#Unit y

[supraandhergoreshia]

Jumper in-game

[hinamie]

long way home

[navybrat817]

More Than Worthy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to make you his wife.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Implied smut, fluff, happy tears, established relationship, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Inspired by this ask here, more of our beautiful Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was an ordinary day when Bucky decided to propose to you.

He returned from a mission the day before and you welcomed him home with a smile on your face and open arms. It felt like he had been away for ages when in reality it was only a few days. It didn’t take long for him to drag you to bed so he could properly celebrate making it home to you, a mixture of pent-up energy and the need to feel you around him. Your moans of pleasure were a sound he missed while he was away, and you cried out his name so beautifully when you came. It didn’t take him long to fall over the edge with you, forever going wherever you were.

Bucky paid no attention to the time when he woke up, the sun shining through the curtains and casting a beautiful glow over your sleeping form. He took a moment to study you, the curves of your body as you faced him, the way your mouth parted slightly as you breathed. Brushing a finger along your cheek, he smiled when you scooted closer to him. He also felt a sense of pride from wearing you out the night before.

And outside forces be damned, nothing was getting him out of bed today.

You stirred once he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm tighter around you. It took a moment for your eyes to focus before you whispered, “Morning.”

He exhaled, his heart beating faster when you smiled a sleepy tender smile. It amazed him how he fell more in love with you every day, but you made it so easy. The love you had was raw, pure, and real, a deep and lasting connection built from trust and respect, understanding and compassion. It endured and grew, going beyond the physical attraction he’d always have for you. You saw each other for who you were and valued each other fully. No matter the trials and tribulations you’d face, you’d do it together while your love endured and grew.

It was your love he thought of when he took your hand in his and gently whispered back, “Marry me.”

He heard your heart accelerate when you lifted your head. “What?” you asked, your voice still laced with sleep. Your eyes were wide open though and you wanted to be sure you heard him correctly.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Not releasing your hand, he leaned over to open the nightstand drawer and took out a box. “You told me to ask you when you weren’t expecting it and when the time was right,” he explained, facing you again. “It’s time.”

Because he didn’t want to go another day without you being his wife.

You gasped and covered your mouth when he opened the box, tears springing to your eyes that sparkled almost as bright as the diamond in the ring. “Oh, my god…”

He helped you sit up, both of you on your knees on the bed. For a split second he thought his eyes would mist over, but he kept it together. “After everything I went through, I wasn't sure if I was capable of allowing myself to be loved. I just… Part of me felt so broken and unworthy.” He took a breath, not wanting to fuck this up. It already wasn’t perfect since there weren’t flowers or a romantic dinner, but this came straight from his heart and that was enough. “But then you came along and changed my life.”

You let out a happy laugh as a tear fell, which he quickly wiped away. “I did?”

“You did, and you know it,” he smiled back. Meeting you gave him a second chance and you changed everything for the better. “You showed me that not only was I not broken but I was more than worthy of being loved.”

“You are worthy of so much love, Bucky Barnes,” you smiled.

“So are you, baby. I love you so much, and I’m a better man because of you,” he swore, taking the ring out of the box as his heart continued to pound. Simple, beautiful, eternal. “So, will you marry me? Be my wife and my partner and continue to fight by my side in life and love?”

Bucky held his breath as he waited for your answer. He wanted to give you the kind of life and love you were worthy of. He wanted to protect and stand by you, and he didn’t want to imagine life without you.

Pressing your forehead to his, you breathed the simple most beautiful word against his lips. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he asked, his next breath shaky. Was the universe messing with him again? Was something going to drag him back to hell when he had heaven right in front of him?

“Yes!” you smiled. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He pulled back to look at you closely, seeing nothing but love in your pretty eyes. “Are you sure? Because-”

“Mr. Barnes, put that ring on my finger so I can really call myself the future Mrs. Barnes,” you demanded, putting your hand in his face. “Please,” you added hastily.

His nose scrunched as his laughter filled the room. “Yes, future Mrs. Barnes,” he repeated. Slipping the ring on your finger, he placed a tender kiss over it. The perfect fit. “Thank you, baby,” he exhaled.

It was the only warning you got before he put you on your back and covered his lips with yours. He wanted to shout to everyone that you were going to be his wife, but he happily settled for saying “I love you” into your mouth. You breathed the words right back to him. And since he hadn’t planned to leave the bed anyway, he made love to you, your fingers laced together, the engagement ring pressing into his skin and reminding him that he wasn’t alone. That he had a future to look forward to.

He was home, holding you close, deep inside you, right where he belonged.

And he was more than worthy of love.

I love them, what can I say? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dearwalker]

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 1.1k

Description: You hit John with a stupid question, he takes it too seriously.

Note: I swear this man is so intense he’s so fun to write, enjoy🫶🏼

Masterlist / Bucky’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was piloting the team's jet to mission site, big hands gripping the controls steadily. You were in the copilot seat, feet relaxing on the dashboard, enjoying a little too much the way he looked controlling the aircraft.

His eyes were locked on the sky ahead, with a tense jaw and those furrowed brows of his... lord, concentration looked good on him.

Almost too good.

So, naturally, you had to stop it before you jumped on top of your man and gave a free show to everyone on the jet.

John just blinked twice. What on earth was that question?

He didn’t glance your way, or even bother to give it a second thought before he replied.

"No."

You opened your mouth offended, and straightened up in your seat.

"John! You didn't even think about it" You whined, a soft laugh followed.

"Please tell me I didn’t hear you right, did you say a worm?" He asked, not even trying to hide the most bewildered expression you'd ever seen on him.

"You heard me, John" You squint your eyes at him, and insist, “would you still love me if I turned into a little worm?"

He sighed this time, taking his hand off the dashboard to rub his face like he just lost multiple brain cells.

"Honey, why would you ever be a worm?" He said, softer now, like he needed to understand the root cause before proceeding.

You roll your eyes, here we go again. Of course he needed it to make sense, his brain didn’t function right if there wasn’t a logical reason behind everything.

"I really don't now, babe. Some sort of mutation?… maybe witchcraft? … a gone wrong experiment Val does on me?”

“I would never let Val experiment on you” He denied, shrugging like why would you ever consider that as a possibility.

You pause for a second and tilt your head to the side, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest from his comment.

No, no, focus. You can kiss him breathless later, after he answers the worm question.

“Alright Walker that’s fair, love that, nice move” You nodded, squinting playfully at him.

He just smirked and shrugged, smug bastard.

“Not the point, though. Do you really think it would be so crazy that I could be a worm when we have at least two superheroes named after bugs?”

He looked back to the sky, considering it for a second, but quickly turned to you again with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, actually, spiderman is technically an arachnid so ... not a bug honey" He corrected, not even trying to hide his maddening little mansplaining smirk.

"Oh shut up, John" You rolled your eyes, slapping his arm, he chuckled. "Uh huh, whatever smartass, you still have to answer. What if I was a worm, then?"

He groaned, placing his thumb and index fingers in the dent of his closed eyes, shaking his head in defeat.

He could at least try to make some sense of it.

“Okay, we’re doing this” He muttered, and you nodded enthusiastically. “Is it still you, but worm shaped? As in … do you still have consciousness? Can you communicate with me? Would you have powers, or is it just …”

He just went rambling on.

You leaned back in your seat, chuckling as you watched the gears turning behind those handsome, stressed out eyes. He was running through scenarios, possibilities, variables.

At least he looked cute while losing his mind over it.

But then, he stopped rambling, like an idea just popped in his head.

"Wait … what kind of worm?" He tilts his head to the side.

I’ll be dammed, you thought, this man didn’t know how to go halfway about anything in his life, ever.

He was fully invested by now.

"What? what do you mean?”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows.

"What kind of worm, honey? an earthworm? marine? are you symbiotic? regenerative?… This is crucial information to know" He said, listing types like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

How did he even care this much about worm lore?

“You are the most intense person I know” You groaned, staring at him in disbelief.

“And you are the most unserious one I know, honey, don’t get me started”

You just huffed. How did your stupid question get this far?

"God I don't know John, just like a basic worm… in the dirt"

He thinks for moment, like he wasn’t exactly pleased with the answer.

"So then, biologically, you’d lose everything. You would have no brain, no higher reasoning or communication. Technically, you wouldn't even know I exist anymore"

You glared at him.

"But you would know it’s me" You quickly justified, but it didn’t seem to convince him much. "Oh my god John ... just answer the question babe. Would you still love me?"

He tapped his chin a few times, eyes darting around the jet’s cabin, still trying to find a somewhat logical answer in his head. Making you wait for it.

You knew that little asshole was just having fun mocking you.

"Uhm, I guess I could keep you safe … yeah” He nodded. “Build you a little enclosure with some nice quality dirt. It would have to be temperature controlled, for sure. Maybe even ask Val to build you a reinforced travel case? something I can clip to my gear.”

You blinked a few times, before nodding. A win is a win.

"...Thanks?"

But he was quick to shake his head.

"Although honestly, sounds like a lot of emotional labor. Don’t you think our relationship is complicated enough already?" He protested, like it'd be too much fuss.

"Hey!" You laughed, smacking his shoulder.

You both fall into a chuckle. He shakes his head again, but there's a grin in his face now.

From the back of the jet, you heard the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.

"Even if she was a brainless worm, she’d still be more emotionally mature than Walker" Bucky whispered to the group.

Muffled laughter followed, like a group of schoolgirls gossiping.

"They are the weirdest, I swear to god" Ava muttered, watching the way you giggled at something John said like he was the most charming idiot on earth.

"Ah captain romance … don’t you see it? he’s worm nerd and she’s worm he takes care of" Alexei chimed in.

“Shh!” Yelena hushed him, snorting. “Honestly, it tracks guys. He gives off strong ‘I talk to my houseplants’ vibes”

“Yeah, watch him hang a ‘Worm Boyfriend of the Year’ plaque next to his service medals” Bucky sneered.

