#but X? nobody actually knows anything about X. and he actually works outside of being a hero. commoner work. even lin ling stopped that

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Couldn't the fact X is so powerful be - at least partially - because he doesn't have any hero name (as for now at least). If everyone knows him as X, and everyone believes and trusts in the idea that is Hero X; then his trust value could come from that lack of name? Previous Xs had other hero name like Smile or E-Soul. But if X never gave himself a name OR was never given a name by his believers, then whoever believes in X(again, as a concept, not as who is currently Hero X) or the very idea of hero existence period gives him power. I wonder if that can't be a way he found to cheat the system or sth akin to that...

His powers would be lying in the very fact everyone believes anyone can become a hero. He's a nobody - technically speaking. no name, actual commoner life, ...

Alternatively, he started it all by calling himself X from the start and so anyone believing in any of the current X (until and also including himself) also believed in him whether they knew it or not? more skeptical about that idea ngl

[scrivenger-grimgar]

svsss x tgcf crossover where shen yuan is so dedicated to making sure his blorbos get everything they deserve.

shen yuan dies cursing out pidw as normal but he ends up in tgcf.

the book was his meimei's favorite and they both read each others favorites so they could yell about them together. he did not expect to end up loving this danmei so much, and shi qingxuan was his queer reality check. did he figure out that he was aroace-spec from relating to xie lian? yes. does he want to talk about it? no.

when he dies cursing out pidw he SHOULD have ended up there, but there was a glitch in the system and he ended up in a little village in tgcf. he knows all the plot points and character names, but he doesn't know where or when he is in the plot and he really wants to give his blorbos everything they deserve but he is a toddler.

so he just,,, lives. he knows he wont be able to cultivate, his family can't afford to send him to a sect, and his village doesn't have much outside of the basics. so when his family caught him teaching other kids abd realized that shen yuan could read? AND write?? AND do math!!?? well...

"meng po said i didnt need any soup." becomes the first lie he tells. he is so glad he retained his resting bitch face.

they think he might ascend as some legendary civil god. shen yuan knows he wont. and he doesnt.

his days are spent teaching other children, learning from the village craftsmen, listening to the brothel jiejies play music, panicking about his blorbos, and planning.

in his teens he becomes the village's official teacher, and officially apprentices under a cloth weaver and learns to make paper and ink.

part of him tells himself that he's learning these things ti help his family, another part says its to keep his mind off the plot.

his second death is uneventful, mostly because nobody actually realizes that he's dead. his parents were old, and his elder sister already married out, so he lived alone for 5 years already. dead at 27 due to a house fire, yet his soul is already strong enough to be wrath.

he comes to the very fair assumption that its simply due to his status not as a reincarnator, but as a millenial. the sheer amount of depression and existential dread he faced as a physically disabled terminally ill millenial in the corporate hell that is the post capitalist corporate purgatory primed his being as one that simply cultivated resentment like a finely aged wine.

but he so geniunely enjoyed teaching and learning that he just. never told anyone that he was dead. it completely slipped his mind as unimportant because he knows that ghosts in this world are just humans a bit to the left, and since he is still the same person as before, is just as much of a ghost as he was before, knows that he can still teach and learn the same as before. it doesn't change anything for him.

he just picks up his ashes, apprentices himself to the village potter, makes himself a new tea set, and weaves a beatiful tapestry dedicated to the only god who can truly do no wrong, yushi huang.

he continues teaching and learning, and genuinely caring for his village, carefully, carfully making sure he does not hurt his people, making sure he does not scare them.

the way his people discover he is a ghost is not pretty, but neither is it ugly.

a nobleman was in town to rest the night with his entourage of guards. one young lady working the local brothel is harrassed by the guards, so nervous she trips and spills wine on the young master.

the nobleman, covered in wine, tipsy and enraged, grabs her and throws her to the ground, yelling at her to grovel and apologise; he does not notice the hateful gaze of shen yuan, once playing a delicate tune only moments before.

shen yuan wants to stop this, but that would definitely reveal him as more than human. the choice is taken from him as this stranger has the gall to step on one of his own students, he feels his patience snap in the stunned silence of the entertainment hall.

faster than possible for any mortal, he stands by them, holding the nobleman by the front of his stupid fancy robes, panicked babbling about that bitch having her man-whore friend doom himself to suffer both their fates. one of the guards stabs shen yuan through the chest.

there is screaming as the village's beloved teacher is run through, even as he ignores the wound and drags the nobleman from the building, the guards running after them. shen yuan takes the entire group out to the forest with only the nobleman as bait, and uses the silence if the night as a backdrop for the unrelenting slaughter of 15 people.

when he returns, he is covered in blood, carrying everything they had on them. the word has spread. their teacher is something else. but that wasn't nesicarily bad. the nobleman's rescources are stripped of identity and spread amongst the villagers. shen yuan has not harmed them, only stepping in when one of them was in harm's way. they have known him for 30 years, they know he is nothing if not kind.

so he protects them. because they have always been his family. so for centuries he does. he watches his peers as they grow old and die, caring after their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. he is their teacher. he is their uncle. he is their ---.

there was a period of time where the town thought shen yuan took on a heveanly tribulation only to reject godhood and return to the village. shen yuan tried to tell people that wasn't true, that he never became a god or refused godhood, that he was simply trapped in a mountain for a decade, stewing in a pot of resentment and accidentally becoming a ghost king.

he doesnt even know how he did that, just that apparently yoyos are similar enough to meteorhammers that he could apply the same concepts, and also that he had enough condenced rage and nerdiness to actually figure out anime moves with qi. so what if half of the ghosts in the kiln thought he was some kind of spider demon, he has cool threads that he can use to kill you.

and actually fuck you, spiders are pretty damn cool!

it starts not long after that. the prayers. his people are praying to him, as if he's some kind of god.

thats when he realizes. he can pray to the gods. he can pray to the gods, and they will only ever know the temple it came from. and really he's spent so long worrying over not just his blorbos but also his whole village, and really what is he if not an anonymous millenial internet troll.

and so it begins.

(remember to check reblogs for more!)

[sexlapis]

Your Cecil works are AMAZING I was wondering if you’re possibly taking reqs? 🥹💕 I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he’s listening in or spying on a new hero or individual he’s unfamiliar with maybe doesn’t quite trust them yet and he just so happens to catch a private moment where they call out his name.

℘ private moments

₊⊹ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader

ns4w. no gender/pronouns mentioned. a tiny bit dark. EXTREME INVASION OF PRIVACY. voyeurism. pillow humping. male masturbation. begging. unintentional mutual masturbation. cecil being a paranoid pervert.

⤷ you like cecil more than you let on.

wc: 2.2k

a/n: thank u! and i’m just going to assume that by “private moments” you mean reader is jerking their shit…please correct me if i’m wrong…anyways. nonnie i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. i may have gotten a little bit carried away ^_^

masterlist

*

Cecil isn’t sure what to make of you.

Sure, you’re a competent hero. Smart, talented, courageous, strong. Not viltrumite strong, but strong enough to be considered in the run up for the new Guardians. That’s something.

You’re a sort of enigma to him. Outside of what he has digged up on your past and upbringing, the information he has on you is limited and your general personality does nothing to help that fact. With the few conversations he’s had with you, you’ve been quiet. Closed off. Aloof. Shy. Saying just enough to keep a tête-à-tête flowing but not enough to reveal anything deeper or private about yourself.

The thing is, what you don’t reveal in words, you reveal with your actions.

He’s the director of the Global Defence Agency. When you’ve held a position like this for over twenty years you tend to pick up on little behaviours and ticks that other people would gloss over.

Like how your eyes would always flicker around the room when in discussion with him, not once meeting his blue ones. How you steal glances at him when you think he and nobody else is looking. How you’d hurriedly fix your hair and brush off imaginary dust from your clothes when he appeared in front of you. How the rise and falls of your chest would quicken when he was in any sort of physical proximity to you.

Tiny things like that, invisible to others, were clear as day to him.

At first, Cecil was convinced that you simply did not like him.

This wasn’t new or even unusual. He’s the boss. He makes the rules. He’s tough on his employees and the heroes. In his position, such traits were essential for success. So, of course they wouldn’t like him. Of course you wouldn’t like him.

But something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this assumption was wrong. That he’s missing something. That you’re hiding something.

It’s not a surprise that he doesn’t trust you right away from these behaviours alone. It’s suspicious. You’re suspicious. Even if you’re accepted by the other heroes, to him you’re suspicious.

And after everything that has happened, Cecil won’t allow himself to be folded again.

He just prays that those cameras he told his men to install in your apartment pick up something good.

*

It all comes to light after a mission well done.

Cecil’s kept tabs on you.

And all in all, you don’t seem like a threat. You live a normal, average life. Running day to day errands, going to cafés to try new pastries, going to the gym, hanging out with your friends (of which he has also investigated), hell, even volunteering on your free days.

He doesn’t know if you’re actually safe or he just wants to believe that you are.

But with all the proof in front of him, you are no threat. That doesn't mean he’ll take his chances.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing are more common than one thinks.

Of course, the camera feed is for his eyes and his alone. He doesn’t want any of the creeps who he’s heard say, quite frankly, downright deviant things about you. Though, those cameras were admittedly overkill - his people who were tailing you and recording your every move was more than enough. But as he said, he’ll never risk it again.

Today was a good day.

The threat is taken down in record time, mostly thanks to you, a fact that Cecil makes sure to throw in your face.

Your reaction is a small, embarrassed smile, a glance down at your feet and the claim that, “it was just good teamwork”.

How humble. So damn perfect all the time.

It’s just him in the main monitor room now, watching you getting ready for bed, all the other workers having left hours ago to enjoy an actual life. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time.

Cecil sighs. He peels off his suit jacket.

You’re going through your night routine now; a shower, brushing your teeth, washing your face, what he thinks is yoga.

Active outside of superhero duties too. Other heroes could learn from you.

After watching you for a few weeks, he’s come to find this routine of yours therapeutic. Comforting almost. With all the uncertainty, the debilitating stress, the constant threat of danger pointing arrows at his head, the swirling paranoia and distrust that curls around his heart like poisonous vines, you remain stable in his chaotic life - a promise that some things never change.

He likes that.

Cecil looks away when you unwrap your towel from your body and dress into your pyjamas. It’s silly since he's already violated your privacy in ways that would get the average person thrown in jail, but he looks away anyway. He’s already done something terrible. He can be good, even if it’s just a small amount.

It takes no time for you to switch off the lights and curl up into your bed, snuggling underneath your sheets. At times like this, Cecil misses sleep.

For a while you scroll on your phone. Cecil rests on his back, lying his face on his palm as he observes you. God, the way people are just able to scroll on a small device for so long amazes him sometimes.

You spend a grand total of an hour and half doing that. Heroes these days.

