Eddie yesterday and his hair was still as mangy as ever.  

"You know, he does his hair like that on purpose," Steve says, setting down the stack of returns he's sorting and turning to face Robin. 

"What, like a raccoon that's just crawled out of a dumpster?" 

"Yeah, it's the style; it's 'metal.' He puts a lot of effort into it actually." 

"So he won't let you mess with it." Robin kind of understands that. 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "No, he has, once. We took a shower together-" 

"Gross, do not need that image in my head, thanks."

"- and he let me wash his hair with all these nice curl products-" 

"Just lead with that next time." 

"- and he let me brush it with a good brush and put fancy conditioner and curl cream in it and everything. He let me do this whole routine, right, didn't complain once even though it kind of took a while." Steve smiles fondly, this dreamy little expression he always gets when he talks about Eddie. "I think we both just enjoyed the process, you know? He liked being pampered and I liked taking care of him. There's really something so romantic and intimate about doing someone's hair, I think." 

"That's sweet," Robin says, and she means it, really. She loves seeing her best friend happy and in such an adorable relationship. But she also kind of wants him to get to the point of this story. "So how did his hair turn out?" 

"Oh, yeah, it turned out perfectly," Steve says, but he laughs like it was a total disaster. "When it was all done and dry, he had these beautiful shiny, bouncy curls, just like I knew he would. But we take one look at his reflection in the mirror and we're both just bursting out laughing. He says, 'I fucking hate it,' and I say, 'I fucking hate it too.'" 

Robin tries to picture Eddie with glossy ringlets. "It didn't look good on him?" 

"It looked good, it just didn't look like Eddie," Steve says with a shrug. "It wasn't him. I realized in that moment just how attractive his normal, wild hair really is to me, because it's got personality, you know? Those supermodel curls just didn't fit—and it was honestly kind of a turn off. We had to mess it up immediately." 

"Do I want to know what you did to mess it up?" Robin ventures. Knowing them, 'messing it up' could mean anything from a filthy euphemism to something perfectly innocent. 

"We just backcombed the shit out of it." 

"Oh, good." 

Steve grins, eyes glinting with mischief. "And then of course I pushed him onto the bed and rode his dick into next week-"

"Ugh! God!" Robin shoves Steve's shoulder and he catches himself on the counter, laughing. 

The door chimes to announce a customer, and they both quickly straighten and try to look professional, but it's only Eddie in all his grungy, frizzy-haired glory. 

Steve's entire face lights up at the sight of him, bounding over to greet him like an excited puppy. Eddie's grinning too, the pure adoration in both of their eyes so sweet it's enough to make anyone sick. It's not long before they're sneaking off to the back room under some flimsy lie of searching for a movie, and Robin thinks it's cute that they still feel the need to make up an excuse for her when she knows they know she knows damn well what they're doing back there. Eddie's going to come back from that back room with hair even messier than before, and while Robin still cannot comprehend how Steve finds that man attractive, she's just happy they're happy. 

[lazysoulwriter]

the trouble we cause. - pedro pascal x wife!actress!reader.

requested!!! thank you for sending, love doing this one.

---

It had started as a joke.

"Imagine if we ever worked together," you had laughed, curled up against Pedro’s chest one night. "We’d get absolutely nothing done."

Pedro had only grinned, pressing a kiss to your hair. "I'd be professional... ish."

You should've known better.

Because now, six months later, you were sitting across from him at a press junket, cameras rolling, mics hot — and you were this close to bursting into laughter because of the dumb little face he was making at you from across the table.

It was a losing battle from the start.

From the very first day on set, you and Pedro had been... a problem.

It wasn’t intentional. You were both professionals — award-winning, seasoned actors. But professionalism had limits when it came to your husband whispering Spanish nonsense into your ear between takes just to make you giggle.

It wasn’t your fault he kept sneaking glances at you during serious scenes. It wasn’t your fault you kept blushing and ruining your lines. And it definitely wasn’t your fault when the director had to physically separate you two during lunch breaks because apparently, "you're distracting each other too much."

Not that the separation helped much. Pedro had a whole arsenal of "across the room" tactics: raised eyebrows, secret smiles, a whole silent language only the two of you understood.

You were, in short, insufferable.

And everyone else loved you for it.

The junket was the worst (or best) example yet.

Initially, they had placed you and Pedro side by side, thinking it would be cute — married couple! same movie! adorable!

It took all of ten minutes for chaos to erupt.

You couldn't stop leaning into each other, whispering jokes under your breath. Pedro kept trying to "discreetly" hold your hand under the table. At one point, you straight-up started laughing so hard at something he muttered that you had to hide your face behind your coffee cup.

The publicist eventually gave up and moved you to opposite ends of the panel.

Big mistake.

Now, you were playing silent games of charades across the stage — winking, mouthing jokes, making faces until the moderator very politely asked if "the married couple could please focus."

You bit your lip, cheeks flaming. Pedro just shrugged, grinning like the devil himself.

Later, during the one-on-one interviews, it only got worse.

Every time someone asked a serious question, Pedro would somehow manage to derail it.

"What's it like working together?" Pedro: "Dangerous. I fear for my life daily." (said while giving you a full-on heart-eyes look.)

"Was there a lot of on-set chemistry?" Pedro: "Wouldn’t know. I was too busy trying not to propose again."