More giggles. At this point they weren’t even trying to be quiet.

John turned halfway in his seat. “You guys know I can hear you, right?”

“That’s the point” Ava said, flipping him off.

“Oh no” Yelena deadpanned. “What are you gonna do, worm boy?”

“Shh! He’s gonna clip us to his belt too.”

That set them off again.

John just rolled his eyes, turning back to the controls. But you noticed the faint hint of a smile on his face.

And then almost under his breath, only for you to hear.

“I’d still love you” He muttered.

You looked over at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Eyes on the sky.”

You smirked.

This time you did jump on his lap to kiss him breathlessly, while your teammates threw disgusted grunts and gagged sounds at you.

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comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[wlwoceaneyes]

Third time’s the charm

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader word count: 2 k summary: Emily Prentiss really tried to flirt with you — you just never let yourself believe it. Emily, the Unit Chief of the BAU, interested in you? That couldn’t possibly be real. Not until she cornered you after the FBI’s annual marathon and left no room for doubt. tags: shy and clueless reader, logistics!reader, flirty Emily, marathon, no mention of yn, making my dream come true (kinda :D )

Part two

Part three

The sun is merciless by midday. It burns down over Quantico like it holds a grudge, turning the blacktop into a simmering griddle and the air into something you have to wade through. You’ve been here since early morning, setting up tables, hauling cases of water, stringing up banners with zip ties that sliced into your fingers. No one notices the volunteers unless something goes wrong. And you like it that way. Quiet edges. Peripheral.

Sweat clings beneath your collar, the back of your shirt already damp where it sticks to your spine. You’re stationed near the finish line, behind a folding table that quivers if you lean too hard on it, water bottles lined up in neat rows like soldiers waiting for orders.

You didn’t sign up for the run. You signed up to hand out drinks and fold chairs and not sweat through your clothes. And yet here you are. Skin flushed, water bottles chilling your palms, watching a parade of agents cross the finish line in various states of victory, legs wobbly, chests heaving. Some laugh, some collapse theatrically into the grass. A few don’t even look winded.

You’re not FBI, not really. Contracted logistics. Mostly inside work. Digital inventory systems, procurement, the kind of thing no one thinks about unless the coffee shipment is delayed. You work down the hall from people who carry guns and flash credentials, and you’ve learned, over time, how to make yourself invisible in a building full of people trained to notice.

And then there’s her. Emily Prentiss. You know her name, of course. Everyone does. Not just because she’s the Unit Chief of the BAU, but because she carries the kind of presence that doesn’t require introduction. You’ve seen her twice before in the building.

You remember the first time you saw Emily Prentiss, not here, but in the cafeteria. You’d been waiting for your coffee, head buried in your phone, when a voice cut through the hum of the morning rush.

“Those boots? They’re not for everyone. You’ve got good taste.”

You’d looked up, surprised to find her watching you with a small, knowing smile, like she was letting you in on a secret.

“Not that I mention it often, but today? You nailed it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks. I just got them.” Your voice was softer than you wanted.

She leaned casually on the counter, eyes sparkling. “Then you should wear them more. They suit you.”

You’d laughed nervously, unsure if it was a compliment or a tease, and taken your coffee, walking away feeling like you’d just missed something important. Or maybe you hadn’t.

The second time was in the elevator. You were lost in thought, pressing the button for the second floor, when her teasing voice broke through.

“Hey, nice scarf. Matches your serious face.”

You glanced up to see her smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Uh, thanks,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.

She laughed softly. “Not many people can pull off serious and good looking. Maybe you should try to lighten up.”

Before you could answer, the elevator dinged and she stepped out, shooting you a look that said this wasn’t over.

You hadn’t known what to do either time. So you’d smiled, nodded, and tucked it away like a secret. Not because you were playing hard to get. But because, if you were being honest you didn’t think someone like her could possibly mean someone like you. You really thought it was just politeness. A passing kindness. Something practiced and habitual, not personal. Not real.

But now she’s here.

Crossing the line like she’s done it a hundred times. She’s in running gear: a black tank top, deep red compression shorts that stop mid-thigh, and a pair of worn gray sneakers that look like they’ve seen real use. Her legs are strong, defined, the kind of toned that says she doesn’t skip workouts or let herself off easy. There’s a sheen of sweat on her skin, glinting at her collarbones and along the curve of her shoulders, and her dark hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail that still somehow looks intentional. You shouldn’t be staring but here you are. Because she looks powerful. Effortless. And you’re not ready. It’s not the kind of moment you know how to stand still in, not when she looks like that and like she already knows what it’s doing to you.

Your heart rate spikes as you hold out the bottle to her, your hand steady but your breath shaky. She takes it from your hand without hesitation, fingers brushing yours, her gaze never wavering. Not even for a second. Like you’re the thing she came here for. You should look away. Say something. Do anything to break the static in the air but your feet stay rooted, your mouth forgets what language is. And all you can think is: This isn’t politeness. Not this time.

You can’t even manage to meet her eyes, not fully. Not for more than a second. Not those dark brown eyes that seem to see right through all the things you haven’t said. Not back then, not now. And definitely not while you’re still trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real.

“Third time’s the charm,” she says, unscrewing the cap with one flick of her wrist. Her voice is smooth, still shaped by the gravel of effort, but low. Too low to just be friendly. “You always look this serious when you’re saving lives with hydration?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. So you exhale through your nose and give her a half-smile. Polite. Neutral. And most of all safe.

She tilts her head, amused by your reaction. She drinks slowly, deliberately and you realize too late that she’s still watching you. “I didn’t take you for the shy type,” she says, setting the bottle down. Her voice is quieter now. “But maybe I misjudged.”

You flinch. Not physically, not in a way she’d register unless she was looking for it — which you’re starting to realize she is. But it lands. A direct hit. Too accurate to be casual.

“I’m not shy,” you say. Except it comes out defensive which is even worse.

Emily quirks an eyebrow. It’s the kind of expression that says she knows exactly how rattled you are, and exactly how much you don’t want her to know.

“No?” she says. She steps closer, just half a pace. Enough to fold the space between you a little tighter. Enough to make your pulse trip over itself.

“I just don’t—” You fumble. “You’re… intense.”

You realize too late that it’s the wrong word. Too revealing. Too honest.

But to your relief, she laughs freely.

“Is that what I am?” she murmurs with a twinkle in her eyes. “Intense?”

You swallow hard. Her shirt’s damp. Her collar clings to her skin. There’s a bruise forming on her forearm, a line of sweat tracing the angle of her jaw. And somehow, she looks like she’s exactly where she wants to be.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re standing too close to a bonfire.

“I meant you have a presence,” you clarify weakly. “People notice you.”

Emily grins. “You noticed. That’s all that matters.”

You don’t answer. Not because you disagree, but because you did. You do. Constantly.

There’s a sudden burst of cheers from the side. Another runner stumbles across the finish line, half-laughing, half-gasping for air. The brief commotion gives you just enough of a reason to glance away. Not because the moment called for it, but because her words hit somewhere too deep, too direct. Like she’d cracked something open you weren’t ready to show.

You fix your gaze on the runner, on the noise, on anything that isn’t her. You need a second to breathe.

The table behind you wobbles slightly as the runner grabs a water bottle without slowing down, and you seize the moment like a lifeline. You turn, pretending to adjust the bottles, pretending that the heat on your cheeks is just from the sun.

But your fingers are trembling when you restock the bottles. You pray she doesn’t see.

She stays quiet for a moment. Too quiet. And that’s what gives her away. Emily Prentiss doesn’t do quiet unless it’s intentional. Unless she’s waiting and watching you.

She noticed… of course she noticed. The way you flinched, the way you can’t hold her gaze for more than a second. And now she’s reading you like she reads crime scenes. Not out of cruelty, but curiosity.

What is she thinking? That you’re overwhelmed? That you’re scared? That she pushed too far, too fast? Or maybe she’s just confirming what she already suspected: that you’re not as indifferent as you pretend to be.

“You didn’t notice I was flirting the first two times,” she says softly.

You stop moving, water bottles long forgotten. Your breath catches the way it does when someone says your name in the dark.

She said it out loud, with no room for interpretation. And somehow, that’s scarier than anything.

“I thought…” you start, and then trail off, because there’s no way to finish that sentence without sounding absurd. I thought you were just being nice. I thought maybe I imagined it. I thought someone like you wouldn’t bother.

“I know,” she says gently. Like she’s used to people underestimating themselves. “That’s why I’m being obvious.”

You risk a glance at her. Her face holds nothing but honesty. Her words aren’t smug. She’s not teasing you. She’s waiting. Not for an answer. For a shift. For you.

And you wish you were better at this. At whatever this is. You wish you could match her stride for stride, flirt for flirt. You wish you didn’t want to disappear and stay all at once.

“I’m not good at this,” you admit quietly. “Not in public. Not… when someone’s watching.”

Emily hums. “Then we’ll find somewhere no one is.”

Simple. Like it’s not a big deal. Like she’s not reaching into your ribs and rearranging the way you breathe.

She caps the bottle. Tosses it in the bin behind her with one clean flick of her wrist.

“I’m grabbing lunch,” she says. “There’s a food truck in the lot. Not exactly candlelight, but the tacos are decent. You should come.”

It’s not the kind of thing you can talk yourself out of later. It’s not a maybe. It’s now.

And you know with a kind of dizzy certainty that if you say no, she won’t push. She won’t chase, but she would give you time.

You’ll just go back to the quiet places, to the edges, to the distance. But if you say yes…You don’t know what comes after that. And maybe that’s the point.

So you nod. Just once. It’s small, barely perceptible, but it’s enough.

Emily smiles like she’s won a game you didn’t know you were playing. It’s soft and warm, making your heart rate crease up.

She doesn’t say anything else. Just turns and walks toward the parking lot, slow, loose-limbed, in command of her space. A few steps in, she pauses. She turns slightly, just enough to glance back over her shoulder, her eyes catching yours with that same quiet pull that has followed you since the elevator.