He watches as you place your phone on your bedside table and stare up at the ceiling.

You get like that occasionally, Cecil’s noticed. At times, you’ll just be lost in your own mind, your daydreams, looking up to the sky and imagining all types of things. You speak to yourself too. A creep of guilt bloats up in his stomach. How can someone like him feel guilty about something as trivial as this? There are acts he’s committed far worse than this. Unspeakable acts. Things that he couldn’t even admit to a demon from hell.

But spying on some new, baby-hero is what makes him feel like shit. Great.

Cecil drags his hand down his face. A small throbbing ebbs in between his eyes.

Then he hears something from your bedroom feed. A moan.

He sits up immediately.

Are you hurt? Injured from the mission? You listen but he doesn’t think it’s beyond you to not seek medical treatment out of pride. Especially considering how you act around him.

Cecil looks up at the monitor.

You’re not in pain. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

When he was watching you just minutes ago, you were under the covers and seemingly getting ready to go to sleep.

Now? You’re not sleeping in the slightest.

Instead, your night pants have been thrown on your bedroom floor and you’re straddling one of your pillows, rolling your hips languidly.

…What?

What?

Yes, he’s put cameras all over your living space. Yes, he’s had people follow you wherever you go. Yes, he knows you have a life and you have your needs like everybody else in the world, hero or not. But this? Cecil’s never seen you do…this in all the weeks he’s been keeping an eye on you.

As if he didn’t feel bad for violating your privacy already. This goes far beyond digging for information about you, far beyond what is necessary.

This is just pure perversion.

So why can’t he stop watching? Why are his eyes glued to the way you grind your hips into the pillow? Why can’t he look away from the shirt trapped in between your teeth and the nimble fingers that play with your nipples?

He should stop.

Your gasps crescendo. One hand leaves your chest to grip onto your bedsheets. It seems like you’re close.

He should stop.

Cecil snaps out of his trance.

What is he doing? Spying - no, perving - on a hero, a new hero at that, one who is under his authority and guidance, one who looks up to him for help and stability in this job. What he’s doing is disgusting, it’s vile. If anyone were to find out about his actions, he would never be viewed the same way again, his reputation in fluttering tatters.

And yet.

“Cecil.”

That one sigh that flows from your mouth is a good enough encouragement for Cecil to throw away any sense he had left.

Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have? Those looks, glances, those lip bites - you’re attracted to him?

Now, Cecil isn’t blind. You’re beautiful, truly. You’re kind, sweet, eager and your almost skintight suit leaves little to the imagination - don’t look at him like that, he’s heard other people say the same things he has and worse.

To think those feelings are reciprocated? To an extent, at least? Shock doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cecil’s nothing special to look at. Even worse to know. He thought those days were behind him - times of people being attracted to him, wanting to be with him.

He stands corrected.

“Ah, fuck it.” He grunts out as he undoes the buckle of his belt.

Not like he has anything to lose.

He tugs his slacks and boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. The show you’ve put on had already made him taut and aching in his pants.

He spits in his palm and lets out a staggered moan when his hand meets his warm, hard dick. It’s been a while. He doesn’t usually get a chance to do this often.

Cecil’s gaze flickers to the screen again.

There you are, still riding away - now both hands are on the mattress to stable yourself for leverage as you hump your own pillow.

Heat prickles in Cecil’s lower stomach.

It’s so…primal. Savage. The desperation and desire of your movements are so unlike you, so unlike how you present yourself to the rest of the world.

For a moment, he wonders how your hero friends would react if they knew you wanted to fuck the boss they all hated so much.

He winds his hand up and down his cock and gulps. Damn, this feels good. He forgot what he’s been missing out on.

Cecil can’t bring himself to look away from you for a second. If he thought you were beautiful in your suit and casual clothes, you’re stunning now, wearing only a night shirt and shorts as you fuck yourself to completion. Cecil doesn’t even think you’re wearing any underwear. His eyes roll back into his head at the thought.

He’s not lasting long.

“Cecil, please…”

Begging, too? You want him dead. He wishes you were like this with him in person and not so damn reserved.

He grumbles and speeds up his hand, trying to match the pace you’re going at - a fast, untamed one, borderline wild and animalistic.

“Cecil, please. Please, please, I wanna cum…”

Is this why you’re so shy around him? So tense and astute? You’re such a good, little hero. His hero. It’s no wonder that you act the way you do. You just need someone to help you let off some steam, you just need someone to take the edge off for you, someone who knows how to. You need him to take care of you.

All you had to do was ask.

Cecil’s hand is a blur over his cock. You’re obscene. Squeaks can be heard over the feed, squeaks and creaks from your bed, whining under the ferocity of your movements. God, you really need this.

“Cecil…Cecil, ‘m so close.”

“Fuck, yes.” Cecil loses himself in your pleading, your cries, your moans, your whimpers - they’re his redemption. “Fuck, yes. Cum for me. Go on, let go. Fuck, you deserve it.”

Like you can hear him, feel him, you do let go. Your hips stutter, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you find release on the pillow, rotating your hips through what appears to be an oppressive, shattering high. Small breaths escape you as it makes its way through your trembling body, battering you down to the bone.

And then you moan out his name, a soft, satisfied thing, your expression one of complete and utter bliss and that alone sends him over the edge.

He jerks himself quickly with more want than he wants to admit. Cecil’s hips follow his hands for a second. He grunts, thumbs his tip and cums. He groans, gripping the underside of his seat as he does, baring his teeth. His voice echoes through the room but he doesn’t care, not when you’re still faintly moaning his name as you fall from your heaven. His cum oozes out of him, squeezed out by his hand and seeps shamelessly onto the floor.

Yeah, he’ll clean that later.

“Fuck.”

His legs tremble. He looks at the mess in his hands and on the floor. Then back at you again.

You’re lying on your bed, out of breath, sweaty and content. Cecil wishes he was next to you, wishes he could wipe you down and clean you up, talk you through it and calm you over.

Maybe one day.

For now, he switches off the monitor. He stares at the black screen. Stares at himself

“Shit.” He curses, resting back into this chair. “I’m so fucked.”

*

a/n: i need him pregnant

[misctf]

I love your VR drone tf so much. Being transformed and controled by the hive mind is just so hot!

A sequel to Careful with VR (hypnosis, muscle growth). Glad you liked it! I have a few asks to still get through, but slowly working on them!

“I ain’t gay.” Joey whispers to himself, “Jus’ curious.” He continues, staring closely at the VR headset, “Fuckin’ Derek.” He grumbles, his words garnished with his typical southern accent, “Nobody’ll find out.” He reassures himself.

He was taken aback when Derek came out as gay. In hindsight, there were signs. Even Joey couldn’t help but admit that his buddy was attractive- he should’ve had no issues hooking up with some sorority bimbo at all the frat mixers. But he always brushed them off, never really trying with women.

“You better not be pullin’ my leg.” He thinks, placing the wrist and ankle cuffs on, “Gosh darn, this feels gay already.” Joey holds up what looks like a waist-trainer and chuckles, “Paid all this for Hive X and this is the best they got.”

It was only a few days prior when his buddy came out and Joey couldn’t seem to comprehend it. He berated him with questions, “are you sure?” and “why would you fuck around with men? Haven’t you ever squeezed a pair of tits?” And they kept coming. Derek was never the type to get angry, but Joey could tell his questioning was bothering him.

“Trust me,” Derek finally said, “men are 1000 times better at sucking dick than chicks. And don’t even get me started on the male G spot.”

Joey couldn’t believe that- the very thought of letting some guy wrap his mouth around his dick... it felt wrong. He didn’t even want to get started on anal. But as he sat in his room, thinking more on Derek’s words, he grew more curious. Derek wasn’t gonna suck him off, and the idea of letting some actual guy in real life do it felt wrong. But it kept nagging at him.

“Can’t believe they got it here so quick.” Joey picked up the headset, “Only two hours after I ordered it. Talk about efficiency.”

If he felt put off by the real deal, he figured a VR experience would suffice. Besides, once he proved it to himself, he’d know Derek was full of shit. And with a smirk, he entered the world of Hive X. It was strange- Joey realized that the cold air of his apartment no longer bothered him. Instead, he was greeted by the warmth of a fireplace.  

“Oh god.” He quickly went to cover his junk, realizing he was naked, “Seriously?” He looked around and sighed, “Guess ain’t nobody around, besides...” He let his arms rest at his sides, “Sure they’ll appreciate the show.”

He wandered down a lengthy hallway, walking past various numbered rooms. There was no indication of anything that went on behind those doors- he was just glad he hadn’t bumped into anyone yet.

“Welcome to Hive X.” Joey jumped and turned to see a normal looking, fully dressed man standing behind him, “You appear lost. I am NPC 202. I am programmed to assist guests find their desired location.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for anything special.” Joey replied, “Just gotta prove to my gay friend that men don’t know how to treat another man right.” NPC 202 cocked his head, “Jesus, I’m sayin’ gays...”

“On assessment of user preferences and subconscious, I’ve determined your ideal experience and NPC.” NPC 202 replied, “Please follow me to room 506.”

“Subconscious?” Joey raised an eyebrow, “And what...” But the NPC was already walking off, “Ain’t nothin’ in my subconscious” He reassured himself, before following behind his guide.

“Please enjoy.” NPC 202 says, standing outside room 506.  

Joey nods, his heart pounding in his chest. Was he really about to do this? Was he really going to let some guy suck him off? He could feel his dick getting hard at the thought, part of him feeling ashamed at his response. But with a heavy sigh, he entered the room. He nearly jumped when the door closed behind him, but he tried to keep his cool. The room was nothing special- it looked like a typical hotel room. But then he heard it- the lumbering footsteps.

“So you’re the guy.” Joey’s eyes widened when the NPC made its appearance, “I’m NPC 719.”

Its voice was gruff and commanding. It was taller than Joey, and far bulkier. A mat of body hair covered its chest and abdomen- its beard framing its face. Its eyes were dull, drinking in the sight of the leaner, toned man in front of it.

“You don’t think a man can make another man cum, right?” It approached Joey, and Joey could only stare, “You wanted to prove that to your friend, right?”

“Yessir.” Joey whispered as NPC 719 pressed him against the door, its musk invading Joey’s nostrils, his dick now stirring even more, growing harder.

“You’re in the right place.”

It happened quickly- the man picked Joey up and threw him onto the bed. Joey’s eyes widened as the NPC’s mouth wrapped around his cock. It was aggressive, and Joey couldn’t help but moan as his dick throbbed with pleasure. Joey’s mind was in shambles- he never... he never felt this good. There was no comparison. The sensation around his dick was so intense, his eyes rolling back in his head. And this went on and on... and on some more.

“Pl-please...” Joey gasped, his balls aching, “I need to...”

“This NPC and room are designed for edging only.” NPC 719’s voice was monotone now, “This was determined to meet your needs.”