You smacked his arm for that one — gently, lovingly, the way you did everything with him.

The interviewer laughed. Pedro just looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

When you got home that night, exhausted but buzzing from the day, you collapsed onto the couch together, still in your fancy clothes.

Pedro immediately pulled you into his lap, arms locking around your waist.

"You know," you murmured, tracing lazy patterns over his chest, "we're a menace."

Pedro laughed, deep and warm. "I think they’re just jealous," he said, nuzzling your temple. "They wish they had this."

You smiled, feeling that familiar, overwhelming rush of love for him.

"This," you echoed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it meant getting scolded like teenagers every time you were in a room together.

Especially if it meant this.

---

[exqorcism]

match made in hell ━ father charlie mayhew ♰

❱ note: this is dirty and so long, i got so carried away...... might make a part two???

﹅ warnings: where do i start... nsfw content of course, blasphemy!!, unprotected piv sex, fingering, squirting, oral (m!receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, finger sucking, choking, slapping, hair pulling, creampie, mirror sex, they are soulmates <3

♡ requests for nicholas/charlie are so open! you ask and i deliver :) let's keep on feeding our delusions lmao

to say that she was a saint would be a complete misunderstanding. she realised that the first time she met him. the priest, devilishly handsome priest, to be exact, was exactly like her. and she noticed it immediately.

she didn't exactly expect a priest to be this young and this handsome. but what really caught her eye, was the soulless look in his eyes. she didn't know why, but she felt an immediate connection with him, as she sat in the furthest corner of the church, yet he still noticed her. hiding in the shadows, she sat, long, black hair falling freely onto her neck and back, short dress that made him rethink the church's dress code. her eyes glimmering with curiosity, as she listened to his sermon, or at least pretended to. she wet her lips, tilting her head, her eyes wide and devilish.

and then she noticed: his eyes lit up with passion and pure interest as he held her stare throughout rest of the mass.

charlie tried to explain the feeling that bloomed in his chest, but he couldn't. he has never seen this girl before, her every move was hypnotising to him. the way she tilted her head in wonder, her lips pickering just slightly, as she studied his face as if she was admiring him... it made his heart beat faster, his palms becoming sweaty, mind going blank.

the mass ended soon after, and charlie sighed in relief as people began to leave the small church. he then walked around the altar, blowing out the candles, his mind still wandering around the brunette girl, when a soft, melodic voice behind his back caught him off guard.

"hello, um... i'm sorry, father... i'm y/n", she started, pretty much relaxed, keeping her eyes on her hands. her voice like a psalm to him, his heart beating loudly in his chest, as he stilled, waiting for the right moment to turn around.

"i'm charlie", he shouldn't have said that. he should've kept it professional, but as soon as he turned around and his black eyes met her green ones, he felt that electricity go through his veins again. they were alone now, everyone has left the church, the silence comfortable for both of them. y/n looked up at the much taller man, the dim candle lights made his face glow, and she thought he was absolutely mesmerising. his full lips curled into a small smirk, his eyes following her every move, and she couldn't help but smile too.

"i have never seen you before, y/n", he noticed carefully, leaning against the altar, the veins in his hands popping out, and her eyes wandered on them for a little too long. she crossed her arms on her chest, the cold air hitting her skin with a sudden force, and she shrugged.

"the truth is, father... i want to confess. kind of", she hesitated, the big cross behind charlie's head making her question everything. god doesn't judge us, she thought, convincing herself. "maybe we could talk somewhere more... private? if you're okay with it", she corrected herself quickly, though her confidence never faded, even for a second. the determination visible in her eyes, and charlie got lost in her for a second, his own eyes sparking with something very unfamiliar to him. that was both exciting and... thrilling.

"whatever you need, y/n", he said wholeheartedly, "do you want me to drive you home?" the words left his mouth before he could think about them, and she opened her mouth in shock. pink blush adoring her cheeks, her lashes fluttering, the tension in her lower stomach getting more intense by each passing second.

"yes, i would very much enjoy that".

about twenty minutes later charlie and y/n pulled up by the girl's house. a comfortable silence was followed by a quiet sigh falling out of y/n's mouth.

"thank you so much, father", she whispered, eyes on his side profile, and she couldn't help but notice the way his strong, defined jaw clenched at her words.

"call me charlie", he replied simply, hands on the steering wheel, as he kept his eyes on the driveway.

"okay, then..." y/n breathed out, playful smile on her lips. "thank you, charlie", she corrected herself, and pressed her back against the passenger door. the corner of his mouth twitched, and his head turned to look at her.

she looked like a goddess, charlie thought, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her creamy thighs on full display. her short and tight dress has ridden up her thighs, her hair slightly messy, but still shiny and silky. her boobs tightly pressed together because of the arms resting comfortably on her chest. and her face looked angelic. charlie was mesmerised by her beauty, the urge to touch her now stronger than ever.

"i shall keep going", he cleared his throat, voice slightly shaky as he spoke.

"do you want to come in?", the words left her mouth before she had the time to think it through.

charlie tilted his head and looked at her with a devilish look in his dark eyes. she smiled softly, and shifted on her seat slightly, her predatory gaze focused on his serious face.

"of course", he replied simply and opened the door on his right, leaving the car quickly. she got up right after he did, and they walked together towards her apartment.

she unlocked the door to her apartment and welcomed him in with a quick smile.