The look is steady, intentional, and this time a little softer, like something patient, waiting to be met halfway. Then she keeps walking, without breaking stride.

You watch her go and something inside you stumbles, like your lungs forgot what to do without her standing in front of you. The air feels thinner now, heavier somehow. Your palms are damp, and there’s a tingling beneath your skin, like your nerves are catching up to what just happened. You don’t fully understand what shifted, but you know something did.

And for once, it doesn’t scare you. Not entirely.

You turn back to the table, taking a deep breath as you restock the bottles. You press your hand against your chest because everything feels too fast and too loud and too new. You have to remind yourself: it’s not a date. Not yet.

But it could be. And that’s enough to make your knees a little weak.

Taglist: @imightbethewriter

[vermililion]

[ john walker fic recs ]

continuing to update | last updated 01/07 | ( tysm writers for all these gorgeous fics!) | includes smut and other nsfw content.

��── ✧ DRABBLES/THOUGHTS

nsfw hcs | @undyingdecay

he fucks like someone trying to win a medal for it.

vocal john | @/undyingdecay

giving John head… and he’s whimpering and shit…

enemies | @aquaholicsanonymousworld

team mates enemies to enemies who have hate sex.

domestic hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

nsfw hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

“Wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’ long tonight,” he mutters, swirling the amber liquid. “Then you had to go and look at me like that.” You smile, heat pooling low in your belly.

dating walker hcs | @purehypnotic

giving john head | @shadowheartshapedbox

what it’s like giving junior varsity captain america head ;)

the beard dilemma | @/fairytaleendingss

John tells you he's thinking of shaving and isn't prepared for the conversation that follows.

two bits | @vamplvs

helping john maintain his beard.

cleaning johns wounds | @/vamplvs

sixty-nine with john walker | @sunsburns

switch!john | @sinner-as-saint

napping together | @zerosomnia

When John naps, you also have to nap. He is the kind of guy that will pick you up and take you with him, regardless of what you're doing. He’d never admit it, but he just can’t fall asleep without you by his side.

bossy!john | @bruisedboys

bickering with john | @loversrocktvgirl2

─── ✧ ONE SHOTS

the way i love you | @randomnessfangirl

John Walker is the bane of your existence...but everyone else can see that there is potential for you to put your differences aside and reveal your true feelings for each other.

girls' night revelations | @/zerosomnia

After venting some frustrations at girls' night, the reader realises that they are not just angry at Walker but that there's some other stuff going on too. A confrontation ensues that ends in some truths.

the soldier and the nurse | @blueberrypancakesworld

He was a soldier who, even as a hero, always tried to protect everyone with his shield. Even the best soldier gets hurt, though, and John finds himself in the infirmary of the tower, once again with a nurse he had visited many times before. This time, however, it seems different, because when concern meets amusement, two hearts finally find each other.

nocturnal guilt and training | @/blueberrypancakesworld

It is one thing when you don't concentrate, it's another when you let yourself get hurt to deal with your own pain. John finds himself in dark places from time to time, which is especially evident after the last mission, but the soldier wants to go through it alone. Yet his girlfriend is there to help him no matter how long it takes, they would make it together.

code yellow | @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

sex pollen with walker.

thunderstorms | @angellily920

johns a secret softie :)

and you came back to me | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

him where they’re dating and reader gets badly hurt on a mission and the whole team is freaking out, especially John, man is going BRUTAL on the people who hurt reader.

off your game | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

Working with the Thunderbolts meant swallowing your pride daily — but nothing bruised your ego quite like him.

honey, where is my shield? | @husbandjoel

you’re the fixer upper of weapons for the new avengers and want to do something for john walker’s upcoming birthday.

moral of the story | @starktonyx

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

come right on me... i mean camaraderie | @/starktonyx

You can't help the inappropriate thoughts that come out of your mouth during a mission, and John has to teach you a lesson, or multiple, about it.

patched up | @/bruisedboys

john grudgingly patches you up after a mission — it gets more intimate than you both expect.

helmet | @gallavichsreddie1128

reader may be the only person on the planet that gets turned on by John in his helmet.

asshole | @/gallavichsreddie1128

reader hates John but he and everyone else are convinced that it’s just sexual frustration.

bad words | @/gallavichsreddie1128

reader and John are a secretly dating but put on the act of hating each other until one of them takes it too far.

need that | @blank-potato

You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

my kid's better than your kid | @/blank-potato

You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

what i'm about to do is not approved by the vatican | @/blank-potato

John sees you staring while he's cleaning his guns and decides to use your mouth instead.

but why's it feel so good? | @sexy-monster-fucker

While out on a mission together, Reader and John stumble into a researchers trap. Leading to them being doused in an unnamed chemical.

the heart of the matter | @divinepoints

You had never thought that life would lead you back to John Walker. Or perhaps, that life had led the both of you back to each other. After all, this had been your world first.

pushing it down and praying | @swordgrace

your friendship with john is put on the line after you’re injured during a mission — what follows is something neither of you can anticipate.

you're the ache i asked for | @/swordgrace

forced into attending a gala event, you go to john for help with your dress. things turn incredibly heated.

a black eye and two kisses | @/swordgrace

john has a bad habit of running his mouth, especially during a sparring lesson — after taking it too far, he makes it up to you in more ways than one.

only pretend until it's not | @/swordgrace

you and john go undercover to infiltrate an arms dealing ring in paris. you take your roles a little too seriously.

bit the hand that needs you | @/swordgrace

after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

proximity check | @/swordgrace

when a mission goes sideways, you and john are forced to hide together in a utility closet.

change | @johns-walker

when you get injured during a job, you and john have a genuine conversation for once.

boundless | @endofthelinegang

the quiet halls of Avengers Tower keeps a kind-hearted witch who begins to distance herself from John Walker after his cold, self-protective indifference makes her believe he hates her. but when her warmth fades and he’s left in the silence he created, John finally confronts his fear of not deserving her—and chooses, for once, not to run from something real.

your hero | @spookieloop

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts are going undercover to catch an arm's dealer at his favorite night club. Someone tries to spike your drink, and Walker teaches the scumbag a lesson. A violent one.

short straw | @wintersarge

after being left behind for a mission, you and john are the only two in the tower. the only problem? you were sick and john was... well, john- completely clueless. what could go wrong?

dead-end heat | @buckyseternaldoll

After his divorce, John Walker hides out at the end of a dead-end road — quiet, wrecked, and alone. Until his new neighbor starts dancing naked by the window. And he stops pretending he’s not watching.

windchill | @sentrryy

walker doesn't seem too excited about the fact that captain america just saved your life. arguing ensues. and then making out follows.

problematic tower romance | @vividxpages

John liked to remind you that he was fifteen years older than you. You liked to remind him that you honestly didn't care.

under my skin | @flowersforbucky

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

only you | @cursedheartsclub

John Walker wasn’t looking for more. Not after everything. Not after the shield, the war, the wreckage. But then you showed up—hired by Val to watch his toddler son, Elijah Lemar—and somehow, without meaning to, you made yourself at home.

weapons don't dream | @maximoff-pan

You and John Walker have a past — you're a mind-reading ex-Hydra assassin and he's a disgraced soldier — similar in one too many ways. When forced to work together, old ghosts resurface, sparks ignite, and the line between enemy and something more begins to blur.

guilty as sin | @starrbishops

You hate how attracted you are to Walker, and you pull away from him because of it. He notices.

so high school | @/starrbishops

You and John have been together (sort of?) for a few weeks. You're still a little unsure on where you stand.

attitude check | @/vamplvs

john walker getting beaten into submission (willingly), being disciplined, and then being tenderly taken care of afterwards.

rough night | @/vamplvs

missions go wrong and john takes out his fustration on reader.

target aquired | @caracainn

he relives the stress that he caused you on a mission together.

─── ✧ SERIES (including mini)

the things we don't say part ii | @/endofthelinegang

trapped between fury and longing, you and John Walker collide in a moment that’s been simmering for months—raw, reckless, and impossible to ignore. When a knock at the door threatens to shatter what little you have left, he finally says the one thing he’s been choking on: he wants you.

it only leads to trouble part ii | @mydearmando

you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

keep your heart, cause i already got one (ongoing) | @lauufeydottir

As the Thunderbolts make their way through The Void, Walker ends up a witness to one of your shame rooms, a past you've kept close to your chest for decades.

wildflowers and wild horses (ongoing) | @/swordgrace

cowboy!au, rodeo!au - John Walker is Belton’s best bronc-rider with a larger-than-life attitude, a chip on his shoulder, and a cocksure mouth. In the wake of his divorce, he’s pouring himself into winning the Belton Belt — a two week-long rodeo competition. He’s got something to prove. You are the manager of Bob Reynolds, your childhood companion and best friend. When Falcon’s Point Farms and its land are threatened by businesswoman Valentina Fontaine, you and Bob plan to win the Belton Belt — and the cash prize that comes with it. - The only caveat is the obstacle that is John Walker — and worst of all, you find yourself falling for him.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

[pitchsidestories]

Scrapbook memories II Grace Clinton x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1654

summary: Reader who plays for Lyon surprises her girlfriend Grace by appearing at a dinner with the fellow Lionesses in England. requested

author's note: Hi, we started writing this before Mary Earps international retirement and Millie Bright’s withdrawal from the Euros, which is why they still appear in the story. We hope you don’t mind and still like it regardless.<3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

You were convinced that what made the English Women’s National Team so special was their team spirit. There was something magical about how every player genuinely cared for one another. You absolutely adored it.

To keep that connection strong, the team often organised casual team nights together. They were always full of laughter, good food, and even better conversations but since you had left the WSL to play for Lyon, you often missed out on most of those nights. But tonight, you decided that it was time to join.

This time, it all took place at Alex Greenwoods place. Just a relaxed dinner with all the Lionesses.