“But I....” Joey couldn’t finish- another moan escaped his lips as NPC 719 continued to suck him off.

And in the intensity of his pleasure, Joey could feel his legs being pushed up over his head. His eyes widened as he watched NPC 719 line its massive cock up with his virgin hole. Part of him wanted to say no. To resist. But another part of him... another part of him wanted this. He wanted to feel what Derek meant by the male G spot...

“Oh fuck....” He gasped as NPC 719 entered him, its hips rhythmically moving, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him, “Oh god... fuck... please...” He never felt this way- this stimulated. Yet he couldn’t cum. His balls ached bad now, his cock throbbing desperately.

“Conclude experience or initiate NPC trial period.” NPC 719 said, while still pounding Joey’s ass, “This will allow user to experience climax and additional unlimited NPC sessions.”   

Joey could barely process the words or understand what they meant. But he did know that it sounded like whatever this trial period was would let him finally release. He needed this. He needed to feel release. Fuck it- didn’t matter if Derek was right...

“Trial period.... oh god please....” He moaned.

NPC 719 stopped and Joey looked up at it with needy, desperate eyes. Before he could ask why it stopped, he felt a searing pain in his arms and legs. He grabbed at them to no avail, writhing as his body was slowly digitized. But what scared him even more was the apparent changes. As the digitization process moved along his arms, he watched as they lost their muscle- becoming slender and more feminine. His abs becoming smooth, his pecs deflating.

“No please... I didn’t!” He grabbed at his neck- his voice. Gone was his southern twang- his voice higher, desperate, and slutty, “Oh god I don’t....”

He moaned again as pain exploded from his backside as his ass expanded- inflating into an irresistible bubble butt- perfect for squeezing and fucking. NPC 719 grabbed a fistful of his new ass and grins, watching as his body hair and facial hair vanish- Joey’s face and lips shifting into that of a pouty, desperate slut.

“Initiating directives.”

Joey’s jaw goes slack and eyes dim as the mainframe connects to his mind. Memories are sifted through and repressed. His repressed homosexual desires unleashed. His pleasure receptors enhanced to mind numbing degrees. Joey can feel his name vanish from his mind, replaced with his new designation- NPC 904. His directives clear. His ass was to be used by visitors to Hive X. He would serve them obediently and in doing so would be allowed to cum. Any sense of resistance or fear being overcome by devout obedience and pride in his servitude.

“I am NPC 904.” It said, “Serving is pleasure. Being used is pleasure. I am loyal to the Hive.” It continued.

NPC 719 watched as NPC 904 was led away, a wave of pleasure from the Hive rewarding NPC 719 for a successful acquisition. Meanwhile, NPC 904 was led into its new room, the warm water from the shower caressing its sensitive body. It grew familiar with itself, squeezing its juicy ass, teasing a sensitive nipple. It couldn’t wait to meet the first guy who entered. And luckily for NPC 904, it wouldn’t be waiting too long.

[darkmatilda]

the executioner

a little insight into the creative process, some encouragement, and a way to apologize for not posting anything <33

glasses s 2!spencer reid x podcast host female! reader

“We’ve worked cases where the murders were carried out execution-style before,” Hotch pointed out. “In those situations, the offender believes the victims are somehow guilty morally or socially and that's his duty to deliver justice. The use of electricity as a murder weapon is what sets this one apart. We need to go there and—”

“JJ, JJ, JJ my sweet girl, did you mention the podcast like I asked?” Penelope’s voice suddenly came from the laptop, usually silent or absent when it came to discussing the gruesome details of a case. The woman inhaled sharply, realizing she had interrupted Hotch’s sentence. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Garcia, I’m not sure—” JJ began.

“What podcast?” Spencer asked.

That question seemed to seal something, caused silence to fall over the room, and focused everyone’s attention on the two of them, the ones who knew something the rest didn’t. And something JJ didn’t seem particularly eager to share.

“Wonderful that you ask,” Garcia replied enthusiastically, her tone taking on that same excited note as when she talked about her favorite game. She caught herself slightly, just enough to underline that she was now speaking with seriousness and conviction. “So, my favorite true crime podcast…”

“Wait, wait,” Morgan cut in with a slow, halting motion of his hand. “Sorry to interrupt you, but tell me, babygirl, since when do you listen to true crime podcasts?”

“Oh, you’d have to listen to this one to understand! It’s not that typical i’m a man with a deep voice and I’ll lower it even more while adding door creaking sounds in the background so you’ll pee your pants listening to it at night kind of podcast,” Penelope, of course, demonstrated exactly what she meant.

Spencer glanced at Gideon’s face when she did that. He noticed Elle did the same.

“It’s called Rotten Cherry.This girl is so fun and she adds tons of her own commentary while still being respectful toward the victims and, well, significantly less toward the murderers but that’s not the point, I’m not giving her free promotion right now…actually, no, I am! Because guys, she lives in the town where this is happening, so she’s there, reporting on everything, talking to the locals…”

“Garcia, you’re seriously suggesting we use some amateur podcast as our source of information?” Spencer asked skeptically, absolutely not believing it could be useful to them in any way. No matter how fun that girl was.

“She’s not recording some kind of bullshit, she actually takes this seriously and professionally! And not as a main source of information, just something worth checking out. You know how small communities work. Nobody wants to talk, especially not to outsiders. But she actually managed to talk to one of the victim’s sisters, she’s working hard to gather information about them and, you know, honor them in some way and that really could be helpful. I mean, you always look into the victims’ histories and families anyway, trying to get to the unsub,” Penelope explained in a defensive tone.

A moment of silence fell, during which Spencer’s eyebrows remained doubtfully raised.

Until he felt Hotch’s sharp gaze fixed on him from across the table.

He understood what it meant almost instantly, and was already opening his mouth to protest — but got cut off.

“Reid, you’ll listen to it and let us know if there’s anything useful for the investigation. In the meantime, we’ll meet on the jet in fifteen minutes. That’s all.”

As everyone got up to leave the room, Spencer stayed behind for a brief moment, sighing with his eyes closed. He could go through hundreds of pages of case files four times faster than the rest of the team, and it wasn’t nearly as exhausting for him — but listening? And not even dry facts, but information gathered by someone else, presented in a humorous way on top of that?

Hell no.

With that approach, Spencer set about what he considered a sisyphean task, already on board the jet. Because he couldn’t refuse just because he had a feeling it wouldn’t lead them anywhere. He hoped someone would offer to take on the task instead of him, but after they saw his reluctance, their sadistic tendencies toward him kicked in and no one made him such an offer.

Away from the rest, without enthusiasm, he put the headphones on. Garcia had sent him a link to episodes related to the case they had just started working on; unlike others discussing, for example, killers like Jeffrey Dahmer, these focused on local murders and were short, somewhat like brief news updates. Apparently, the host girl posted many of her thoughts on the matter on a blog closely tied to the podcast, but he decided to check that out later.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, guys,” the podcast began in a clear, pure female voice. Spencer immediately liked her flawless diction but was a bit surprised by how she started the episode with no introduction or greeting.

“But in today’s episode, we’re heading to a picturesque place in northern Vermont where the church is right across from McDonald’s, in case the guilt after your seventh burger this week pushes you all the way to the confessional and the most exciting event of the summer season is a festival with a contest for the best apple pie. Let’s not forget that everyone here knows not only you, your family up to five generations back, and your kindergarten friend, but also knows what you’re going to do even before you think about it yourself. And don’t even get me started on how fast rumors spread. Welcome to Fairview, the town I had the pleasure—or not—to be born in and suffer in, I mean, be raised in for over twenty years. And where a murder happened. Oh, I feel guilty now for all those times I prayed for something interesting to happen here, obviously, I didn’t mean that…”

[sortagaysortahigh]

Nobody Gets Me | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyyy sexies...so don't be mad but I'm in my angst bag, this is giving Hurt/no comfort and I'm not sorry! I've been in my emo era so EVERYONE SHOULD SUFFER TOO!!! ugh anyways, i might do a pt 2 with a happy ending eventually, but I present: Divorced exes to something hopeful?? HURT!! WOOO HOO! Also, I did give Joaquin a sister for this universe specifically (hopefully i continue it </3) Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing this and apologize to her for not having a happy ending <3

Summary: Getting married young had it's risks, unfortunately for you and Joaquin, that marriage didn't work out, it's been years since you've been in contact, so why do your hearts still ache?

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort NO HAPPY ENDING!, OOC joaquin (he's mean, jealous, exhausted fr), the Blip </3, john walker jump scare!, SAM BUCKY SUPREMACY!, heartbreak, angst, failed relationships, divorce, mentions of joaquin's accident, spelling and grammar errors (we all know who I am atp), a lot of crying, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of sex (no smut/sex depicted). dual perspectives? switching b/w joaquin and reader??? idk im sorry if its all over the place

Word Count: 10.4k (of sadness)

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader (THEY'RE DIVORCED GOD DAMNIT! Reader also has long-ish hair/hair long enough to braid with 2 white stripes by her ears (this holds a future plot purpose </3)

Joaquin baby I'm so sorry for the angst i put you thru in this but maybe next time, do better! </3

Joaquin Torres is amazing at his job, he easily worked his way up in rank during his time in the Air Force, as a Lieutenant he met Sam Wilson, who he would eventually work very closely with and even consider family. It was a no-brainer when Joaquin had become a Captain, and while working side-by-side with Captain America, he was also able to take on the mantle of the Falcon.

He poured his all into his job, and from the outside looking in, he loved every second of every day. Joaquin was always positive, always putting on a happy face, always committed to making sure everything was going smoothly and that everyone was alright at all times. 

He truly was a hero in every sense of the word—at least to the public.

After his accident in the Indian Ocean near Celestial Island, he’d spent months in physical therapy and rehab, pushing himself past his limits, working harder and harder with the end-goal of getting back into the sky. 

It was accomplished after one year and three months.

One year of long days and even longer nights. A year and three months of being on the ground and being reminded of everything he’d swallowed down, all of the pain, all of the hurt, he did his best to ignore the ache and emptiness in his heart. But when he couldn’t drown himself in work and distract himself with the literal thrill of the skies, all of that bottled up emotion was bound to overflow.

That’s also around the time that he resorted to one night stands. He’d always hated one night stands, not because he didn’t enjoy the sex, but because sex without a genuine emotional connection was never enough for him. If anything, the random hookups had him spiralling even more.

His physical therapist had also told him several times that he shouldn’t have been partaking in any ‘strenuous activity’ which happened to include sex—or at least the kind of frustration fueled sex he was having.

She’d eventually referred him to an actual therapist, who he avoided like the plague, purposefully missing meetings every other week to force the therapist to schedule him bi-weekly. Opening up to a complete stranger was hard enough, but having to provide a co-pay to be questioned about his lackluster decision making and emotional trauma was a lot on him. 