"feel yourself at home", she said softly, leaning back against the wardrobe in the interior. she watched him take off his coat, his muscles tensing as he moved around. she bit her lip involuntarily, unholy images in her head.

charlie complimented y/n's apartment as they walked towards her room, a bottle of french wine in her hand.

she closed the door behind them, and she pointed towards a chair next to her bed. charlie sat down comfortably, leaning back, his legs spread wide as if he was inviting her to come between them.

"let me get changed real quick", she said, looking at herself in the mirror. the tight dress sitting perfectly on her figure, but she was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable in it. she took off her platform shoes and looked at charlie, who was already staring.

he smiled slightly and closed his eyes to give her the possibility to change comfortably. but she reacted quickly, heart beating loudly in her chest.

"don't cover your eyes, charlie", her voice barely a whisper, and if it wasn't for the quietness of her room, he wouldn't hear her. but he most definitely did. he gripped the edges of the chair tightly, and his eyes opened, so did his mouth, charlie's breathing uneven.

"i really shouldn't", he said after a second or two. his purity ring glistened in the dim lightning, and he reminded himself who he was.

he took the vows. he wasn't just a man; he was a priest, god's messenger, but the urge to look at her was too strong. she smiled kindly, as if she was doing something completely innocent, but he wasn't fooled. she was a devil, sent by god to test his loyality to him. yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. his cock grew stiff in his tight dress pants, longing to feel a touch of another human, any ounce of self control leaving his body.

y/n turned toward the mirror and put her hair over one of her shoulders. "i need some help", she smiled, referring to zipper of the dress. charlie nodded his head and got up quickly, his muscular body now behind her as he stared at her in the mirror.

charlie, very slowly, let his fingers run through her covered back, and she shivered, her eyes closing just for a moment before they opened in pure bliss.

he pulled the zipper of her dress quickly, the material falling into the floor with a soft sound. she stood there, right in front of him in just a black, lacy, slightly seen-through underwear. charlie's breath hitched, his gaze more intense, as he shamelessly looked at her exposed body.

she bit her lip, her eyes meeting his' in the mirror, as she took a step back, only to lean against his hard chest. her head tilted back, deep sigh escaping her parted lips.

"you and me..." she whispered, keeping eye contact with him, while leaning further into him, her lips dangerously close to his neck. "we are the same. i could feel it the moment i saw you. the darkness inside of you..." she stopped for a moment, only to turn around, now facing him. yn's hands run over his chest, his breath heavy against her hands. "is fascinating. you are fascinating. and you're a sinner, just like me".

charlie bit his lip and looked in the mirror again. long black hair falling on her back in cascades and her perfect ass exposed only for him to see. his hands slowly travelled from her spine towards her arched lower back, and then he cupped her ass. she sighed, her hot breath tickling the skin on his jaw. charlie couldn't look away from the way y/n's back arched into his touch, and her head fell onto his shoulder.

"just like you, huh?" charlie chuckled lowly, his raspy voice sent a wave of arousal straight to her core. "or maybe, you're just a greedy little slut, ready to open her legs for me whenever i please?"

his words were followed by a sharp smack of his hand on her ass cheek, as she hissed loudly, devilish grin spreading on his face slowly. she stood on her tiptoes, brushing her nose against his, charlie's eyes fixated on her lips, as he smacked her ass again. this time, she whimpered. her eyes closed, body leaning into his touch, and a single moan left charlie's mouth at the sound of her.

with his hands still on y/n'a ass, he lifted her up easily, the bulge in his pants getting in contact with the thin material of her panties. charlie pressed her against the wall, her hands on his shoulders, as she challenged him with her eyes, the fire in his dark irises making her melt into his touch.

he closed the distance between them, and their lips met for the first time, and she moaned at the taste of him. he didn't rush, instead, he took his time to explore her mouth with his tongue, a strangled groan leaving his throat at the contact.

"you can deny it all you want, father", y/n's said breathlessly, but he didn't let her finish. his mouth was on her again, this time more demanding, intense and passionate, as he devoured her, soft, lewd sounds leaving both of their mouths, his fingers pressing into her soft thighs with enough force to leave bruises. "but you know i'm right. you might be a priest, but you're a really sinful one", she finished, charlie's mouth trailing kisses down her neck. y/n's eyes closed, her head falling back against the wall behind her.

obscene sound left charlie's mouth, her skin soft, and he carried y/n to her bed. she gasped in surprise as her back hit her soft, satin sheets; charlie standing in the foot of the bed, his eyes hungrily taking in the view in front of him.

"you are not a sin to me", he voiced, and y/n held her breath. a sincere smile on her face, as she took in the view in front of her. charlie looked wrecked, his cheeks red, lips slightly swollen, hair messy, a little smile adoring his face just right.

regret washed over her chest just for a moment, god is always watching. but as soon as father charlie fell to his knees, his hands pulling her to the edge of the bed with a swift move, her mind went blank.

he spread her legs wide, fingers pressing into her plush thighs, and he moaned at the sight of her. she was leaning back on her forearms, hair messed up, lips parted as she breathed heavily, and she let her hand touch his cheek softly, until her thumb met his mouth. charlie parted his lips, his heart thudding in his chest, his tongue reaching out to lick her finger.