Alex was busy, stirring pots and seasoning dishes while Lauren and Jess chopped vegetables at the counter.

“Y/n is late, as usual.”, Alex said, pausing for a moment as she glanced over the crowd filling her flat.

“I was on time. At the wrong door but on time.”, Lauren chimed in, gesturing a little too wildly with her knife, causing Alex to suck in a breath and widen her eyes.

Jess laughed: “That’s so typical for you, Hempo. You always do that.”

The she turned sharply: “Millie, no! No snacking yet.”

She tried to bat away Millie Brights hand who had managed to successfully steal a piece of raw carrot from the chopping board.

Millie rolled her eyes, stealing a carrot anyway: “It takes forever for you girls to cook. The Arsenal girls are already bored.”

She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward the living room where most of the other players were caught up in some small talk.

“Children, behave,” Alex warned playfully. “And no, Leah, we won’t have any ham sandwiches. They taste like nothing.”

“Excuse me?”, the team captain who had just walked in said, pretending to be offended.

From the living room, Beth called out: “But she won’t eat real adult food.”

“It’s adult f-…”, Leah started, then cut herself off and quickly looked around for help, “Grace, come here. Stop looking at the door. You agree with me, right?”

“What?”, Grace asked, torn from her own thoughts, only reluctantly turning to the blond defender.

“We need your opinion on ham sandwiches.”, Leah repeated impatiently.

“I have no opinion on them.”, Grace replied, smiling but clearly confused by the interaction.

Alex clapped her hands once with authority: “We’re done cooking. Everyone out of my kitchen.”

All the players were scrambling to their seats as Alex carried dishes to the table. Only Grace hung back, still preoccupied with her own thoughts.

You walked straight into the chaos that had erupted around the giant dinner table, and you immediately felt a warmth in your chest that reminded you of home.

“Hi. Sorry, I know I’m late again, but I brought those gorgeous flowers for the hostess.”, you said and greeted Alex with a hug and a quick kiss to her cheek.

The defender took a moment to admire the tasteful bouquet in her hands before turning her attention back to you. “Oh, you just know how to impress a girl.”

“You’re welcome. It’s great to have you back in the team, Al.”, you replied, gently squeezing her shoulder.

She chuckled warmly: “Glad to be back.”

“Now that we’re complete, we can finally start eating,” Alessia said.

You were genuinely grateful to be reunited with the familiar faces who, over time, had become like a second family. After everything you'd been through together, on and off the pitch, they were your people.

And yet, even in this comforting chaos, your eyes were searching for the woman you loved most.

You rarely kept secrets from your England teammates, but this one was different. Maybe it was finally time to share it. And there she was: Grace, leaning casually against the wall, that cocky smile of hers playing at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t just a grin; it was an invitation.

You and Grace had talked about telling them. The timing felt right. So, you walked towards her, ready to take her hand and speak the truth.

But Grace had something else in mind.

She believed in gestures, ones that didn’t need explanations. So, when you reached her, she pulled you in and kissed you, soft but sure, with all the quiet affection that words would never quite capture.

The room fell still.

Then gasping. Eyes widened.

It was Leah who found her voice first: ���What is happening?!”

“Oh my god, you two are dating?!”, Lauren squealed.

“We... uhm. I wasn’t expecting her here.”, Grace admitted, still slightly breathless. That part was true, planned to surprise her with your visit here.

Teasingly, you asked: “Because the Lionesses party was in Manchester?”

“Yes! The London girls are here too, but Lyon is...”, Grace trailed off, flustered, an adorable blush creeping up her cheeks.

The distance between you had always been a challenge, something you discussed often. But if Keira and Laura could manage it and Lucy and Ona, too, then so could you. Your love was strong, and you were lucky enough to see each other at England camps and rare free days.

“I travelled with Lessi and Leah from London to Manchester, but one of them was too clumsy, which is why I had to get new flowers for Alex.”, you explained, smirking.

An innocent smile appeared on Alessia’s lips: “It wasn’t me.”

“That absolutely sounds like something you’d do.”, Ella remarked, eyeing her best friend with theatrical suspicion.

Sheepishly, the blonde replied: “Me? I was innocent!”

“Can we talk about the flowers later?”, Leah cut in impatiently. “How and when did the two of you even get together?”

Even though everyone had been starving just moments ago and the dinner was lovingly decorated with mouth-watering dishes none of them made a move. Right now, their hunger was for answers. Concerning your romance.

Grace ignored their questions, whether on purpose or not, she was still staring at you.

“I didn’t think you would even come…”, she said slowly, as if still trying to make sense of your presence.

You tilted your head with a shy smile and admitted: “Me neither. I thought you might be busy. It’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

“When you didn’t show up…”, Grace started but you never found out what she wanted to say. Leah cut her off.

“Hello? Lovebirds? We want some answers!”, she demanded, snapping the two of you out of the little bubble where only you and Grace seemed to exist.

“Oh.”, Grace said, blinking rapidly in surprise, like she’d only just noticed the rest of the room that there were other people in the room too.

You smiled at her one more time before you tore away your gaze and turned to Leah: “What did you want to know again?”

“How you two met!”

“Obviously through a lionesses camp.”, Grace replied with a wry grin.

Lucy scrunched up her face and gave the two of you a disbelieving look: “Why didn’t we notice? You’re both not very good at keeping secrets.”

You shrugged innocently: “You girls were just really blind.”

“Yeah, you were.”, Grace agreed, chuckling.

Lucy didn’t look impressed. She shook her head: “No, I can see very well now. Even without my glasses.”

The joke was right on the tip of your tongue, ready to be delivery but Khiara beat you to it, a cheeky smirk on her lips: “Are you sure? You’re pretty old.”

Lucy shot the young goalkeeper a challenging look, daring her to say that again.

Alex cut in and pretended to sharply glance at Khiara: “Khi, respect your elders.”

Grace laughed quietly, turning back to you. Her eyes were soft and there was a warm fondness in her voice: “They are so chaotic again.” Then a bit quieter: “But I missed you.”

You beamed at her, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, unnoticed by the rest of the team: “I missed you too. And their chaos.”

“Same, it’s never boring with them.”, she said and took a step behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. Resting her chin on your shoulder, she held you tightly as the team erupted into a debate about age and respect.

“Not even in four weeks of camp?”, you teased, grinning.

Grace took a moment before declaring: “It’ll be tough, but I’ll be with you. So, it’s going to be alright.”

You didn’t hear the gasps or the jokes still echoing from the table. All you saw was her and the quiet, certain smile that always brought you home.

Grace cleared her throat, a little flustered: “So, uhm... what exactly are we celebrating again?”

“It’s an End-of-Season, Everyone-Is-Healthy, and Euros-Camp-Is-Starting-Soon party!”, Ella chimed in, almost bouncing in her seat.

Grace managed to find a glass and lifted it, grinning: “Cheers to that!”

“I support that too.”, you whispered in her ear, your smile matching hers.

Millie clapped excitedly: “Let’s get this party started!”

“Finally! Mary let’s dance.”, Alessia grinned, dragging the keeper toward the living room, now a makeshift dance floor. Leah had already taken over the speaker, blasting one of her matchday playlists.

Mary shot Leah a look over her shoulder: “Louder!”

Grace leaned in close, her voice low and warm:  “So... dance floor or kitchen?”

You paused, pretending to weigh it up:  “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Yes! I’m starving for more kis—” She didn’t get to finish.

“Grace!” Alex cut in sharply, clicking her tongue. “There are children at this table.”

“Do you mean me? Rude.”, Khiara pouted.

Alex gestured broadly at the entire table: “I meant all the children here.”

“Why are you looking at me?!”, Lucy protested, laughing.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at the team in all their chaotic glory before slipping into the kitchen.

“Finally, some peace.”, you said.

“I could stay here all night.”, Grace hummed, then kissed you softly, a kiss that said more than words ever could.

[kooqitas]

#pairing: best.friend!mingyu x reader ♡ #rough sex, humiliation, unprotected sex,

you always imagined that mingyu had feelings for you even though he was one of your best friends, and even if it was a little wrong maybe that was why you knocked on his door when your fertile period arrived.

it was actually easy, you always knew that mingyu was a 'pussy drunk' and that when it came to YOUR pussy he would be even more necessary. you arrived at his apartment with pizza and wine, you ate, drank, watched movies and before you knew it you were telling him how much the wine changed you! how 'easy' you became when the drink hit and made you feel unbearably horny.

maybe you were making fun of his feelings and no, you wouldn't be proud of it, but the horniness makes you so dumb that soon you started saying that your fingers weren't long and thick enough, that since you finished you relationship you hadn't been able to cum and that frustrated you, and you saw every gulp of saliva that mingyu made, every grip on your thigh that he gave in an attempt to control himself. and there you knew you would end the night exactly where you wanted: in his bed.

"you should try a vibrator," he suggested, a little uncomfortable, trying to pretend he wasn't imagining you fucking yourself with the toy.

"it's not funny... i want someone to fuck me hard."

you saw mingyu swallow again... "do it for me, gyu, fuck me!"

things happened in a complicated way, one second mingyu was on top of you and the next he was saying he couldn't, that you were too drunk. but he gave in, slid his hand into your panties, cursing how wet you were, and put one, two, three fingers inside you.

mingyu looked like a puppy, completely bewildered by the whole situation, he just needed to make you cum. his left hand went to your breasts, pinching the tip of your nipple while he continued fucking you with all three fingers.

"you are a bitch!" he said, still pushing his thick fingers against you, you couldn't tell if it was desire or anger, but whatever, it felt fucking good. "you're a fucking slut destroying our friendship over an orgasm"

"you say that but you keep fingering me… am i the bitch or are you a pathetic puppy?"

mingyu didn't answer, he just hit you, his heavy hand hitting your face without any hint of remorse, and then hitting your clit next, making you moan loudly.