Especially after the incident in the ocean.

The therapist had recommended he spend more time with his friends, which he did for a while, and it worked the first few months. Catching up with friends on and off base, but traveling back home to Miami was what had sent him into a downward spiral in the fourth month of his recovery.

Joaquin Torres has always been a family man, he spent his childhood telling his abuela about how excited he was to grow up one day, get a beautiful wife, and have his own little family. As a teenager, he admittedly did have two pregnancy scares with his then girlfriends, except each time he was fully committed to being a father, even at sixteen. 

He didn’t exactly love his exes, but he loved the idea of being a father, and he knew that one day, he would be. At seventeen Joaquin had only hoped he’d be married and not screwing anything on legs before having a kid.

The day he’d flown back to Miami he expected his sister to pick him up from the airport. It wasn’t a shock to see Ximena there, clearly on the phone with someone, however when he heard his ex-wife’s name slip past her lips, he was overcome with a sense of nausea that he hadn’t felt since the day in court when his divorce had been finalized.

Joaquin Torres hated telling people that he was divorced, being a divorcee at the age of twenty-nine wasn’t exactly the biggest green flag in the world. Nor was it something he was proud of. It’d been three years since the divorce was finalized, three years that he’d been drowning himself in work and a faux sense of positivity to ignore the rage and hurt he felt deep down.

She’d muttered a series of apologies for being there, stating that her husband couldn’t make it, before mumbling some excuse to Joaquin while simultaneously hanging up the phone.

He couldn’t be mad at his sister, not for having a best friend, even if that best friend was his ex-wife.

You and Ximena Torres met in the fourth grade, quickly bonding over a shared love of seashells. That bond quickly spiraled into running around the playground hand-in-hand while scaring the fifth grade boys—one of which being her older brother Joaquin.

The two of you hadn’t gotten along until your sophomore year of high school, when your then-boyfriend cheated on you and left you sobbing under the bleachers as if it was the end of the world. (To your fifteen year old self, it was the end of the world). Ximena was comforting you, and eventually, she managed to convince Joaquin and his friends to ‘go scare��� your ex-boyfriend and the group of guys he hung around with.

Joaquin was on the soccer team at that point, and he also knew several of the football players as they all did winter track and field together, so the fist fight that broke out two days later was a no-brainer.

The day you’d stormed into his house, quickly greeting his Abuela before rushing up to his room, slamming the door open and kicking his then-girlfriend out before cursing him out for thirty minutes while ranting about how ‘wildly wrong’ it was to ‘organize a fucking royal rumble’—your words not his—had marked the beginning of your friendship.

That friendship would later develop into something else when you complained about lacking a date to your senior prom. He’d been home from bootcamp and had a month before getting deployed overseas, so he simply shrugged and said he would take you.

Prom night Joaquin had taken your virginity, or rather, you’d given it to him on a silver platter.

From there, things just flowed naturally. He’d taken you on a few dates the month before deployment. During his first eight month deployment you’d written to him constantly, and those letters, plus photos, and occasional phone calls, gave him something to look forward to when he got back home.

He left for deployment in June, then came back in January of the following year. He was actually stationed in Florida, closer to Florida State University where you went to college. Although he hated FSU on the principle that he would always be a Miami fan, he had no issue in visiting you on campus. The both of you were casual for the latter half of your freshman year.

Then that summer he asked you to be his girlfriend, ‘in the official sense’—his exact words being ‘well, we’re always together, and I really like you, and you really like me, so will you be my girlfriend in the official sense because you’re already my non-official girlfriend’.

At that point he was twenty and you were around nineteen. The both of you dated consistently for two years before he proposed to you the week before Christmas on the beach. You’d obviously said yes, squealing in excitement as he slid the ring on your left finger.

The wedding happened four months later, it wasn’t anything major, something small on a private beach, but at the time, in 2016, it was the best day of both of your lives. 

The following two years were amazing, at least until the Blip happened and Thanos had managed to snap half of the universe’s population away. Joaquin was lucky that he and his wife hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the Earth. But life got harder much faster than expected.

Work was difficult, the sense of impending doom never really disappeared, not when dread was so common amongst global leaders. There were a few positives of the Blip—well, positives if you ignore the long lasting repercussions after the Avengers had reversed the Blip. Homelessness had found some sense of a ‘cure’, politicians using the available resources to make themselves look better, and to finally do something about the hundreds of thousands of people living on the streets and starving worldwide.

The first year of the Blip, things weren’t horrible. Not between you and Joaquin, or on a global scale. The sudden surge of resources did have some positive outcomes, however, the resources also led to a growth in greed. The greed led to a downward spiral on a global scale.

Sure, the global economy might’ve been great from a corporation-based standpoint, but day-to-day life for regular people wasn't.

Job hours got longer, the price of items did increase, inflation was actually an unpredicted issue for a lot of nations, then of course was the need to expand and grow militaries to account for the loss in actual soldiers and enlistments. That directly impacted you and Joaquin, to the point that you had to uproot your life in Florida and move to the West Coast.

Prior to the Blip, Joaquin had been deployed two additional times, one before you were married for six months, and a second for eight months the year after you’d gotten married. Both deployments were overseas, and each time he’d come home, he wouldn’t leave your side for days. 

Following the Blip, Joaquin was never home, or never at the house that you’d purchased off base in California. It wasn’t a bad house per-say, it just wasn’t home. It lacked any real warmth, and it felt like it was draining you. It was difficult to find work as a journalist and publicist, not because there wasn’t anything to be done, but because you freelanced, and during the Blip, major news outlets and magazines weren’t looking for freelance writers.

That also led you to working on base, which should’ve brought you and Joaquin closer together, but it did the exact opposite. Especially when he’d see other Lieutenants flirting with the ‘pretty new media relations’ girl, you usually smiled and laughed it off, doing your best to keep your job.

However, Joaquin Torres was the jealous type, and when you’d both get in fights at home about it, he’d constantly say that you were flirting, that you were feeding into it, as if you had asked for men to flirt with you during your day job.

His job was beyond stressful, which also led to him always being irritable, that combined with the grief that both of you were feeling over the loss of family and friends following the snap. 

You and him both were shells of who you once were before the Blip.

The blip had lasted five years, your marriage was over by the third. It wasn’t until the Blip was reversed that you’d both finished fighting one another in court.

Prior to that, you’d been sleeping in different rooms, and acted more like roommates that tolerated one another rather than husband and wife.

Once the divorce was finalized, Joaquin stayed in California while you went home to Miami. He hadn’t heard from you since, and he had no idea where you actually had been, considering you were never big on social media, and now it was like you were nothing but a ghost from his past.

He did his best to ignore the nausea in his stomach after hearing your name, it wasn’t just your first name, no it was your full name, as if you’d said something so outrageous that Ximena was yelling at you over the phone while laughing.

Joaquin knew you were still friends with his sister. He’d never hold that against you, but it did hurt.

During his time in Miami, he did his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts, telling him to call you, or to reach out to your family, or to figure out where the hell you’d actually gone, or who you were now. It’d been three years, three years since he’d seen you, three years since he’d heard your real actual voice, not just the recordings and videos on his phone and laptop.

With his skillset, he knew he could’ve found you, but you didn’t want to be found, that much was clear to him.

Whenever people would ask about you, he’d just laugh it off, shrug, and force a smile. He was so used to being positive all the time that he easily slipped into that persona, most people had never seen him irritated, and he liked it that way. 

Then he ran into your mother at the grocery store, she pulled him into a hug with a wide smile and started talking his ear off, asking how he was, congratulating him on becoming a ‘real superhero!’, then she’d gone on a tangent about you. That’s how he found out you were in Washington D.C. working directly under James Buchanan Barnes.

The same James Buchanan Barnes that Sam Wilson was best friends with, and the same person that he’d assisted in taking down the Flagsmashers. He’d seen Bucky several times over the past few years, and never, not once, did he see you.

So he knew you were avoiding him. It wasn’t just a weird sense of paranoia, no, Joaquin knew you. He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew the best parts of you and the worst, and he was absolutely positively sure that you’d been avoiding him.

He also knew that both Sam and Bucky most likely had no knowledge of you being his ex-wife, or even of Joaquin himself being married at one point. It was more likely than Bucky knew, mostly because getting the level of security clearances needed to work for a Congressman required several in-depth background checks.

Joaquin feigned happiness as your mother spoke to him, and as soon as he could, he got the hell out of there.

Slowly, but surely, his composure cracked. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy anymore with nothing but optimism. The thread of pessimism within him was unraveling, and he found himself slipping into a never-ending anger.

He used that anger to push through the next few months of his recovery once he was back in Washington. He went on a strict diet, stuck to his training plans, and started pushing himself even more, striving to go back to being the Falcon, to find some sense of purpose, and something to drown himself in.

The only vice he truly had was the lackluster one night stands. It was never enjoyable, but he needed to let off some steam, so he’d go to some of the bars in D.C., flirt a little bit, and go back to someone’s place with them, slipping out in the early hours of the morning without a word. It worked for him, or at least, he told himself it worked for him. 

He also told himself he wasn’t going for women that reminded him of you—which was a definitive lie.

Eventually, once he was back in the sky, back running drills, back working on his flips, kicks, and spins he stopped with the unhealthy coping habits. He’d even gotten a new suit from the Wakandans, a gift from M’baku himself after Sam had told him about Joaquin’s accident. The suit was carbon black, had some green detailing, and it was constructed from vibranium, the same vibranium that absorbed kinetic energy and released it.

Joaquin had never felt more unstoppable with the mantle and new suit.

But with the whole ‘New Avengers’ fiasco occurring in New York, Sam had been stressed, and he’d been doing his best to work with Bucky, trying to find some kind of work-around to the ever-present legal issues associated with there being two Avengers groups.

When he got the call that they were headed to the renovated Avengers compound in Manhattan, part of him was excited to finally see the place, but the other part of him was dreading the possibility of seeing his ex-wife. He didn’t know if she still worked for Bucky, and he never bothered to ask, he hadn’t even brought it up again after speaking with your mother.

He was tense on the flight to New York, and when Sam tried to pry it out of him, he lied about having a stomach bug.

By the time that Joaquin and Sam had arrived at the tower, it was nearly seven and the sun was setting. Admittedly, the place was nice, a bit too modern for him, but nice either way. 

He followed Sam’s lead, mostly because he had no idea how to navigate the tower and getting lost wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do. But the second the elevator doors opened, he heard your laughter, a series of loud, high pitched, wheezy laughs and giggles that he’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago.

Sam’s brows knit together as he looked at Joaquin, then he looked around the elevator and into the large common space. “You alright kid?” 