y/n sat on the bed, her boobs now right in front of his face, as she inserted the finger into his mouth. they moaned in unison, and charlie's eyes fluttered shut, mouth closing around her thumb, sucking, licking and lightly biting at it.

her body shook as she watched the obscene scene, wetness coating her panties as his fingers dig deeper into her thighs, and yet another moan left charlie's mouth.

when y/n's thumb slipped out of his mouth with a "pop", he opened his eyes. he looked up at her desperately, and she smiled, her hand now resting on the back of his head, as she tugged at his hair roughly. charlie's brows furrowed, whimper left his mouth, his throat now on full display for her hungry eyes.

he got up from his knees as she gestured him to do so, and she led him to lay down on her bed, mouth immediately finding his, the hunger getting unbearable. charlie bit her lower lip, pulling at it, drawing blood from the little cut of his sharp teeth.

he greedily lapped at the red substance, the metallic taste making him moan into her mouth, as his hips thrusted into the air with shameless desperation.

y/n's fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and she undid them with surprising precision, her mouth finding his hard chest as soon as he took the unwanted material from his body.

"you're such a slut", he groaned as she sucked at his nipple, a simple tug at her long hair making her moan shamelessly. he smiled devilishly at the feeling of her tongue swirling against the hard bud, and he tilted his head back, hair falling onto his sweaty face.

"givin' god a show, aren't you? what would he think if he saw you? so greedy to please your priest, 's embarrassing, really", he mumbled, putting her hair into a makeshift ponytail as her mouth got closer and closer to the bulge in his pants.

unable to take it no more, charlie flipped them over so that he was towering over her, his gold cross necklace hanging in front of her face. he tore the bra off her chest, his fingers immediately pulling at the soft skin of her boobs, fingers twisting at her nipples with newfound confidence and roughness. y/n whimpered his name softly, back arching into his chest, her lips already in search of his own.

charlie spread her legs open, fingers tugging at her panties, and she let him take them off her body. her cunt now exposed, his hungry eyes taking in the sight of her perfect body, and he cursed, mouth falling open at the sight of her wet pussy.

"you're so fucking disgusting", he exclaimed, rough hands travelling down her body, down her hips, thighs, and finally reaching the place where she needed him the most. "getting all wet for your priest. don't you feel ashamed?" he asked rhetorically, fingers brushing over her puffy folds, and she squealed as he toyed with her clit, pressing tight circles into it. y/n whined, her hands on his back, pressing into his wounds with enough force to draw blood. charlie hissed, and suddenly two of his his fingers slipped inside her clenching cunt.

"you're so tight", he almost whimpered, the clenching of her cunt on his fingers making it really hard for him to control the urge to straight up fuck her. "how am i supposed fit in here, hmm?"

he withdrew his fingers out of her pussy, only to force them in with an aggression that had y/n clenching even harder around him. charlie pressed his hot mouth against hers again, and she was unable to kiss him back, her mouth falling open, and charlie laughed, moving inside of her slowly.

"you won't ever be touched by another man again", he hissed with such venom that her eyes fell open, vision blurring from the feeling of slow thrusts of his fingers inside her wet pussy. "you", thrust. "are", thrust, "mine", thrust, and he moved at a rapid speed now, keeping eye contact with her, and she cried out, nodding her head mindlessly. "mine to worship. mine to cherish. mine to fuck", his thumb found her clit, and she was oh so close. she cried out, and he gave her a dirty, open mouthed smirk, his thrusts never slowing. charlie's head leaned down, and his lips found her perky nipple, closing around it, swirling his tongue swiftly, matching the pace of his fingers inside of her.

"oh my god, please", she let out, eyes finally flattering shut, back arching into his mouth, and he tutted, his mouth and fingers leaving her body altogether.

she cried out in protest, but before she could speak up, he tugged at her jaw and squeezed her cheeks, her lips pouting. "if you want to cum, you have to beg for it, like the desperate little slut you are" the vulgar words leaving his mouth making y/n nod her head desperately, the grasp on her jaw making it hard to move.

charlie smiled at the pathetic look in her eyes, and freed her face.

"i'm sorry, charlie. please, touch me again. i need you. i crave for you━ fuck, please", y/n begged, and he obeyed, cruel look in his eyes as his hand travelled down her heaving chest, down her stomach and finally reaching its destination.

charlie's fingers pushed into her tight cunt again, and she muttered a quiet "thank you", her hands finding his shoulders for balance, as his fingers disappeared into her over and over again, and she cried out, tears of pleasure coating her waterline.

"yeah, just like that, charlie, please", she welled, holding him close, the intense feeling in her lower stomach different from anything she's ever experienced, and her eyes fell open. "charlie..."

he pressed her body into his with a single tug at her hip, pressing open open mouthed kisses on her neck, tongue darting out to taste at her sweet skin, teeth biting at every ounce of her body he could reach.

"it's okay, pretty girl", he whispered, fingers pressing into her g point again and again, her tight cunt spasming in a way that had him throbbing in the tightness of his pants. "make a mess for me", that was the confirmation she needed, as she let go, transparent liquid gushing out of her cunt with every withdraw of his fingers. slowly wetting his hand, pants, the insides of her thighs and the velvet sheets under them.

she tried to get away from his tight grasp, but he held her down with his other hand, and his nose pressed into her hair, breathing her in slowly, whispering sweet nothings as she came down from her high.

she gasped in relief as his thick fingers left her pulsing walls, and he tapped them on y/n's lower lip.