"don't you dare make fun of me, not when you're a slut humiliating yourself to be fucked"

mingyu wanted to get up and tell you to leave, but all he could do was put your legs on his shoulder and start eating you out, his hot tongue going down all over your folds, making you squirm as he seemed to want to devour you. mingyu was agile, he made it clear how much experience he had and damn all you could think about was why you hadn't given yourself to him before

"i-im gonna-" you moaned, but mingyu stopped you before you could finish your sentence. "why did you stop?"

he laughed, machiavellian, the smile tugging at the corners, making you a little worried.

"what? you come to my house, act like a good girl, drink, act like a poor thing, beg me to eat this pussy and think that's enough?"

"but gyu, i-"

"shut the fuck up! you're a pathetic bitch"

you even wanted to argue, to say no, the only pathetic one there was him, but when you saw him, he had answered something very different.

"yes, i am!"

mingyu smiled, making you realize what you had said out loud, you thought about taking it back, but damn, he was so attractive and you wanted to cum so badly… maybe the best thing would be to just go with his flow.

"fuck me, gyu! make me your pathetic bitch… your cum dump…"

"you're sick…"

"please, gyu, i need you so much!"

he pushed you against the couch, not giving you a second to think as he thrust his thick cock inside you, making you whimper from the slight suffocation that the pillow beneath you offered you.

"is this what you want? to be fucked like a bitch in heat? a slut? do you want me to eat you and leave you here alone leaking my cum? i can do that, bitch!"

"g-gyu." You moaned. "s-slowly." you teased, making a sly little voice to irritate him.

"didn't you want this shit? didn't you want to end our fucking friendship just to feel a thick cock inside that disgusting pussy? do now take this shit."

mingyu pulled your head down, pushing your head even further against the pillow at the same time he gave your ass a loud slap, making you moan and lower your hips. and then he hit you again.

"don't be useless, keep that fucking hot ass up for me."

he continued to thrust hard, now pulling your hair hard with the intention of making you look at him and fuck, and god, looking at mingyu through the shoulders, sweaty, naked, with a pissed off look while he fucked you was simply the first wonder of the world

"stop screaming fuck, you begged so much for dick and you can't hold out a little without looking desperate?"

you didn't know THIS mingyu, and it was a surprise to discover that he was not only exactly how you wanted but much better. he kept thrusting hard, scratching your things, pulling your hair and your neck, and you came when his thumb ended up on your clit, you came embarrassingly, closing your legs as he kept fucking you until he finally filled you.

of course you wanted it, but you never thought you would be able to feel mingyu's cum dripping out of you, but more than an orgasm, it felt like a personal satisfaction…

he pulled away from you, still half dazed, his head dizzy from what they had just done, damn, it was a five-year friendship…

"gyu…"

"no. shut up, holy shit, what the hell did we do?"

and reality hit the door, damn, mingyu was one of your best friends… what the hell had happened.

"i… i'm in my fertile period, okay? i'm sorry!"

"fuck, and then you chose ME to deal with you like a dog in heat?"

"gyu…"

"no 'gyu'… fuck, you crossed the line… and you know the worst part? i liked that shit!"

"so we can do it again… hm? in your bed? your kitchen? balcony?"

"don't test my patience…"

"gyu…"

"fuck, i hate you!"

and yes… you came in his bed, and also in the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the balcony, you even tested the building's elevator afterwards…

[girllblogging777]

LET IT HAPPEN 𝜗𝜚

spencer reid x bau!worker reader (angst, comfort)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2.3k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : spencer was always in control, until you. but when you walk away, he realises it might be too late to learn how to love you right.

spencer reid has a history of being in control.

of himself. of his emotions. of the way he exists in the world : quiet, precise, never asking for too much.

love, real love, has always been a theory to him. a concept. a case study. something he observes in others, like an astronomer watching stars he’d never reach.

and then there was you.

he didn’t know when it started. maybe the first time you called him spence like it was second nature, or when you leaned into his shoulder on the plane, barely awake. maybe when you took a bullet for a civilian without flinching, or when you cried in the elevator after losing a victim, and reached for his hand without thinking to find comfort.

all he knew was that one day, you’d become part of his routine and turned it all upside down. his rhythm. his sense of self.

and that scared the hell out of him.

so, he did what he always did. he kept it safe. kept you close, but not close enough. he memorized everything about you from a distance : favorite books, late-night snack choices, the exact cadence of your laugh, while never saying a word about the way his chest ached when you touched his arm.

until you walked away.

and now you weren’t beside him. and it was too quiet.

spencer sat alone in the BAU bullpen at 11:47 p.m., his tie loose around his neck and hair messy from running his hands through it too many times today. he felt numb, staring at the text you’d sent him four hours ago.

“i can’t do this anymore. not like this.”

“if you ever decide to let me in—“

“you know where to find me.”

he’d read it twenty two times, precisely. he couldn’t delete it. he couldn’t answer it either.

because the truth was that you were right. you’d waited long enough, more than anyone ever had for him.

spencer had spent so long pretending he didn’t feel what he felt. trying to fit your friendship into neat, manageable boxes. something he could file away like a solved case.

but love doesn’t work like that. you’d told him that once.

and now you were gone.

the elevator dinged behind him. he didn’t turn around. he didn’t have to.

because he knew it was you.

he knew it the way he knew the laws of physics. undeniable. inarguable. your presence had always rearranged the air around you.

“you didn’t answer,” you said quietly, observing him like you’d done too many times before.

your voice cracked something open in him. his hands clenched around his coffee cup. it had gone cold hours ago.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

you gave a small, sad laugh. “that’s the thing, spence. you know everything, but that you never do.”

he finally looked up at you.

you looked tired. beautiful. guarded.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. “but you did.”

he nodded once. swallowed hard. “I’m not good at this.”

spencer stood slowly, like his body was remembering how to do it. his chair scraped back.

and then, finally “you know what hurts the most?”

he shook his head.

“that I’m not asking you to be perfect. I never want you to be anything other than exactly who you are. but you won’t even let me see you.”

he flinched.

“you let me get so close,” you said, softer now, like it hurt you to say it. “close enough to feel everything… and then you shut the door. like I’m something dangerous.”

“you’re not dangerous,” he whispered.

“then what am I?” your mouth was set, but your eyes… your eyes looked so goddamn sad. your arms folded across her chest. a defense mechanism. not angry. just tired. like you were bracing for more disappointment.

“real.”

you froze, spencer stepped around the desk slowly, like if he moved too fast, you’d vanish.

“you’re real,” he repeated carefully. “and that terrifies me.”

he didn’t even know how to stand. his arms hung awkwardly by his sides, fingers twitching like they wanted to reach for you and couldn’t figure out how.

“all my life, I’ve been able to explain things,” he says. “I can tell you the chemical composition of love. I can list every poem ever written about heartbreak. I can quote studies on attachment and trauma and how people leave.”

there’s a beat, before he continues “I thought if I understood it, I wouldn’t feel it.”

you couldn’t do anything but blink, eyes stinging.

“but then I met you,” he said. “and you’re soft, and stubborn, and brilliant, and so alive. you walked right past every defense I had like they weren’t even there.”

his voice cracks then. he presses a fist to his mouth, trying to ground himself. you just watch him, still frozen. breathing shallow.

“I thought I could keep it under control,” he admits, each word making him feel more stupid. “this… whatever this is. I thought if I could just… hold it in, keep it neat, I wouldn’t lose you. but all I did was push you away.”

silence. he forces himself to meet your eyes, something that usually pains him to do.

“I miss you. all the time. even when you’re right in front of me.”

and you don’t know what to say. so he keeps going like he always does, because if he stops now, he’d never say any of it again.

“I couldn’t tell you how I felt because I didn’t know what it was, it didn’t feel safe. and if it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t real. that’s what I told myself. that’s what I had to believe. because… everyone I’ve ever loved has either died or left me.”

your mouth opened, but he held up a hand, begging. please let me finish.

“but you didn’t leave,” he said, “not until you absolutely had to. you gave me every chance. I wasted them. because I didn’t know how to be vulnerable and still survive.”

and the tears came before he could stop them. silent, stunned things sliding down his cheeks.

you stare at him like you don’t know whether to cry or reach for him or both. he looks so beautiful, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to keep hurting you just because I never learned how to let myself be loved.”

that breaks something in you. you take a step forward. and another. he stands before you, arms loose at his sides, face wet, chest heaving… looking every bit the baby deer in headlights you always say he is.

“I’m not asking you not to be afraid, spence…” you finally admit. “I’m asking you to let me be scared with you. that’s all I ever wanted.”

his lips tremble. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“then let’s figure it out.”

you reach up slowly, wiping a stray tear gently with your thumb. he simply leans into your touch like it’s the first time anyone has ever touched him softly and meant it.

“don’t go,” he whispers.

“I’m not trying to leave,” you whisper back. “I’m asking if you’d fight for me.”

he closes his eyes. “I let it happen,” he said. “I let myself fall in love with you. and I’m not going to pretend anymore.”

you step into him fully then, arms sliding around his neck, and Spencer folds like paper, wrapping himself around you like he’d been holding his breath for a year and just now remembered how to exhale.

and in the quiet of that almost-empty room, with his forehead pressed to yours and your hands in his hair, Spencer Reid finally gives up control.

and lets it happen.

a/n : inspired by the gracie abrams song !!first time writing something about my baby, i kinda hate this but a girl has got to start somewhere. give me requests if you’d like, and reblogs/comments are always appreciated <3

@xbluereid @gf2bellamy @iamgonnagetyouback

[prentissangel]

THE DRESS YOU TWIRLED IN — emily prentiss x reader

summary – you try on a dress for a museum date, expecting nothing more than a casual compliment. But when you twirl in her living room, emily prentiss realizes she’ll never forget what you look like in it—or how you made her feel.

warning(s) – wlw, age gap (reader late 20s / emily late 30s - 40s), emotional tension, mutual pining, soft domestic moments, unspoken feelings, no kiss (yet), light jealousy, longing, part one??

men/minors dni

It starts in her kitchen. Of all places.