Joaquin blinked a few times, nodding his head, snapping out of his daze as he looked at Sam. “Uh-uh yeah sorry, I just, zoned out—nothing to worry about. Anyways, where's Bucky?” he was talking too fast, the composure he’d worked so hard on building up easily crumbled. Then he heard your laugh again followed by ‘Wait! Stop—put me down Parker!’. 

He must’ve been on fire, that would explain the heat raging throughout his body.

Sam shrugged him off, motioning for Joaquin to follow him as he made his way towards the commotion, Bucky easily spotting them, standing from his front row seat to your ‘fight’ with Peter. 

Joaquin quickly followed, jaw clenched as he finally spotted you. You looked so different while also looking just like yourself. Your hair was longer now, pulled into two thick braids trailing from the top of your head, down your back. It also had two large white streaks near your ears, which was different—but then again, Joaquin had been shaving his face religiously because the thought of your compliments on it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He noticed the way you smiled, wide and full of life. A look he hadn’t seen in so long, a look he missed desperately, every single day.

When Peter Parker finally put you down, you laughed again, shaking your head as you sat up, still not noticing Joaquin’s presence. But Joaquin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It was clear that you’d been much happier and healthier, having put on some weight—but it wasn’t bad—the opposite really.

The last time he’d seen you, you were stressed, exhausted, and that reflected in your features and body. You’d never been super skinny, and he loved that about you—at one point he loved everything about you—but the years leading to your divorce, you’d dropped weight at an unhealthy pace from the long days and even longer nights. 

His eyes traced your entire figure from top to bottom, noticing the small things you’d changed as well. The few new tattoos and piercings stuck out to him, the small gold rings on both sides of your nostrils, and the alligator tattoo on your leg were very apparent. Joaquin also tried to ignore the faded Air Force t-shirt you had on, it was clearly his, and he remembered the shirt well.

Then you finally turned and noticed him. Eyes widening at the sight of Joaquin, and he kept his eyes on you the entire time.

Everyone seemed to notice the shift in the room, well everyone except for Sam and Bucky who were too busy talking amongst one another about a few legal documents, and Sam throwing in several of his typical ‘anti-government’ remarks.

It was as if time was frozen.

You blinked a few times, eyes on Joaquin—your Joaquin. 

The same man that you’d loved and hated at one point in your life, you weren’t even sure how you’d felt about him now, but you did know one thing, you had done your very best to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you knew one day it would probably bite you in the ass, but you hoped that was years from now.

Then again, you knew there was a risk when you’d taken the job as Bucky Barnes’s media relations secretary. This was your wheelhouse, you specialized in media relations and journalism, you would’ve been a complete idiot to decline the job.

But now, it was as if karma was coming to kick your ass.

You stared at him, unmoving as you processed seeing him again for the first time in almost four years. He looked different, more mature in a way that you hadn’t expected. He still had that boy-ish charm, but he looked older, stronger, and sturdier.

He still shaved his face, something you always told him to stop doing. Constantly telling him he looked good with facial hair, making sly comments and innuendos in public, giggling whenever he’d pull you into him, burying his face into your shoulder, covering any inch of exposed skin in gentle kisses as you laughed trying to shove him away.

But now he had a very visible burn scar along the right side of his neck, clearly stretching to his shoulder. You knew about his accident, and you’d been traveling with Bucky during that time, having sat in the waiting room while he spoke with Sam. 

Part of you wanted to see him, desperately, but you couldn’t do it.

Bucky had asked you several times, stating that he ‘just wanted to make sure’, but each time you politely declined, shaking your head.

The Joaquin you were seeing now wasn’t your Joaquin, not anymore at least.

You knew something was off about him, his eyes weren’t as bright anymore. Then again, neither were yours. Heartbreak and grief had the tendency to suck the joy out of things.

“You alright Lightning?” you blinked a few times, registering Peter’s voice, nodding your head as you finally glanced back at him, then after clearing your throat, you gave everyone an awkward smile before muttering some half-assed excuses and making a beeline out of the room, towards the other set of doors, far from Joaquin.

He watched you leave, scoffing while shaking his head.

Everyone made their introductions, but Joaquin didn’t have it in him to keep up his faux positivity, giving everyone tight lipped smiles and head nods. Mentioning his name and rank a few times, forcing a laugh when Sam made a joke about being the ‘Falcon’. When Peter tried to talk to him about the mechanics of the new Falcon suit, Joaquin brushed him off.

Sure you two weren’t together anymore, but he had every right to be jealous. Even if Joaquin was just your ex-husband. Peter had a nickname for you! That was enough to piss Joaquin off and make him dislike the kid.

When John Walker tried to question the entire interaction prior to the introductions, Bucky shushed him, giving him a pointed look which was received with a small head nod, and a loud sigh. Followed by Yelena elbowing him. 

It was clearly a touchy subject.

That night Joaquin couldn’t sleep.

Neither could you.

For the first time in years, you found yourself fishing your old phone and it’s charger out of the small lockbox below your bed, the box filled with some of your most prized mementos, photos of friends, family, birthday cards, small trinkets, a few necklaces, an old camera, the phone in hand, and most importantly, your engagement ring and wedding band.

It had taken a few minutes for the phone to turn on after connecting it to the charger. Then you sat on the floor, leaning against your bed in the darkness, eyes focused on the screen as you unlocked it—your old anniversary being the password.

Your bottom lip quivered as you opened the photos app, the most recent photo being of you and Joaquin at the zoo three months into the Blip, when you were still trying to find a sense of normalcy. Back when the both of you would still go on dates and try to cheer one another up, when you still fought the grief instead of wallowing in it.

He looked terrified while you had a wide smile on your face, three parrots on you, one perched in each hand and the other on the top of your head. 

Then you started scrolling, eyes burning with unshed tears as you went through the photos, happy moments forever frozen in time. Moments you wish you could relive, just for a day.

Finally you found it, the wedding video. You turned your phone horizontally, playing the ten minute video, a perfectly edited version of your wedding ceremony and reception, with a few blooper pieces of your family members giving their commentary on the wedding. Ximena put it together for you and Joaquin.

You looked so happy as he held you in his arms, both of you laughing and smiling, embracing the newly-weds title. 

The choked sob that slipped past your lips at the sight of your first dance unleashed the floodgates, you were full on sobbing now, watching the video with your knees to your chest, hand perched atop them. 

Joaquin used to look at you as if you hung the moon and stars. 

You remember that look, the look of unconditional love. 

You might’ve had a crush on Joaquin in high school, but he was the one who fell the hardest. He was the first to say ‘I love you’ and the day he proposed to you, he couldn’t stop himself, it was such a candid moment. He had a whole day planned for it, but then you two had gone to the beach, and the sunset painted you like an angel sent from above, the second you’d turn around, squatting to pick up seashells, he knew it was time.

He’d tapped your shoulder that day, as if he was showing you a shell, then you turned around—laughing at the awkward movement while still squatting, then you practically fell backwards onto the sand at the sight of him on one knee with an open engagement ring box.

Ximena had a thing for dramatics, so at the end of your wedding video, she also added in the video of your proposal, which was shakily taken from his phone, propped up against his water bottle in the sand, the angle a little crooked, but it captured the moment nonetheless. 

Three knocks on your door interrupted your sobbing sessions. You were quick to wipe your tears away, hoping you’d have enough time to tuck the phone away and climb into bed, pretending to be asleep.

But then Yelena opened the door with Bob at her side while you were trying to grab the box from below the bed, still on the floor. The two squinting into the darkness, letting their eyes adjust to the room with the helpful aid of the hall-way light streaming in.

Bob noticed you first.

“McQueen? Why’re you on the floor—wait, are you crying? Shit, Yelena she’s upset about something.” 

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you finally looked over at them, tear stained cheeks, red eyes, and a quivering bottom lip. Not to mention your frizzy hair, and tear soaked sweater sleeves.

They easily entered the room, Yelena turning on your desk lamp as Bob shut the door behind him. Then Yelena was sliding onto the floor beside you, and Bob in front of the both of you. 

The both of them were an oddly comforting duo, they were the best of friends, and honestly, after helping Bob start working through a lot of his issues, he had helpful input on most emotional situations. Plus, the fact that he cared was enough for you to let him in, and that went for Yelena as well.

Yelena noticed the phone, picking it up and looking at it, her brows knit together at the sight of the paused video, seeing a younger version of you in the arms of Joaquin Torres, smiles on your face while you flashed your wedding ring. Then she noticed that you were in a wedding dress, and he was in a full suit.

She squinted slightly, using two fingers to zoom into the paused video, eyes widening at the realization that the Air Force Captain she’d met today, was the same man in the video that you were very clearly marrying.

“We got married young. Like idiots. Then the Blip happened and I dunno, we just hated each other after a while, there wasn’t anything to fix. Then we went to court—spent almost a year going back and forth for the sake of arguing. Honestly, I only prolonged the divorce because fighting with him was better than not speaking to him.”

You sighed, now leaning your head on Yelena’s shoulder while the two listened and nodded.

“I don’t think it was idiotic to marry him if you loved him—did you?” 

You blinked a few times, glancing at Bob, then down at your hands again. “I do—I did. He used to make me feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Then suddenly, the fantasy all came crashing down.” You sniffled a few times, shrugging.

He nodded, looking at Yelena who was swiping through the different photos and videos, then her eyes widened as she let out a loud gasp, throwing the phone to the side, where it now sat face-up, a video of you and Joaquin in a very intimate position on the screen.

Your eyes widened as you rushed to flip the phone. It wasn’t like a full blown sex tape, but you were half-naked on top of him.

“So I take it you had a healthy marriage at first? Based on that-” Yelena pointed to the phone. Then she finally broke, loud boisterous laughter filling the room. Her laugh was always contagious, and it led to the three of you laughing amongst each other.

They’d managed to cheer you up in minutes, and that reminded you of how lonely you’d felt before meeting them. How mundane life felt, how every single task was draining. It reminded you of how draining life really used to be, when you’d always feel so alone in a room full of people.

When you’d seek comfort in the one person that couldn’t provide it anymore. 

“I really do love you guys.” 

Yelena smiled, nodding her head. “I love you too, in a completely platonic way, don’t try to mount me the way you mounted him—wait what's his name again?” Her brows knit together as she thought hard to remember Joaquin’s name, but she was drawing a blank.

Bob finally stopped laughing, shaking his head. “Joaquin—I think? Yeah, that sounds right.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s Joaquin, Captain Joaquin Torres. Y’know when we were married he wasn’t a captain yet—” you stopped mid sentence, afraid of the potential word vomit or tears that might come out of this conversation.

On the opposite end of the tower Joaquin was pacing back and forth in one of the guest bedrooms. Not only was he angry, he was hurt, so hurt, in fact, that he’d spent thirty minutes crying silently in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water would numb some of the pain he was feeling.

It usually worked for physical pain, but emotional pain? It did little to nothing.