"suck them clean for me", charlie cooed, and her mouth took him in gladly, swirling her tongue around his fingers, and then sucked them in until they hit the back of her throat.

"just like that, just like that" he groaned, fucking her mouth with his digits, and she gagged, her pussy starting to tingle yet again.

"i want to see you cumming on my cock", charlie exclaimed, struggling with the button of his pants, and y/n helped him, pushing them down along with his boxers.

her mouth fucking opened at the sight of his cock, the view so astonishingly beautiful and overwhelming, gasp leaving her parted lips, and he just laughed as if it was nothing.

y/n thought it was unreal, that he was unreal, his whole body belonging in a museum. before he had the time to react, she flipped them over and straddled his hips, fingers scratching at his chest.

"you are so fucking hot", y/n breathed out as she slowly rubbed her clit on his hard cock, and charlie's eyes rolled back, fingers digging into the reddened skin of her ass. "i can't control myself around you. you drive me fucking crazy, charlie", y/n almost cried out, the desperation in her voice driving charlie crazy. her moves slow and sensual, her moves snake-like, long nails digging into his skin.

"stop teasing me, y/n. come on, let's give god a show, shall we?", charlie's voice strangled as he chuckled lowly, and y/n smiled cruelly, her lips wandering around his neck, collarbones and chest, biting at his soft skin, moaning at the taste of his blood.

"what would god say if he saw you like this? giving into the temptation, betraying his trust and the church you work in, hmm?" she mumbled, teeth grazing over the gold cross sitting prettily on his chest, and charlie hissed, eyes meeting hers again, her movements on his cock getting harder and needier.

"you are the best thing that's happened to me, ever", charlie whispered wholeheartedly and reached for his cock, giving it a few pumps before sliding into y/n's tight cunt, moans filling the thick air around them as she clenched on his tip uncontrollably.

"you are so big, my god", a single tear ran down her cheek, charlie's thumb wiping it in an instant. "you wanted it, so fucking take it".

as the words left his mouth, he snapped his hips up and she fell forward, his whole length stretching her out like nothing she's ever experienced. he throbbed inside of her, and a satisfied moan left his mouth at the wetness and warmness of her insides.

y/n clinged to him, pressing her breasts tightly against his chest, fingers squeezing on his strong arms. the feeling of his body against her own made her lightheaded, and she whimpered into his neck.

"i'm never letting you go", he exclaimed, and her eyes found his as she began riding his cock slowly, the stretch deliciously painful. "you are mine. now and forever. fuck, ride me just like that" charlie breathed out, the rasp in his voice making her more desperate, as she took all of him inside over and over again, hands pressing into his chest, head lulling back.

the rhythm she set was driving charlie insane as she watched her with half lidded eyes, shameless moans leaving his mouth at the sight of her perky tits bouncing right on his face. he looked down at the place where they connected. the slow movements of her hips allowed him to see the wetness coating his dick as she slid down on him again, and she swore she could feel him in her throat from how big he was.

"you're my match made in hell", she moaned and pressed herself against him again, fingers tugging at his messy hair, nose pressing against his. in the moment the atmosphere changed, and his eyes softened just for a moment, smile adoring his face as he tugged at her long hair, and his hips rising up from the bed, meeting hers. he started thrusting into her, fast and hard, her ass snapping against his thighs again and again. charlie's hands gripped at her waist tightly as he lifted her up just barely, the slight change of angle allowing him to move at a rapid speed. y/n cried out, not having any control of her body as he manhandled her. desperately, she smashed her lips against his, charlie's tongue entering her mouth instantly, and he moaned at the taste of her, and he thrusted again, again and again.

"i want to cum with you, charlie", she whispered, tears coating her face, smudged makeup making her look even more beautiful for him, as he bottomed out fully.

she welled when her cock left her, and the next second she was on her knees, facing the mirror in an instant. her eyes widened at the sight of herself, completely ruined and fucked up just for him to see. then she looked at charlie, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, as he pumped his cock behind her, the veins on his arms showing. "god, help me. you are gonna be the death of me", he hissed, his thick cock throbbing in his tight grasp. y/n backed herself against him, signalling that she wanted, no, she needed more.

"please, no more teasing," she begged, reaching for his cock behind her, but charlie was quick to stop her, smacking her hand away, as he aligned himself against her used hole once again.

"look at me", he whispered into her ear as his girthy length pressed into her tightness again, and she did, her head lulling back against his shoulder. he slowly moved in and out, every thrust precise, his soulless eyes staring into hers in the mirror, the sight making her clench around him. "you're fucking ruined for me, my beautiful girl, makin' me feel so good", he cooed, one hand landing on her lower back, pushing her upper body down onto the bed, the arch he created letting him hit that spongy spot inside of her over and over again. y/n cried out, his movements still teasing and unbearably slow, and her hips trying to buck back into him. charlie groaned with disapproval, his hand yanking at her hair roughly, her ass pressing tightly against his lower stomach.

"stop. fucking. moving", he hissed, voice like venom, and she nodded her head furiously, "i'm sorry" leaving her mouth over and over again like a prayer. her hand reached back to tangle itself in his messy hair, and she looked up at him, his eyes half-closed as he kept thrusting into her, and he let go of her hair only to wrap his fingers around her neck, pressing onto her pulse tightly. y/n cried out, and charlie's other hand held her jaw open slightly.