Emily’s holding a mug of coffee, standing near the stove while steam curls around her wrists. You’re perched on the edge of her counter in fuzzy socks and a towel-wrapped head, scrolling through something on your phone as you sip from your own mug—matching, because you bought them last fall during a Target run neither of you intended to go on.

The light’s golden, soft from the late afternoon sun cutting through the blinds. And everything about it is normal. Familiar.

Until you set your mug down and slide off the counter.

“Okay,” you say, practically bouncing on your toes. “Moment of truth.”

Emily raises an eyebrow over the rim of her mug. “What?”

You grin. “I wanna try on the outfit I bought for the museum thing. The one next week? You remember?”

Of course she remembers.

Emily hides her smile in her coffee. “I remember.”

You’ve been talking about it for days. A modern art exhibit downtown, and you’ve already picked out dinner reservations for afterward, dragged her into helping you choose the reservation time, the route you’ll walk, the heels you might wear depending on the cobblestone-to-sidewalk ratio.

You’ve also asked her—twice—if she thinks it’s weird you’re this excited.

She didn’t say no. She said, It’s cute.

And she meant it.

You disappear into her room while she busies herself with rinsing out your mugs. By the time you reappear, your face is glowing in that post-getting-dressed confidence haze. The kind that always makes her feel like something in her chest is breaking open.

“Okay,” you say from the hallway. “Don’t laugh.”

Emily looks up—and forgets how to breathe.

The outfit hugs you just right. Flattering without trying too hard, elegant but casual enough to say I didn’t spend an hour picking this out. You’re adjusting a strap on your shoulder, smoothing the hem as you step into the living room, head tilted slightly.

“So?” you ask, doing a quick spin with your arms out. “Too much?”

It’s not the spin that gets her—it’s the way you land. The soft smile. The light in your eyes. The curve of your lip that says you don’t even realize how beautiful you are.

Emily blinks slowly. Her pupils feel…wrong. Large.

Disobedient.

She sets her mug down before she drops it.

“You look—” She clears her throat, voice catching. “—gorgeous.”

You preen a little at the compliment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, maybe too quickly.

You twirl again, this time slower. Your skirt flares and settles and she stares, caught in the orbit of your small movements, your ease. You laugh when you catch her expression.

“What?” you tease. “Too much twirling?”

Emily drags a hand through her hair and forces herself to look away. Just for a second. Just long enough to convince her own body to relax.

But it’s no use.

She’s never been this undone by someone standing in the middle of her living room before. Not like this. Not by the sheer softness of someone. The kindness. The way you turn things like getting dressed for an art exhibit into an event that makes her want to learn the names of every painting just so she can tell you which one reminds her of you.

You’re still talking. Something about whether or not you should wear your hair up.

Emily gives a distracted hum.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not even listening.”

“No,” she admits, smiling faintly. “Sorry. Distracted.”

“By what?”

You’re teasing her, smiling with your lip tucked between your teeth like you already know the answer. But you don’t—not really. And that’s the worst part.

Emily exhales a soft laugh and walks past you to sit on the couch, trying not to look again. You sit beside her a second later, folding your legs underneath you as you fiddle with a bangle on your wrist.

She watches the movement.

Watches your fingers. Watches the curve of your shoulder. Watches your lips move as you murmur, “I just want to feel like I have my life together for once. Like I actually belong in nice places.”

“You do,” Emily says instantly.

You blink at her. The compliment is sharper than you expected.

She shifts on the couch, but doesn’t look away. “You do belong. In nice places. You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to look amazing.”

Your gaze softens. “That sounded kind of rehearsed.”

She huffs a laugh. “It’s not.”

You lean your head against the back of the couch and smile, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re sweet to me.”

Emily’s heart stumbles.

She hopes—quietly, devastatingly—that you’ll never know how much.

How long she’s been falling.

How often she has to remind herself that you’re not hers. That you might never be.

You let the silence stretch, content and soft beside her. Emily dares a glance sideways, and she sees the exact kind of expression that ruins her: peace. Safety. Trust.

You trust her so easily. So completely.

And she knows, with a kind of cold clarity, that if she ever kissed you, it would have to mean something. It could never be casual.

Not with you.

Not when you’re twirling in her living room with that laugh and that blush, looking like you’re slowly turning her world inside out.

Not when you’re completely unaware of the storm you’ve made of her heart.

She looks at you again—at your relaxed limbs and quiet, pretty smile—and something hits her so deep in the chest she almost says it out loud.

This is it.

She doesn’t mean the moment. She means you.

But she keeps it in her chest where it belongs. For now.

Because you’re smiling at her like she’s the sun, and you don’t even know you’re the one glowing.

authors note – hai guys this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr i hope u enjoyyyy!! i'm thinking about making a part 2??? let me know ur thoughts pls ‹𝟹

[babyleostuff]

˚ ༘♡ 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐬 | performance unit

― for hip hop unit version: click here

jun

he’s a lot more worried about your safety than he lets on. jun starts to panic the second he spots the massive crowd, and immediately puts his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side. he doesn’t want you to think that he’s being controlling or that he doesn’t want you to walk around on your own - it’s just that he’s a bit anxious to let you wander off on your own without anyone to protect you. it’s just the amount of people that he’s afraid of, what the situation might turn into in the worst case scenario. so, it’s safe to say that for the most of the night you’d be tucked safely into jun’s side.

hoshi

my first thought was “he’d lose you in the crowd in a second” but… i don’t think we give him enough credit, he can be very responsible and aware of his surroundings when needed. yes, soonyoung is a silly little goofball and an ipad kid, but i’m 100% sure he wouldn't let go of you if you were surrounded by a large number of people. the thought of you - lost and all alone amongst the big crowd - that makes him sick to his stomach and he can’t even imagine how scared he’d be, so soonyoung would rather keep you by his side than risk losing you. his grip on you is tight and secure, but not too overbearing, and he asks every other minute if you’re okay or if you want to leave. 

the8

he’s not too overbearing in how he looks after you when you’re in big crowds, which is perfect since you can have fun without being all over each other. of course the only way he’s fully relaxed and not on constant alert is when you’re right next to him, preferably with his arm wrapped around your waist, so he knows that you’re truly there by his side, sound and safe. but, if you want to say hi to someone or go to the toilet, hao won’t follow you or make a big deal about you going away, he’ll just ask you to send him texts that you’re ok every few minutes, so he doesn’t stay too worried. 

dino

there’s nothing that could make him let go of you. nothing. maybe chan is being a little bit paranoid, but the thought of losing you in a crowd of people where everything could go wrong makes his stomach lurch in all of the worst ways possible. your hand is always in his, no matter what - if you want to pee he’ll be there with you, it’s either both of you or no one. he’s all wrapped around you, holding you securely in his grip, because that’s the only way he can relax a bit and have fun at whatever gathering you’re at. he has to know that you’re safe. besides, he's a lil clingy cuddle bug so he uses it as an excuse to give you hugs all night long.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot  @iamawkwardandshy  @icyminghao @heeseungthel0ml @goyangiiwonu @bath1lda @ruurooozz @ny0sang @luuxian @onerubii  @hurrican3-insert-nam3 @mekuiikore @luvseungcheol @thenotoriousegg @yuuyeonie @svtficsarchive @hyperdramas @huen1ngk41 @lesuneczka @oc3anfloor @gyuguys @fr-freak @bewoyewo

[akasanata]

Fucking Hell

"The Trump administration has transferred hundreds of immigrants to El Salvador even as a federal judge issued an order temporarily barring the deportations under an 18th century wartime declaration targeting Venezuelan gang members, officials said Sunday. Flights were in the air at the time of the ruling. U.S. District Judge James E. Boasberg issued an order Saturday temporarily blocking the deportations, but lawyers told him there were already two planes with immigrants in the air — one headed for El Salvador, the other for Honduras. Boasberg verbally ordered the planes be turned around, but they apparently were not and he did not include the directive in his written order.

[...]

“Basically any Venezuelan citizen in the US may be removed on pretext of belonging to Tren de Aragua, with no chance at defense,” Adam Isacson of the Washington Office for Latin America, a human rights group, warned on X. The litigation that led to the hold on deportations was filed on behalf of five Venezuelans held in Texas who lawyers said were concerned they’d be falsely accused of being members of the gang. Once the act is invoked, they warned, Trump could simply declare anyone a Tren de Aragua member and remove them from the country."

[navybrat817]

Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭

Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.

Dinner Plans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.

Word Count: Over 2.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.

His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.

But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.

He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.

You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”

He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”

Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.

“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.

“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”

Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.

“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”

Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.

“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”

If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”

“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.

He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”

“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”

He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.

“What was that?” you asked breathily.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.

“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”

Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.

Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.

You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”

Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.

“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”

Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”

“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”

Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”

“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”

You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.

“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.

And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”

He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”

Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.

Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”

And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”

He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”

“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.

Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”

You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.

The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.

He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”

Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”

He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”

“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.

His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.

You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.

“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”

“And it would,” he smirked.

You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”

As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.

He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.

AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[enwoso]

weight of the world | part three

alessia russo x baby!reader

-> based on this request | some upsetting themes throughout so read with caution

grumpy masterlist | part two here

it took two days for alessia to even work up the courage to message ella and even then her finger hovered over the send button for a few minutes before she quickly clicked it before she had time to talk herself out of it.

less | ‘hey. can we talk? i'm really sorry.’

the reply came within seconds, like ella had been waiting.

tooney | ‘course. whenever your ready, come by carrington.’

alessia stared at the message until the screen dimmed. even then, she didn't move. her fingers stayed clenched around her phone like it was the only thing tethering her to something real.

her stomach churned the whole drive over. her hands trembled on the steering wheel. part of her wanted to turn around. to just disappear. to just go back home where you and her mum was. but the guilt, the shame—it sat in her chest like a stone.

and underneath it all, a deeper, more painful fear: what if they didn't want her anymore? what if alessia had pushed too hard, too far, and broken the very thing that used to feel like home?

when she got there she stood outside the changing room for nearly five full minutes.

carrington sounded different now—brighter, louder. the energy buzzed in the walls. laughter echoed down the hall.

it felt so far from the silence of alessia's flat, from the wails and whimpers and isolation that clung to her like a second skin.

it felt like life. and alessia didn't know if she belonged in it anymore. but she stepped inside anyway. the room quieted almost instantly when the door clicked shut behind her.

several of the girls looked up from tying boots, laughing over playlist debates, sipping protein shakes. conversations stilled. expressions shifted. curiosity. concern. relief.

and then ella stood up from the bench. ella looked exactly how alessia remembered—steady, grounded, warm—but something flickered in her eyes. caution. hope. a kind of quiet ache.