Seeing you was like opening Pandora's box. Joaquin always knew he was angry, angry at you yes, but he was angrier at himself. He’d never really forgiven himself for letting you slip through the cracks, for taking his frustrations out on you, for being overly jealous and never understanding, and for pushing you away. Constantly.

The Blip had taken a lot out of him, he was hurting, but so were you.

He forgot about that, about the pain that you’d been in. 

Your mother was blipped, and she meant the world to you. Anytime you’d call your father, you’d lock yourself in the bedroom after, sobbing for hours, holding a pillow against your chest, trying to find some kind of comfort. 

In the beginning, he’d slip into bed behind you, arms wrapped around your torso while you silently cried and mourned your mother. You were never really the blind hope type—he was. Joaquin had been there for you, there to comfort you, to bring you a sense of reassurance, and most importantly, to ground you.

His abuela had been blipped, he knew how it felt, the grief, but it wasn’t nearly as substantial as yours was. He loved his abuela, but he also knew she was an older woman who lived an entire life, and anytime they spoke, she’d always say ‘I love you Quino, if this is the last time we talk, just know i’ll always be there in spirit! Make sure you tell my princessa I love her too!’—or something along those lines.

He used to tell her not to talk like that, but his mother said it came from a place of love and of understanding. Every moment with someone was precious and needed to be valued, life was really too short to leave things unspoken.

So how he managed to leave so much? He didn’t understand. 

He blamed himself for the divorce, Joaquin knew that he was pushing you away. Then you’d gotten that job on base, and at first he was excited to visit his pretty wife during lunch. But then his jealousy took over, jealousy mixed with pessimism and all of the negative emotions he’d been swallowing down started surfacing.

It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You were constantly talking to him, constantly checking on him, spending nights with your hands in his hair while you asked if he was alright, telling him you were always there to talk. 

His job was stressing him out, he was under so much pressure, constantly. Tensions were rising at work, there were deadlines that needed to be met, tasks he didn’t have the time to do, and yet he still had to.

So he’d come home late, and he was bitter about it. Then you’d show up with a small smile on your tired face, mumbling something about making dinner, but he was tired, too tired to eat. He just wanted to sleep.

Some days he’d snap at you, and you were never one to sit and take it. 

That’s when the fighting would start, and the screaming for hours on end. You two would go back and forth until eventually you’d slam a door in his face and tell him to sleep on the sofa. 

Even now, as he paced back and forth, he remembers the sound of your muffled sobs, the way you’d cry after every fight. Then you’d pad out of the room in the middle of the night with a blanket for him, he’d pretend to be asleep as you covered him, kissing the top of his head, mumbling a rushed ‘I’m sorry’. 

You always cared, you did your best. 

He didn’t. 

He stopped trying, and he knew that. He was just so tired, so angry, so jealous, so frustrated. The world didn’t stop spinning, tomorrow would always come, but he was so angry as he focused on each individual day, then he couldn’t find comfort in you anymore.

At one point, you were able to calm him down within seconds, you’d wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, then ask to talk. He’d melt against you, an entire breakdown of his day would follow. Sometimes you’d comment, other times you’d nod your head while he spoke.

But eventually, the hugs, kisses, and gentle gestures stopped. Even the sex didn’t solve anything. It was just another way for the both of you to let go of tension, then he was grabbing a pillow and leaving the room, going to the sofa, and eventually, to the guest bedroom that had turned into his personal bedroom.

What made things worse was that you were both so young when you’d gotten married, young and naive. In a world where alien invasions were common, jumping the gun on marriage wasn’t that irrational, not  when you were truly in love with someone.

But sometimes love isn’t enough. 

That’s what had truly broken Joaquin, the realization that love wasn’t enough. 

Joaquin was twenty-six when the divorce was finalized, you were twenty-five. 

When he was twenty-two people told him it was idiotic to get married that young, that it was a mistake. So many people doubted you and Joaquin’s marriage, and now, he had to admit that they were right. 

He wanted to hate you, the last year of your marriage was the hardest. It was as if neither of you wanted to let go while simultaneously making one another’s lives a living hell. Buying a house together made it much harder to separate from one another, which also presented its own legal issues in terms of needing to be separated prior to divorcing one another.

Then there was the fact that you’d been married in Florida, seeking a divorce in California, while Joaquin was actively in the Air Force, and you also worked on base. It wasn’t like either of you would’ve been able to avoid one another, and truthfully, neither of you wanted to avoid each other.

The arguments and fights were never ending during that last month. Anytime he’d see you or you’d see him before a meeting with your attorneys, a screaming fest would start. Most of the fights had nothing to do with any divisions of assets, and you’d both already agreed to sell the house.

But Joaquin knew that he preferred fighting with you over never speaking to you.

The sound of his door slamming open caught his attention, his pacing stopped while he turned to look at the door. 

Sam stood here with Bucky by his side, a singular brow raised as he shook his head, the two men inviting themselves into the room.

“So you mean to tell me, this entire time, you had an ex-wife? Kid, you were married?” Sam was loud as he spoke, shock evident in his tone as he entered the rooms, hands moving as he spoke. “I had to find out from Buck! Of all people!”

“Hey—what’s that supposed to mean!” Bucky sounded offended while he leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head at Sam’s comment.

“It means, I’ve been working with the kid for almost four years—wait! When we first met, you’d barely been divorced? Is that why you were in Tunisia?! On some finding yourself through work journey?” 

Joaquin was frozen in place, eyes wide as he looked from Sam to Bucky, then back to Sam. He didn’t know the best way to approach this situation. Sure, he knew that eventually he would’ve had to come clean to Sam about you, but that wasn’t ever a priority of his, mainly because he preferred to act as if nothing was ever wrong and swallow all of his feelings down.

“Yeah, when you introduced me to the kid, they’d only been divorced for around four months? I found that out from McQueen. Honestly, I’m surprised Joaquin held it in for so long, five drinks in and she was crying on my living room sofa.”

Bucky sounded so nonchalant as he spoke, which only irritated Joaquin. It made sense that you’d be spending time with him, he was your boss. But, you? Drinking with him? Then spending time at his place? 

Joaquin’s jaw was clenched so tight he was afraid his teeth would crack.

“Buck, why were you drinking with her—you don’t drink often.” Sam paused, looking over at Bucky. 

“I wasn’t drinking, we were at a fundraiser, y’know they’re boring as hell. People kept passing her drinks, she didn’t want to be rude when she was technically working, I told her to just chuck the drinks into some plants—then she started rambling about plants and their root health. Anyways, long story short, she’s an emotional drunk.”

Joaquin stifled a laugh, a sad smile on his face at the story. 

You’d always been an emotional drunk, even as a teenager when you and Ximena would sneak into his mother’s liquor cabinet, sneaking out to drink in random parking lots or at the beach. Then someone would inevitably call him to pick you both up, he’d always feign reluctance, but he never had an issue getting the two of you, and whatever other friend was there.

That’s also one of the first times you’d kissed him. He remembers the day as if it was yesterday, you were a junior in high school, he was a senior, it was after the big homecoming game. You were clearly plastered, laughing and shrugging with Ximena, both of you practically falling over with wide smiles on your faces as you stumbled into Joaquin in the parking lot.

He lectured you both that night, Ximena had fallen asleep in the front seat, so you opted to help haul her out of the car with him, giggling as you backed into him a few times. Joaquin kept shushing you, and after you both managed to get his sister into the house, you smiled at him in the dimly lit hallway.

Then you kissed him. It was quick, as if the moment you realized your lips were on his, you were immediately reeling back. Apologizing while giggling, then you’d gone into Ximena’s room, waving at him before closing the door.

“Hey stop daydreaming over there! You’ve got some serious explaining to do!” Sam’s snapping caught Joaquin’s attention as he slowly nodded his head, acting as if he was listening—he very clearly was not.

“Start from the beginning, let’s hear it.”

Joaquin nodded at Bucky, letting out a deep sigh as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He’d spent the next two hours explaining everything to them both, from the start of your relationship, to getting engaged, then to the Blip, and of course, the end of it all. The divorce, the fights, the anger, all of it.

In a way, Joaquin felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He’d spent so long bottling everything up that it had just become normal to him. 

“So you’re still in love with her and from what Bucky’s told me—she’s still in love with you. So what’s the issue here? Clearly you’ve both grown up, and Ray Charles once said, time heals a broken heart but time has clearly sat still while you two have been apart—”

Bucky cut him off, “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Sam.”

“You shut the hell up, I’m giving the kid some emotional motivation to win his woman back! Sure, they’re divorced, but they’re young and clearly stupid!—no offense Joaquin. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other! You’ve heard her side, Buck, now we’ve heard his! They’re in love!” Sam’s hands moved rapidly as he spoke, constantly motioning in Joaquin’s direction and the opposite direction, most likely where you metaphorically would be.

Bucky sighed, shrugging. “Okay, you’re right—” he turned to look at Joaquin. “I get you two went through a rough patch during the Blip, but I can guarantee, things’ll be better now. At the very least, you should try. Lightning McQueen’s not gonna reject you outright.” 

Sam and Joaquin shared a confused look before Sam spoke up. “Why the hell is everyone calling her Lightning McQueen?”

Bucky shrugged. “She wears Lightning McQueen slippers around the tower, sometimes she’ll stop mid sentence and say ‘kachow’. At first I didn’t get it, then she forced me to watch the entire Cars franchise with her. She cried during the last two movies.”

Sam blinked a few times, meanwhile Joaquin couldn’t hold his laughter in.

“That’s one of her favorite movies, something about a coming of age story—I dunno, she’s loved it forever.” 

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, then back at him, speaking at the same time, the mixture of “you’re both idiots” and “idiots in love” sounded a bit jumbled and confusing, but Joaquin got the point.

The next few days Joaquin’s only goal was to actually talk to you. It was easy in theory, there were only so many places that you could run off to. However, you knew the compound much better than he did, and anytime he finally caught sight of you, you were gone in seconds.

It was obvious you’d been avoiding him, and that was only irritating him more and more. He’d gone from being slightly hopeful that maybe you two could start over, to feeling himself slipping into that same pessimistic mindset he’d tried to swallow down and drown out with work.

He was hanging on by a thin thread. 

That thread snapped the moment he walked into the lab in search of some data on a few samples of adamantium that was recovered near a small island neighboring the Celestial mass in the Indian Ocean. 

He still had a job to do, even if he was also simultaneously trying to win his ex-wife back.

The moment Joaquin stepped foot into the lab, you were there, standing beside a large metal table where Bob was laying flat. Not only was the man laying down, he was fully shirtless and your hands were on his abdomen. From Joaquin’s angle he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he did hear your laughter.

Yelena leaned against one of the tables behind you, her arms crossed as she questioned your motions, pointing down at Bob where you’d been stitching him up, “If you go any slower, it’ll prolong the pain.”