"open your mouth for me, just like that", he praised, y/n mouth fell open at the command, tongue lolling out of her mouth without a thought. and when he spit into her mouth, keeping eye contact with her during the vulgar act, thrusting into her harder than ever, she swore she could see stars. y/n swallowed his spit quickly, shameless moan leaving her mouth at the feeling of warm liquid, and in that moment she felt so deeply connected with him, and her eyes softened, heart aching for him as she got closer and closer to her climax.

"charlie, i'm gonna cum", y/n's voice came out strangled, his hand on her neck making it hard for her to breathe. her hands tugging at his own in search of closeness, and he took her hands into his much bigger ones, a single thrust of his hips making her fall down onto the bed again. he held her hands down on her lower back, his throbbing cock ruining her insides, and she screamed, burying her head into the sheets, finally falling over the edge.

y/n clenched around him, making it hard for him to move, and charlie hissed, letting go of her hands as he thrusted into her slowly, fucking her through her orgasm. he held back a whine threatening to leave his throat, dick twitching in search of release as she came down from her own, crying into the sheets.

"you're doing so good for me, y/n. i'm gonna cum inside your pretty pussy, and you're gonna let me, yeah?" his chest pressed against hers, and she was unable to reply, overstimulated and spent, his cock kissing her g spot repeatedly. charlie grabbed her chin, pressing his lips against hers, slowly and passionately, as he gripped at her ass and moaned, balls pressing into her clit as he clinged to her, finally letting go.

charlie whimpered into y/n's mouth as he came, painting her inner walls white with his cum, marking her as his for life. his body shook slightly, and she whined softly, the feeling of his cock filling her up immaculate.

charlie broke the kiss, pressing his face into the back of her neck tightly, his cock never softening inside of her, even after the soul crashing orgasm he just experienced. she smiled, the moment so important to her, and she reached out to run her fingers through his wet hair, and she's never felt more safe in her life.

after a few seconds charlie got up, his whole body tense as his throbbing cock left her spent hole. she whined at the loss, and then turned around to face him, barely being able to move, face flushed and covered in tears.

even though she had no energy left inside of her, the sight of his pretty cock, standing tall and proud in the air, covered in both of their releases, woke up something inside of her.

"lay down for me", she whispered, fingers brushing against his cheek softly, and he nodded, his scarred back pressing against the sheets again.

"your cock 's so pretty", y/n wrapped her hand around him, eyes filled with adoration, and charlie's eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, his head falling back involuntarily.

"holy shit, baby", he whimpered and let his hands roam against her thighs as she kneeled beside him. "'s too much", he cried out, submitting to her completely, the pain from overstimulation adding to his pleasure.

y/n cooed, and she leaned down, kitten licking at his tip, moaning at the taste of his pearly cum. "god, you taste so fucking good. i need your cum down my throat", she exclaimed, taking his tip into her mouth, and his hips thrusted wildly. y/n gagged, her desperate moan vibrating against his shaft, and he held her hair in a tight grasp, groan leaving his throat.

"you're perfect, god. where have you been all my life? holy shit━ i need this so fucking bad", charlie mumbled nonsense as y/n took him into her mouth fully, throat contracting against him, and he had to bit at his lip to physically stop himself from crying out. y/n's soft hands caressed his hips, and she sucked and licked at his pink tip as if he was a lollipop, her eyes falling open just to focus on his pretty face.

"i'm coming. god, i'm coming, please" charlie whined, and she nodded, sucking at his leaking tip with desperation, his cock twitching weakly as he thrusted into her mouth. warm cum filled her mouth, and she kept on sucking him dry as he came down, his body shaking terribly, endless moans leaving his mouth.

softly pulling away from his now softening cock, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, swallowing all of his heavenly cum, her throat sore.

she let herself fall next to him on the bed, his hands pulling at her soft skin with a need of closeness. he wrapped a protective arm around her shaking body, her head resting against his chest comfortably.

"you know, i meant everything i said", she said after a few minutes, tracing circles on his broad chest, smile never leaving her face.

"i know, baby. i know" he cooed, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead as she melted into him. "i meant everything too. you are so precious to me, so special", he whispered softly, warmness spreading across his body as he thought about the things they could achieve together, how she could help him with what he was planning.

and he wondered if her soul was as wounded as his own. the sickness of his mind, was she really ready to accept him just as he was? she won't have no choice, he thought, because she will be mine forever. no matter what it takes.

[sbwifey]

Crazy

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

Summary: Jensen is trying to work but you love to drive him crazy.

Warnings: Smut. Oral (M Receiving). Dom!Jensen. Semi-Public (In Front Of Others Without Them Knowing). Rough Sex. Slapping. Some Pet names. No Use Of Y/N.

A/N: We were being very horny in a gc with some friends of mine and we started talking about this scenario, so I had to write it. Also ignore the stupid dates and random words, I just threw like big meeting words in it.

masterlist — taglist

Jensen sat back in his chair, the screen of his laptop casting cool blue light across his face.

He looked effortless — one arm resting on the desk, the other lazily curled near his chin, fingers brushing his jaw while his agent and the showrunner rattled off potential dates for the next month of production.

“We’re tentatively thinking the 10th through the 24th,” the showrunner said. "You good with that?"