"hey," alessia said, voice barely above a whisper.

"hey you," ella replied. alessia swallowed hard. the words were burning in her throat.

"i- i was wrong," alessia said. "i wasn't okay. and i took it out on you. on everyone. i thought i could hold it all together, but i couldn't. i didn't. i'm really sorry."

ella didn't speak for a moment. her jaw clenched—once, twice—and then she stepped forward. "we never needed you to be perfect, less," ella said a soft smile on her lips. "just honest."

alessia nodded as her voice cracked. "i- i didn't know how. i thought if i slowed down, everything would fall apart. that i would."

"you were falling apart," ella said gently. "you just didn't have to do it alone."

and that was it. the dam cracked open.

"i'm scared all the time, el," alessia whispered. "i love her so much it hurts and i'm constantly terrified i'm doing it wrong. that i'll mess her up. that i already have. i've been so angry and tired and empty and i didn't know what else to be. and i thought... i thought you'd hate me."

ella blinked quickly, trying to keep her own tears from surfacing. ella stepped closer, her voice a murmur.

"i was scared too," ella admitted. "not because you yelled. but because i thought you might hate me. for calling your mum. for stepping in."

alessia looked up at her then, properly. her mouth opened, then closed again. alessia shook her head, overwhelmed. "i don't," she managed. "i couldn't hate you. i think... i think you saved me."

and then ella—blunt, bold, unshakable ella—wrapped her arms around alessia like she'd been waiting weeks to do it.

held alessia like she wasn't fragile, but sacred. held alessia like friendship was a promise, not a transaction.

"you don't have to be anything but here," ella whispered. "we've got you. and we've got y/n."

around them, the girls slowly stood. millie came over first, squeezing alessia's shoulder without a word. then mary, who gently took alessia's bag and set it down like it was nothing.

one by one, the team drifted closer—not swarming, just present.

someone handed alessia water. someone else a towel. little things, quiet gestures.

but to alessia, they felt like lifelines. they didn't ask questions. didn't make a scene. they just showed up.

and after weeks of isolation and silence, that was enough to split something open in alessia's chest—something that ached and healed all at once.

for the first time in what felt like forever, alessia let herself believe it: she wasn't alone anymore. she didn't have to do this alone.

not with you. not with the fear. not with the healing.

alessia had them. and they had her.

⸻

a couple of weeks had passed and the mornings still started early. but they were getting lighter. you were waking only once a night now, around four a.m. your soft gurgles and sleepy kicks a gentle, almost sacred alarm clock in the grey-blue hush of dawn.

alessia didn't resent the early hour like she used to although she does sometimes find her self dreaming of a lie in once in a while but she now didn't meet the sunrise with dread or panic or that crushing sense of failure before the day had even begun.

there was a rhythm now. not perfect. not smooth. but it was hers.

alessia moved slower in the mornings, with more care than urgency. less like she was sprinting against time, more like instead she was moving along with it.

alessia lifted you from your crib and pressed a kiss to your warm, squishy forehead. you smelled like baby lotion, milky breath, and dreams. with your small fingers curled instinctively around alessia's shirt as you yawned, blinking up at your mummy with pure, sleepy trust.

"good morning, my little love," alessia whispered, rocking gently, swaying on the balls of her feet like it was second nature now.

the house still bore the marks of a life interrupted—but it no longer looked like a war zone.

there was a bib draped over the couch. a half-folded baby blanket on the armchair. your toys littered the corner like evidence of joy instead of chaos.

the sink had dishes, sure—but there was food in the fridge. a half-drunk coffee on the table. a warmth in the walls.

not neat. no where near pristine. but lived in. loved in. safe.

alessia's mum had returned back home to kent three days ago—but not before leaving order behind like breadcrumbs in the woods.

there was fresh calendar hung on the fridge, days colour-coded between training sessions, therapy check-ins, and your growing milestones. a corkboard held emergency contacts, appointment slips, and a laminated sleep guide ('just in case, love')

and there, stuck to the front of the freezer with a magnet shaped like a heart, was a small, handwritten note on floral stationery:

dr. finch – women's health & postnatal support private line. safe, discreet. kind.

alessia had stared at it since her mum had placed it there. she'd walked past it, opened the fridge for oat milk, stared, then shut the door again.

alessia had told herself she was fine. that the worst had passed. that she was stronger now.

but every night, when the quiet crept in again—when the world shrank to just alessia and you and the long dark—alessia felt that same undercurrent of fear tug at her ankles.

not drowning anymore. but maybe not exactly steady either.

and so, a few days later, alessia reached out and peeled the note from the fridge. sat on the couch. phone in hand. heart pounding.

alessia's thumb hovered over the number like it was a trigger. and then alessia tapped it.

the phone rang once. then twice. then a voice answered, warm and even. "dr. finch's office. this is morgan. how can i help?"

alessia's voice caught for a second, thick in her throat. then she exhaled. "i- um i think i need someone to talk to," alessia said quietly. "um i'm a new mum. and i... i think i'm not okay."

there was no judgment. no silence. just a gentle, "of course. we can help with that." and for the first time in a long time, alessia didn't feel weak for asking. she felt brave.

she looked down at you—now curled up on your mummy's chest, snoring softly—and tucked the blanket around your tiny body.

maybe it wasn't about getting it all right. maybe it never had been.

maybe it was just about showing up—over and over. messy, tired, healing. but still here. still choosing to keep going.

[wlwoceaneyes]

The way she looks at you

word count: 2.8 k summary: You’d rather bury yourself in books than deal with real-life feelings – especially the very real ones you have for your boss. Too bad she’s already noticed your crush… and might just feel the same. tags: shy!reader, flirty!EmilyPrentiss, mention of alcohol, no use of yn, clueless!reader, booknerd!reader, flustered!reader, Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, Season 18, younger agent (?), I wrote it in my head with some age differnce (undefined) but it could also be the same age, breakthrough against the network

The bass is a low, steady throb in the narrow, overcrowded bar, vibrating through the floorboards, through your ribs, into your bloodstream. It’s insistent and inescapable. It’s louder than usual tonight, maybe because the room is so full it barely breathes, filled with people pressed too close together, their laughter too sharp, their movements uncoordinated from their drinks, their boundaries thinning like the fog that’s being pumped across the dancefloor, curling around legs and faces, making it hard to see clearly though clarity was never what anyone here came looking for.

You’ve already fended off one man tonight, not entirely gracefully but firmly enough, a man whose gaze had lingered for far too long, heavy and possessive. You know this place. It’s not unfamiliar. And yet, you never quite feel like you belong. But then, you don’t feel at home in bars or clubs or parties at all, not really. You prefer the silence of a good book, the slow intimacy of a quiet dinner, or the comforting anonymity of a darkened cinema, if the film is good and the seats are far enough apart.

The light flickers above you, catching in the artificial mist, dimming the room just enough that every face seems half in shadow. Beside you, Luke dances without inhibition, and though he doesn’t seem to notice it, Penelope is standing closer than usual, her arm brushing his more often than coincidence would allow. You’ve half a mind to nudge them together, just a little, just enough to disrupt the fragile balance they pretend isn’t there. But ever since their ill-fated date a few years back, they’ve both shut down the idea entirely, as if naming it made it less real. Everyone else sees it, though. Even Emily, who’s been assigning them to joint tasks more and more, though whether out of strategy or subconscious hope, you’re not sure. She plays her cards close to her chest. Always has. But after your last comment and Rossi’s knowing smirk, you’re inclined to think it’s deliberate.

Tara bumps your shoulder softly, her arm wrapped casually around Rebecca’s waist, and drags you out of your thoughts. “You’re already planning your escape, aren’t you?” she teases, raising a brow.

Rebecca throws you a look, equal parts mock-threat and amusement, her lips pushing into a pout as she warns, “Not this time. We’re celebrating. This is a breakthrough in our case.”

You don’t respond, as usual. Silence is often your best defense. So Rebecca presses on. “Together,” she says pointedly.

You give her a crooked grin and sip from your drink, eyes trailing briefly over her. You like testing Rebecca’s limits, she gives you plenty of chances, and as one of her future bridesmaids, you’re allowed a little mischief. With Tara and Rebecca, you feel a kind of ease that you rarely allow yourself. There’s no tightness in your chest, no breath caught behind your ribs. You can simply exist, without the weight of self-consciousness dragging you down. The rest of the team feels like family, too, but they love nothing more than teasing you, pushing your buttons just to watch you squirm. Maybe you should go easier on Rebecca, though, if she ever feels the way you do under the weight of all that attention.

“I’ve been here long enough,” you begin to explain, nudging Rebecca playfully when she rolls her eyes. “You know me, Becca. This just isn’t my thing.”

“I know,” she grins, “you’d rather be curled up on your couch with one of your hundred fantasy novels.”

You can’t help but laugh, she knows you too well.

“Probably the ones that are just a little filthy,” Tara adds with a smirk, and your cheeks burn with heat. She’s not wrong. Ever since the evening they visited and found your not-so-innocent book collection while you were in the kitchen, it’s been their favorite joke.