You scoffed, glancing at her over your shoulder. “Well, if you hadn’t been sparring with knives, none of us would be here right now. This is the closest thing we have to a med bay, besides, if I go faster, I’ll fuck up the stiching and unfortunately for you, you don’t exactly have health insurance in the state of New York. Actually, I don’t think any of you do outside of Bucky and Walker.”

Bob winced slightly as you pulled the thread through his skin, teeth clenched, one hand over his eyes. “Why couldn’t I have a drink or something again? No offense Lightning, but this hurts.”

You sighed. “Remember your whole addictive personality thing? Sorry, but the best I can do is get Yelena to knock you out cold. But I think that would be another issue. Besides, aren't you supposed to be like a God or something? You’ll heal just fine! Don’t be such a baby!” Then you started laughing.

He groaned, wincing as he laughed as well, which made Yelena laugh too.

Joaquin finally walked into the lab, jaw clenched as he walked right past the three of you, his own metaphorical storm cloud following him. Except this time, you couldn’t run away from him, which he was grateful for, but he didn’t really feel like discussing your past relationship with people he hardly knew.

“Good afternoon to you too, Captain Torres!” Your eyes widened at Yelena’s words, fingers pressing a bit too harshly into Bob’s skin—earning a loud groan.

Joaquin scoffed, nodding his head to acknowledge Yelena while mumbling. “Yeah—afternoon.” 

He found a more secluded area of the lab, but it still had a direct line-of-sight to you. So Joaquin sat, stewing in his own jealousy for thirty minutes while you stitched up some gash on Bob's side.

Then Yelena was helping Bob get back up, stating that she’d be back shortly, but once she was out of the lab, the lights dimmed, then flashed red for a few seconds, before settling on a blue-ish hue. That was followed by Yelena’s voice over the intercom. “Sorry Lightning! But you two need to talk it out, or sex it out, whichever you prefer! I’ll shut down the cameras! Oh and don’t try to do any other work, Peter’s shutting down the systems externally.” 

Once she finished speaking, you were left in a tense silence as you cleaned up the area. The sounds of metal clinking, plastic shifting, spraying from the disinfectants, and the sounds of your frustrated sighing practically echoed in the room.

“Are you gonna say something to me? Or just be angry and clean the whole time. Not that I’m not used to that.” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions before practically slamming the metal tray in your hands against the countertop as you slowly turned to face him. He was still several feet away, but now Joaquin was standing up, leaning against one of the larger free-standing countertops that you typically examined samples on.

“I have nothing to say to you Joaquin.”

He shook his head at that. “Well, I have everything to say to you Ms. Torres.” He noticed the way your eyes widened as he shook his head, then he ran his tongue along his top teeth. “Y’know what’s absolutely insane, that I had to find out from Bucky—your boss—that you hadn’t ever gone through with changing your name. So you’ve been walking around with my last name, while fucking whoever the hell you want.”

You scoffed at that, there it was, the jealousy. “Excuse me? I’m sorry that I didn’t feel the need to go through another extensive legal process to change my goddamn name, when I already made a name for myself with the last name Torres. And seriously? Fucking whoever I want? I’ve gone on dates—I’ve had sex with other people. Oh well! Do you want flowers and a fuckin handwritten apology? Like oh I’m so sorry Joaquin that I kept your last name after being married to you for five years! My bad!”

Joaquin let out a sardonic laugh, followed by a scoff before speaking again. “Well, if you hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the earth, maybe I wouldn’t care that much. It’s like the second we were over, you were gone!” 

“What the hell was I supposed to do?! Stick around? Fight with you some more?! As if it was ever fucking enjoyable? I choose to leave, I’m not mad about it! I had to get the hell away from you, I had to remember who the hell I was—who I am! I didn’t even know who I was outside of being with you! So sorry if I choose to put myself first and go live my life Joaquin!” 

Your voice got louder and louder as you spoke, chest rapidly rising and falling, feeling the waves of irritation and anger rolling through your entire body.

He shook his head. “Did you ever think that maybe—just maybe I didn’t want the divorce. That sure we could’ve used some space and time apart but that I still loved you?! Did you ever consider that! Or maybe I still love you! That I was never able to move on?!”

You paused, lips slightly parted, brows knit together at the confession.

Joaquin scoffed, rolling his eyes, leaning his head back slightly as he looked up, silently praying to whatever God truly existed, that this wasn’t a mistake. Then his eyes were back on you.

“There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought about you. Every single worthless hookup I had, I thought about you, I purposefully went after women that reminded me of you just so I could fucking feel something—anything! But they were never you!” 

He ran his hands through his hair. “I swallowed down every shitty emotion I’ve felt for years, drowning myself in even more work, I mean I guess it paid off-or at least it had paid off until I fucking crash landed into the Indian Ocean!”

Joaquin laughed again, sniffling slightly, doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes “The worst part was, when I woke up from a week long coma, I was delirious and high on whatever the fuck they were giving me for the pain—and I asked for you. I asked every single nurse for you. I get it, you wanted to go off and live your life without me—but you didn’t call, you didn’t text. Hell, I even asked Ximena if you knew and she avoided the subject.” 

You cut him off. “Shut the hell up Joaquin.”

He shook his head “No, I’m tired of holding this shit in, and if this is the only chance I’ll ever get to talk to you—then so be it! I waited for you, I waited in that goddamn hospital hoping and praying that maybe you’d show up with your sad smile and concerned eyes and tell me that I was an idiot and things would all be okay. But you didn’t, come to find out, you were there that day—the day they rushed me in.” 

You shook your head, jaw clenched, eyes watering. “Joaquin, stop.” 

Joaquin laughed again, shrugging. “Bucky told me you were there with him, that you hounded all of the nurses and the receptionists, but you never once went to see me. What? Hate me that bad you couldn’t even spare me five fucking minutes when I’m unconscious after nearly dying?!—” 

“Jesus Christ! Shut the fuck up, Joaquin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. For once in your life, shut your big fucking mouth! I’m sorry I didn’t go—you think I didn’t wanna see you?! I was fucking terrified! Terrified that you were gonna die on that table when they were operating on you! I was sobbing the entire time, I was so afraid of losing you—” 

You wiped your tears away, brows knit together, bottom lip quivering as you stared at him. “I’d already lost you once. I didn’t have it in me to lose you again. I couldn’t see you like that, I tried—I wanted to. I couldn’t do it. You don’t get to hold that against me—” 

You pointed at him as you spoke. “You don’t have the fucking right to hold that against me.”

Joaquin blinked a few times, watching as your walls were crumbling. He knew you were still hurt, that much was obvious in the way you’d been avoiding him—but to know you were hurting like this? 

It broke part of him, and for a second he felt like his nineteen year old self again on the night he’d taken your virginity. He remembered the way you tried not to cry, word vomiting your insecurities and vulnerabilities to him while the two of you sat in his childhood bedroom. Joaquin remembered the way you looked, the way you couldn’t meet his stare, the way you held the blanket to your body to shield yourself from him, even if you were still in your dress.

He knew you so well, he used to know exactly how to comfort you, exactly how to make your worries disappear.

Now he didn’t.

Now he was the cause of them.

“I loved you until the very end of our relationship. Don’t ever sit and act like I didn’t—like I don’t care about you. Joaquin, you were my first love, you meant everything to me. I married you when I was twenty-one like an idiot because I had so much faith and hope in our relationship—in our love. I know I was wrong to up and leave once the divorce was finalized, but I didn’t want to work through things just to be your friend. I could never in my life be your friend Joaquin—not when you knew everything about me—every single insecurity, every hope, every dream.”

You weren’t wiping the tears away anymore, a sad smile on your face as you looked down at your hands, then back to him. 

“If I could do it all over again, I would. Just to get the chance to love you like that again. That’s why I left, because I knew if I stayed, I would’ve been right back with you—right back to wanting to hate you, knowing I never could and I couldn’t take it.”

He was at a loss for words, tears finally flowing along his cheeks while he looked at you. Joaquin finally processed how he’d broken your heart—broken you. He’d broken you down time and time again, letting his own insecurities, exhaustion, and pessimism get to him. 

He’d hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt—you.

“Everyday I think about you. I think about how you’re doing, I wonder what Sam’s got you wrapped up in, I laugh at the stupid jokes you make during press releases and media statements as the Falcon. Hell, I even pray for you, which is crazy because I don’t even know if there’s even a higher power—but the faith that you’ll be okay each and every day is enough for me. I ask Ximena about you all the time. Whenever I go back to Miami, I make sure to go see your family.”

Joaquin was genuinely speechless. This entire time, he thought you just didn’t care. That you wanted as much distance between the both of you as possible. He’d been so angry for years, angry at you, and angrier at himself.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not love you Joaquin, and that in itself, is enough to make me avoid you. I don’t want what we had, I hated it. I hated every fight, I hated watching you leave after we had sex, I hated the sight of you sleeping on our sofa. I hated all of it. I know life was really hard at that point, I know I wasn’t the best wife or partner, but I tried. I tried everyday but you held everything against me, constantly.”

You sniffled, biting your bottom lip while trying to recollect yourself. The tears were flowing, and you couldn’t stop them.

“You were so mean, all the time. You weren’t the Joaquin I had fallen in love with, honestly, I know I was a shell of myself, but you—you were so much worse. You never let me back in—” a short sob slipped past your lips while you cried, looking down at the ground, taking a few deep breaths. “I wanted you to let me in again. I remember purposefully forgetting documents and prolonging our entire attorney experience, just so I could spend more time with you. Because I knew the second it was over, I was leaving.”

The silence was suffocating.

You were doing your best not to sob. Joaquin was processing everything—he’d never truly known how it all affected you. He’d never seen you sob at night, sure he knew you cried, but he didn’t see it, he didn’t notice how broken you truly were.

“I’m sorry.” Joaquin spoke softly “I’m so sorry—baby—I didn’t know. I just—I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was all over. And I was just so angry all the time, everything made me so mad. Then I’d see you, but everyone was always gravitating towards you, and it makes sense because you’re beautiful, funny and so intelligent, but it bothered me.”

He paused, now stepping closer to you, hesitating before gently caressing your face, angling it towards him, away from the ground. His thumbs softly wiping your tears away.

“I was so insecure and jealous and downright mean, and I’m sorry for putting you through hell. You meant the world to me—hell you still mean the world to me. I’ve been so angry this whole time, I thought I was mad at you, but I was mad at me. Mad that I’d fucked up so bad, mad that things hadn’t worked out, that I stopped trying.”

You leaned into his hand, teary eyes now looking into his.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I want you to know that, even if nothing comes from it. I’ll always love you, there’s nobody in this universe that gets me the way you do, I know it’s been years, but I don’t think I’m ready to just let you go again.”

Joaquin’s vulnerability shocked you, not because you didn’t think he was capable, but because this Joaquin, this was your Joaquin. This is the man that you’d fallen in love with.