“Depends on flights,” Jensen replied, tone smooth, even. “And whether I get a bed that isn’t moving for more than two days.” His voice was calm and professional.

You entered the room without a word.

You didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t speak.

You just sank slowly to your knees and slid beneath the desk between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body through his joggers.

He didn’t look down.

But his thigh twitched the moment your fingers brushed the inside of it.

Still, he kept talking.

“If we’re going into press immediately after the shoot,” he said, “I want my call times locked by the 5th.”

Your hands slid higher, slow, steady, deliberate.

He clicked mute.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he muttered, low and sharp.

Your mouth was already on him.

You pressed your lips right where he was already starting to harden beneath the soft fabric of his joggers. His hips shifted — reflex, not choice. His knuckles tightened against the desk.

You smiled. And kissed him again.

"You're fucking crazy, y'know that?" He murmured.

You traced the shape of him with your mouth, kissing slow and patient, until he was fully hard and straining against the fabric. Then your fingers hooked his waistband, tugged it down just enough to free him.

Thick. Hot. Already leaking.

You wrapped your hand around him and stroked once, slow and tight.

Then took him into your mouth.

He didn’t breathe for a second. Then he let out a low, harsh exhale and clicked back to unmute.

“If we push press to the week after, I can flex the 29th and 30th,” he said, his voice raspier now, just a hair off. “But I need confirmation by end of day.”

You swallowed him deeper.

His hand slid under the desk and into your hair. Not guiding. Just holding. Anchoring. Like he needed the contact to survive the storm you were pulling him into.

You sucked him slow and deep, your rhythm perfect, your tongue circling with precision. He tried to stay still. Tried to keep the mask on. But his thighs flexed, his hand trembled, and you could feel how badly he wanted to lose control.

Muted again.

“You keep going like that,” he growled, “and I’m gonna cum all over your tongue with three people still watching me.”

You moaned around him.

His cock twitched hard in your mouth.

“You like that?” he said, breath breaking. “Knowing they’re listening while you take me apart under the desk?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your mouth was too full, too busy wrecking him inch by inch.

He clicked unmute again, barely hanging on.

“Uh...yeah,” he said, voice rough, strained. “I’m good with that.”

No one on the call noticed. They had no idea what was going on beneath the camera.

But you felt everything. The way his muscles tensed, the heat building fast beneath his skin, the way his hips started to roll against your mouth, searching for friction he knew he shouldn’t chase.

Muted.

“Fuck. I’m gonna—”

And then he did.

He came with a stifled groan, hand clamped over his mouth, thighs shaking around you as his cock pulsed his hot cum against your tongue. You swallowed every drop, held him there, let him ride it out while he came completely undone.

The meeting ended with a quiet click.

And then silence.

His chest rose and fell. He looked down at you.

Eyes dark. Mouth parted.

“Get out from under that desk,” he said, “and bend the fuck over it.”

You didn’t even get the chance to stand.

Jensen grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you out from under the desk, his grip firm, possessive, not cruel, but firm. He was done pretending to keep it together. The moment that meeting ended, he snapped.

“You want to act like a little fucking distraction,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “then you’re gonna take what you fucking asked for.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he turned you around and shoved you down onto the desk. Papers scattered. Your hands hit the wood hard, legs trembling.

He didn’t undress you carefully. He yanked your pants down fast, rough, baring you completely, his palm dragging across your ass as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

The warning in his voice was sharp enough to sting. He wasn't playing around any longer.

You heard the sound of his joggers hitting the floor, and then he shoved inside, thick and deep, in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, your hands clawing at the edge of the desk. He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask. Didn’t soothe.

He just grabbed your hips and started using you.

His pace was relentless, deep, pounding thrusts that sent the desk rattling under your body, your breath punched out of you with every slam. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you in place like he owned you. You are his.

“Thought you were so fucking clever, huh baby girl?" he snarled, fucking you harder. “Sitting under that desk, moaning around my cock while I’m trying to talk.”

You tried to answer but couldn’t.

He reached up, grabbed your hair, yanked your head back just enough to growl in your ear.

“You wanted my attention, yeah? Like the little slut you are," His hips slammed forward. “Now you’ve got all of it.”

You choked out a gasp, pleasure blooming fast inside you. Your body was already close, already raw and wet from everything before, and now he was wrecking you, ruining you with each punishing thrust.

“You’re dripping,” he hissed. “You fucking like this, huh? My fucking slut."

You nodded frantically, your voice broken. “Yes. God, yes—”

He smacked your ass hard.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Jensen—!”

His hand wrapped around your throat and pinned you flat against the desk, his body caging you in while he thrust deeper, angrier. His cock filled you completely, slamming into that spot that made you scream.

“Good girl,” he growled. “You don’t get to be quiet now.”

You came first, back arching, breath breaking, your orgasm crashing through you so violently your knees gave out. But he held you up. Fucked you through it.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until you were whimpering and pleading under him.

Only then did his rhythm falter. His grip tightened. A vicious growl ripped out of his chest as he came, hard, deep inside you, every muscle locked down as he emptied himself with a final punishing thrust that left you gasping.

Then silence. Just your bodies. Breathless. Sweat-covered. His cock still inside you. His hand still holding you down.

Then his voice, ragged and low against your ear.

“You want to pull that stunt again?” he breathed. “Next time, I won’t be this nice.”