“Who’s filthy?” JJ cuts in, appearing with a fresh glass of wine in hand, and her question draws the team’s collective gaze toward you like a spotlight. You feel your stomach twist.

“No one,” you reply quickly, too quickly, voice thin, eyes down. Your blush gives you away. It always does.

“Is it one of your books again?” Garcia beams at you, the kind of smile that exposes everything without saying a word.

You don’t miss the way Emily approaches then, a drink in hand, her gaze cutting through the noise and laughter like a scalpel. Her dark eyes settle on you with surgical precision, unblinking, unreadable, and you feel like she sees straight through you again. Her presence is electric, every cell in your body suddenly alert, and all at once you’re forgetting how to breathe.

You hate how she does this to you. You inhale slowly. Center yourself. Offer your friends a half-hearted smile, because they are your friends. More than that: your family. And you’re supposed to be celebrating, not spiraling.

“Maybe,” you say vaguely, eyes fixed on the bartender mixing drinks behind the counter, grateful for the distraction. You need to look at anything other than the amusement on your friends’ faces. Anything but Emily.

Luke starts in, teasing you about that fantasy novel from last month, the one with the elves and humans and too much tension in too many corners. JJ jumps in with something about vampires and insatiable hunger, and you can’t take it anymore.

But before the teasing can tip into something unbearable, Emily cuts them off. One sharp look and JJ and Luke back off with silent shrugs.

“Whatever you’re reading,” Emily says, stepping beside you, her voice calm and precise, “it’ll still be there tomorrow.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, grounding and steady.

“Tonight, we toast. We didn’t let the case beat us. We got ahead of the network. We outmaneuvered them. That matters. That’s worth something.”

You hear the words, but they dissolve in your mind, because all you can focus on are the long fingers pressing gently into your shoulder. They’re warm and steady. Grounding, almost, the way they seem to root you here, tether you to this moment when all you want is to disappear. You glance at her. She’s standing close, and her silver hair catches the colored lights, blue, then red, then green, casting her face in shifting hues.

Her lips are dark, her jawline severe, her shirt loose and grey, hanging just over her hips, the blazer she wore earlier presumably abandoned somewhere out of sight. Her bare arms catch your attention before you can stop yourself. And when you look back up, she’s already watching you. Smiling that smile. The one that says she knows exactly what you were thinking.

“You in?” she asks, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I… I’ll go get the next round,” you stammer, horrified by the way you were just caught staring. “Same as usual?”

She tilts her head, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip in thought, then nods. You don’t wait for more, you’re already moving, fleeing, stumbling over your own feet. And for a moment, you’re almost sure you hear her laugh.

About an hour later, drink number three in hand, you’re standing in a dimly lit corner of the bar with Tara, when you feel Emily’s gaze settle on you again. She’s barely taken her eyes off you all evening, which has made you distracted, kind of nervous. You turn away with a quiet sigh, but nothing slips past Tara. Not a single reaction of yours. A knowing smile plays on her lips as she glances from you to Emily, who’s just turned back to Rossi.

“You do realize she’s flirting with you, right?” she asks bluntly, and you nearly choke on your wine.

“Who are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the spike of panic crawling up your throat.

She raises a brow. “Your crush,” she says easily, making exaggerated air quotes before sipping her drink.

You glance at her with a puzzled expression, doing your best to act as if you have no idea what she means, holding onto the hope that a little performance might protect you from the weight of her words, but she simply snorts, a gentle, amused sound that makes it clear she isn’t fooled for a second.

“The woman who hasn’t taken her eyes off you all night, who touches you whenever she gets the chance, and who’s clearly amused by how you turn into pudding whenever she’s nearby,” she lists off. And with every word, your heart rate doubles.

Could it really be that obvious? Could Emily actually be interested in you? You want to dismiss it. You should dismiss it. And yet hope stirs low in your chest. Just as you’re about to deny it, to come up with some clever excuse, mostly for your own protection, Tara lifts a hand.

“Don’t even try to argue. Emily’s good at hiding things, but only when you’re not around. The second you get close, she goes soft like a cat.” She laughs at her own comparison, and you bite your lip. “But you, my dear? You’ve got literal hearts in your eyes whenever you look at her.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you reply flatly, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know there’s truth behind them. You don’t just get nervous around Emily, you flush. You lose your train of thought. Half the time you can’t even remember what you were about to say. And if you’re being brutally honest, you probably do have hearts in your eyes when you look at her. So much for staying subtle.

“Or maybe not,” you add, shaking your head. “I was hoping no one would notice. But who am I kidding, right? We’re profilers.”

“Exactly.” Tara chuckles and tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “And so is Emily. A damn good one, too.”

“Did she say anything?” you ask, caught off guard, heart suddenly in your throat. You’re desperate to hear a “no.” But Tara’s apologetic smile steals the hope right out of your chest.

“Not directly,” she begins, just as Rebecca appears beside you, tugging excitedly at Tara’s arm.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says, offering you a quick, apologetic glance, “but… Tara, they’re playing our song. Will you dance with me?”

How could you possibly be upset now? When Tara turns to you, checking to see if you’ll be okay alone, you nod with a warm smile.

“Go on, lovebirds,” you say, feigning exasperation with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m a grown-up, I can survive ten minutes on my own.” You smile as they drift off into the crowd, the buzz of the room swelling around you, though you’re suddenly more aware of your own stillness in it.

You stay behind, your gaze drifting across the room. You weigh your options. JJ and Garcia are at the bar, likely gossiping about Luke. Emily, Luke, Tyler, and Rossi are gathered around your usual table, exchanging theories about Voit. But before you can decide what to do, you feel a presence approaching. You glance to your right and see the young man you already brushed off earlier in the night. You’d tried to be polite. A vague smile, short answers, no eye contact. Still, none of it seemed to register. Some people don’t pick up on signals or worse, choose to ignore them. He struck you as the latter type. Too sure of himself.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, voice low. Lower than necessary. Close to your ear. Too close. Almost intimate.

The hairs on your arm rise and you quickly shake your head. “I’m good,” you say, lifting your glass as proof. But he doesn’t back off.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, as if your hesitation were some kind of flirty game. “No need to play shy. Are you here with someone?”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t want to provoke him. It’s a reflex. A layer of caution. That stubborn hope that maybe this will resolve itself if you don’t escalate things. And after all, he must’ve seen you with your colleagues tonight. Surely, he’s been watching. But you know what he’s really getting at.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks next, a smile in his voice that sends a chill down your spine. He runs a hand through his blond hair, rubs the back of his neck, and winks — as if that might change your answer.

You shake your head again, but before you can clarify, he adds, “Then I guess I got lucky.”

His gaze is insistent, his presence intrusive. It’s becoming very clear that this man doesn’t understand the word no. You take a step back, shoulders tense, throat dry but he leans in again.

“So… what do you say? Just one drink?”

You search for words, for an excuse, an escape, when a hand gently rests on the small of your back.

“She’s not interested,” comes a calm, steady voice right beside you. Your heart skips a beat. You know that voice. It’s Emily.

The guy looks up, clearly thrown off, brows furrowing. “I was just asking. No offense in that, right?”

Emily steps between you, not threatening, not intrusive, but with a quiet confidence that allows no room for argument. Her cool gaze meets his, and her presence clearly throws him off.

“Ask all you want,” she says calmly, gesturing loosely toward the door, “but when someone’s not interested, the next step is: you leave.”

The man, who had seemed so self-assured just moments ago, suddenly looks so much smaller. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to bother anyone.”

Emily says nothing more. She simply watches him go as he turns and quickly disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes lowered. Once again, your boss had to step in but this time, in a situation far more personal than anything before.

Emily turns to you, a smile on her lips, different from her usual ones. Warmer. “Anytime.”

Then, slowly, she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and where her fingers graze your skin, it tingles.

“I’m just not a fan of other people trying to flirt with you,” she murmurs, flashing you a roguish grin. “Really. That’s kind of my job.”

You blink once, then again trying to keep up. “You… what?”

She steps half a pace closer. Her perfume lingers between you, it smells earthy and refined, with a floral note that only reveals itself when you’re close. You feel her warmth and swallow hard at the proximity.

“Besides,” she continues, her eyes wandering over your face, “you’re ridiculously cute when you’re overwhelmed.”

“God,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, a nervous little laugh escaping as you glance away.

Emily grins, tilts her head slightly, and laughs. “And now you’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” you protest softly but without conviction. Because she’s right. You can feel it yourself.

She winks, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are. It suits you.”

You somehow manage to gather yourself and ask, “Was that… on purpose? Just now?”

She pretends to think for a moment, head tilted again. “What exactly?”

“That you stepped in. So… clearly,” you say, unsure how else to put it, hoping you haven’t just embarrassed yourself.

Emily smiles and slowly moves to stand beside you, casually placing her hand at your hip. “Call it impulse. Or jealousy. Whichever you prefer.”

You stare at her, turning her words over in your mind. Do they mean what you think they mean…?

“He looked at you like you were some kind of game,” she goes on, not waiting for a response. “But I know you’re more than that. You should never be a game to anyone.”

Something in your chest tightens unexpectedly. And when her eyes flick from your lips back to your eyes, you shove your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. Then she reaches out and gently pulls you along with her. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her touch, but she hides it well. You want her to know she’s not alone in this, that you feel it too, so you squeeze her hand gently in return.

Her thumb strokes lightly over the back of your hand. A quiet, grounding reassurance in the noise around you. She glances back at you, and you offer her a warm smile. One that says, I understand what you’re saying, what you mean. You’re not alone in this.

“Come on,” she says quietly, “you still owe me a story about the vampires and elves. I heard there was glitter involved?”

You laugh nervously, unable to stop yourself from staring. “How do you…?”

“I know everything,” she says, turning on her heel. Then, over her shoulder, she adds with a smirk, “Especially when it comes to you.”

taglist: @imightbethewriter pictures: Andrey Novik Unsplash //Abinash Jothimani Unsplash