A/N: I went to SPN NJ this past Sunday and I miss it so much. Jensen and Jared give such good hugs. Ugh I miss them.

tags: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @waynes-multiverse @deanspookiebear @multiversefanfics @chevroletdean @skywalker0809 @winchesterwild78 @cas-is-my-angel7

[lillymmb]

"Finish Line"

husband!charles leclerc x interviewer wife!reader

warning: none

summary: you are a interviewer and you go to interview your husband after race.

It had been a long race day. The sun was setting over the Monaco Grand Prix, casting a golden hue over the circuit as the cars rolled into the paddock after a grueling race. The crowd was still buzzing, the air thick with excitement, but inside the Ferrari garage, Charles Leclerc was both exhausted and elated. He had finished strong, a solid podium finish, but his mind kept drifting to one thing—and one person.

You.

You, the sharp-witted, kind-hearted interviewer who had somehow become more than just a face on the grid to him. The two of you had met years ago, when he was still rising through the ranks. You were a reporter at the time, covering F1 for one of the biggest sports networks, and there had always been an undeniable connection between you two. What had started as a professional interview blossomed into something much deeper—a friendship that grew into love.

Now, years later, you were no longer just an interviewer for the press. You were his interviewer. You had been married for almost a year, a beautiful and intimate wedding that had taken place in the heart of Monaco, far from the watchful eyes of the media. You both had done your best to keep the relationship under wraps, but when you were in a room together, there was no hiding the way you looked at each other. The love was clear to anyone who saw you.

As Charles walked into the media pen, his heart raced not because of the crowd or the anticipation, but because he knew you were waiting for him. You were set to do your usual post-race interview with him, and although it was just another professional exchange on the outside, to him, it was something far more personal.

You stood in front of him, holding a microphone, your eyes lighting up as he approached. The moment you locked eyes, he felt that familiar spark. You both exchanged a quick, affectionate glance, but quickly composed yourselves as you began the interview.

“Charles, congratulations on a strong finish today!” You smiled, your tone warm but professional. “How do you feel about your performance today?”

Charles chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “It was a tough race, but I’m happy with the result. The car was great, and my team did an amazing job.”

You nodded, maintaining your composure, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as you watched him. He was glowing—physically tired, yes, but still exuding that charm that had first drawn you to him.

“And, of course, with this result, it means more points for the championship standings,” you continued. “How do you feel about the way the season is shaping up for you and the team?”

Charles leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye, his voice lowering just a little. “I think it’s going to be a great season. But you know what? I’m just happy I have a lot of things to look forward to, both on and off the track.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the heat of his words, though he kept his tone light. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the race. There was an underlying meaning, a private moment only the two of you shared, and you could see the spark of something in his eyes. But, of course, you couldn’t let your personal relationship slip into the interview just yet.

“Of course,” you replied, trying to maintain your professionalism. “And speaking of looking forward to things, we all know how hectic this life can be. How do you balance your career with, well, everything else?”

Charles paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours, and the room seemed to quieten. “Well, it helps to have someone special by your side,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a vulnerability that only you could detect. “Someone who gets it. And, you know… someone who keeps me grounded.”

The subtle confession hung in the air, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. You knew he was referring to you, and your heart skipped a beat at the way he spoke so openly, even in front of the cameras. But you had learned to read his cues by now—there was only so much he could say in public.

As the interview wrapped up, Charles stepped a little closer to you. “I’m done here,” he said with a grin, clearly eager to leave the media chaos behind. “Let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”

You nodded, trying to suppress the excitement coursing through your veins. You knew exactly where this was heading.

As you both made your way toward the back of the paddock, the sounds of the crowd and the camera flashes faded into the background. You turned to him, glancing up at his handsome face, and before you could say a word, his hand found yours.

“I’ve missed you,” Charles murmured, his voice low and sincere, filled with longing.

“You saw me this morning,” you teased lightly, though your heart was racing.

“I mean, really missed you.” His thumb gently caressed your hand, sending a rush of warmth through your body. “Every time I leave you, it’s like there’s a part of me that stays behind.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and without thinking, you stopped walking, turning to face him. There was a hunger in his eyes, a need that mirrored your own.

“Charles,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We’re in public.”

He didn’t care. His hand came up to your cheek, gently cupping it, his thumb brushing across your skin. “I don’t care. I’ve waited all day for this moment.”

And before you could protest or say another word, his lips were on yours, gentle at first but quickly deepening as he pulled you closer. The kiss was everything you had both been holding back, a rush of passion and relief as the world around you seemed to disappear. It was raw and real and completely unapologetic.

You moaned softly against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss, pressing you against the cool metal of the paddock wall. There was no race, no crowd, no cameras—just the two of you, lost in each other.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily, he smiled. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you this morning.”

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “You’re insufferable.”

Charles grinned. “You love it.”

You smirked, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I do. But we should probably get out of here before someone sees us.”

“Who cares?” he murmured, taking your hand once more. “I’m married to you. I’m proud of it.”

You smiled, knowing that despite the rush of being part of this high-stakes world, it was moments like this—private, genuine—that made everything worth it.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “Let’s go home.”

And with that, you both walked away, side by side, ready to face whatever the world had for you, but more than anything, ready to enjoy the quiet moments together.

a/n: i love charles so much i wish i was a formula 1 interviewer

© LILLYMMB do not repost and do not copy!