“I never wanted you to let me go, Joaquin.” 

He’d been the one to suggest the divorce, and it had taken a few months of fights before you’d actually considered it. 

By that point, Joaquin was rarely sleeping with you, and the only time the two of you weren’t fighting was when you were both on base at work. Outside of that, the fights and arguments were constant, an unrelenting cycle, and you had finally hit your breaking point.

The last major fight before the divorce ended in you screaming at him before tossing a large yellow envelope on the kitchen island.

You both signed the papers that night. Then the filing process started.

That night you cried into the stuffed bear that he’d won for you at a carnival when you were nineteen. It was one of your first real dates, and you’d been so excited when he’d managed to actually win the ring toss three times in a row, scoring the large panda bear, giving it to you with a dopey smile on his face.

“Please—give me a second chance, I’ll do everything right this time—I won’t fall back into old shitty habits—I promise baby” his voice was strained as he tried not to cry. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees to beg for you back.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you shook your head.

“Joaquin, I think time apart might’ve been what we needed. But I still see the way you look at people around me, I still see the same shitty habits, and honestly, I think we might be better apart for now. We both have stuff to work through, but I won’t up and disappear from your life again”

He nodded as you spoke, biting his bottom lip, watching as you shrugged, sadness pooling in your teary eyes.

“I can’t be your wife again—not now at least. But maybe one day when we’re in a better spot.”

Joaquin sniffled a bit, looking up at the roof, then back at you. “One day for sure.” 

Then you kissed him, it was soft, hesitant, but he knew it wasn’t a welcoming kiss. It was similar to the last kiss you’d given him the day your divorce finalized. As if you were saying goodbye again.

Joaquin only hoped that the goodbye would be temporary.

-

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 as always feedback is appreciated!!!

[greyyson-but-wrong]

ALIBIS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: the winter solider, canon accurate civil war, violence, fighting, swearing, a single sentence hinting that they've fucked in the past lmao, hydra mention, partly edited

summary: you've been living with bucky for the past year, now he's been accused of assassinating the king of wakanda and of course they bring you in as well, but nobody knows who exactly you are

author notes: guys... this isn't a part 2 I actually have no motivation to write that atm icl so have this instead. I'm being so fr I could change one detail about this and have it be part of the same storyline as my previous work but I cba cause then there'll be a bunch of missing context :( hope you enjoy this!!!

word count: 4.6K

"Who the hell is that?"

Tony Stark didn't recognise the woman as he took a peak through the glass of the cell, index finger pointed towards her before moved backward to pinch at his lips. She was perched on the edge of the small bench they had given her, book in hand, leaning forward with her elbows resting against the skin of her thighs. For having just been arrested under the suspicion of harbouring a fugitive, the woman didn't seem too worried, too off-put or irked. She just simply sat there, breathing steady. At the change in scenery outside her window, she looked up only temporarily, the corners of her lips curving upward at the sight of the Iron Man, fingers leaving the paper of her book to wag her fingers in a wave. Tony's eyebrows furrowed at her actions. Suspicious. That's all she was.

Steve moved his eyes from the woman to look towards Tony, hands dug in his pockets, fiddling with the spare lint caught off the inside fabric. "She, is his alibi."

"Come again?"

The solider tilted his head, watching the woman as she went back to innocently reading her book, still as if she wasn't currently in a holding cell under the detainment of the American government. "She's been giving him a home for a year now, feeding him, keeping him stable, stopping him from becoming the Winter Solider."

Tony sighed, lowering his voice. "So why won't she testify again him?"

Steve eyed up the security camera in the corner of the room. It was no doubt someone was watching him on the other side, because while he was an Avenger and allowed somewhat free roaming around the premises, he was still technically a criminal now. They had to have all eyes on him. He had to keep all eyes on her though. "She knows that the government doesn't officially acknowledge the difference between the Winter Solider and Bucky as a person. Until they do that, she's refusing to tell us anything. That includes information about who she is."

"Well, she must have a name."

"She's told us Jane Doe, but, well. We're not stupid." Steve chuckles, shaking his head. "Someone, somewhere has her file, I won't be able to get it for you, though."

Tony Stark shrugs. "I'll get FRIDAY to gather the information about her, for me." He pauses for a second, letting his thoughts gather, letting everything come together in some form. He fiddles with his phone a little, before shoving it back into his pocket, turning to Steve again. "The question is, why is she so protective of him?"

Steve lets out a heavy sigh, eyes moving to watch her. "If only she would tell us."

The glass was soundproof. You knew, because several different groups of people had walked past the locked cell, mouths moving, faces reacting, but you could hear none of it. They had given you a random book to read to pass the time, but you were already about halfway through it and it had only been two hours, by the analog clock that was built into the left wall. The list of people that had walked past ran through in your head in the following order: Maria Hill, Fred the Janitor (he had a mop, so you assumed), a group of lawyers, the Black Widow, Fred the Janitor (again), Agent Ross as part of the CIA, a group of guards who were surrounding T'Challa (who you had made the worst kind of direct eye contact with), a couple more lawyers, then the cherry atop the cake: Captain America and Iron Man. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

It was obvious it was them because well, fuck, who wouldn't have known it was them? They were Avengers, they had saved the world countless times. They were also the reason Bucky had to run and hide with you, rather than in a much safer Witness Protection programme. They were also the reason you were trapped in this holding cell, because Captain America had led the Romanian police force directly to the apartment you had Bucky had been peacefully living in for a year.

The peace died pretty quickly when you had walked into your kitchen to find Steve Rogers standing there, shield in hand, looking at the photo of you and Bucky stuck to the fridge.

They had asked for your name. They had asked for your identification and your history. Perhaps a couple years ago you would have told them, but then all that information was revealed about Shield and Hydra, and now there was no way on God's Holy Earth would you ever trust them nor any government body again. After what Bucky had gone through, after what you had gone through, how could they have led Hydra infiltrate Shield like that? Black Widow thought that the encrypted versions of the files would mean the general public wouldn't be able to gain the information.

But you had been trained by Hydra. You weren't their brawn, you were their brains, so if anyone was going to be able to decrypt that information, it would have been you. When you spent hours scouring through the endless files to find out information about his life, that had been the day you had decided to never trust a government body.

So, no, you weren't going to tell them your name. Then they would look you up. They would find out that you used to work for Hydra and just like they were treating Bucky, they wouldn't understand you had been brainwashed and tricked and tortured to work for them. They would treat you like any other Hydra worker who knew what they had been doing; even though you didn't.

Now you were stuck in this cell, Bucky was nowhere to be seen and therefore probably in some containment centre to stop him from hurting anybody even though he wasn't the Winter Solider anymore. Even though he hadn't become the Winter Solider in months, thanks to the work you had been doing with him. What were you supposed to do? Anything you could talk about or tell anyone, they wouldn't believe it. To them, Bucky was a weapon, something that could hurt and couldn't love, but he did love. He had humour, he had a laugh, a smile, he stops in the middle of the street to stroke stray cats, he gets all soppy at cozy rom-coms and he spends his evenings listening to old Sinatra records.

But they would never see that.

Then Captain America and Iron Man walked in front of the glass. You couldn't help but grin, waving your fingers towards the billionaire. It was public knowledge that Tony Stark was on the side of signing the Accords and that Steve Rogers wasn't. It piqued your curiosity as to how they were able to have a real conversation while having such different beliefs, but that wasn't your main goal. You wanted to confuse them.

The name. Jane Doe, of course it was fake. You had told them it to be confusing, make it clear that you were more than just simply a safe house holder for the Winter Solider. What it would do was bring up all the attention towards you. The Avengers, the CIA, the FBI, whoever was in charge here would spend their time figuring out who the hell you were and why you had been so involved in Bucky's life in the past year. To cause a bit of a ruckus, and a lot of confusion.

Because while they would be doing all of that, Bucky's trial would be put off longer and longer, until your people could prove that the Winter Solider was not the same person as Bucky. You were refusing to talk not just because they didn't understand that simply fact, but you also needed time to gather enough evidence that it would be impossible to dismiss the truth. You were not the Huntress that Hydra had turned you into, and Bucky was not the Winter Solider they had tortured him into becoming. Once they understood that, maybe, just maybe, you had a chance of getting out of here with Bucky and living free with him like you should have been doing for the past year.

Hydra had taught you well. Half of the data was already sat in your lab in Romania, proving that brain mechanics, movement, thoughts and procedures changed whenever he was under the throes of the Winter Solider. Pictures and files dating each time Hydra experimented their brainwashing technology on him. Images of the different machinery, some of them with him in it, some of you working at the nearest computer.

Your work from the past year had taken a lot out of you, but damn was it worth it. Once your people took a look at the final conclusions and sent through the final part of the plan, you and Bucky would be one step closer to freedom.

They bought you in for his evaluation. He was in a glass box, restrained at every possible part of his body, particularly the metal arm. His head was hung, hair falling not-so-graciously in front of his face, masking him. The image was projected onto a giant monitor towards the front of the room, where everyone could see what was happening. They still had you handcuffed, behind your back, something strong, perhaps vibranium so you couldn't get out no matter what. Four guards stood around you, stopping any possible escape plan. But none of them were even on the table unless you knew where to find Bucky and guarantees you got out with him by your side.

To the left of you and the guards stood Tony and Natasha, both on the side agreeing with the Accords. Behind a glass door was Steve and Sam. As his evaluator started speaking, your eyes began to droop. Nobody would take this serious, or how they should.

"Hello, Mr Barnes." A Sokovian accent was the first thing you spotted. Nothing too out of the ordinary but it definitely piqued some form of interest in you for a reason you hadn't yet been able to decipher. "I have been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?" On the screen, he gestured to the chair and desk. When Bucky stayed silent, he sat down, opening up his briefcase that had been placed on the wood of the desk. "Your first name is James?"

Bucky stayed silent again. You knew this would be difficult, and everyone else in the room was beginning to catch onto that point as well.

"Do you know where you are, James?" Again silence. The examinations officer sighed. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

A brief pause. Bucky lifted his head, revealing his face to the officer. He swallowed, lips parting to speak. "My name is Bucky."

In the other room, behind the glass, Steve and Sam, plus a woman that you didn't know the name of yet, started speaking. They all had that look on their face. Curiosity, suspicion, a tint of fear muddled in with the rest. Steve was fiddling with a piece of paper, could have been a photo, but it was difficult to see from the angle the guards had you at.

"Tell me, then, Bucky." He started speaking again, making notes in that little book of his. "You've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

Bucky's voice was strained as he spoke, eyes droopy, that fear, that pain having seeped it's way back into his features. The same state of mind that you and him had worked so hard to leave in the past. It was just being dug back up again, unmercifully. "I don't wanna talk about it."

He waved his hands about, barely visible through the screen projection. "You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop." He was intentionally poking the bear.

A moment paused. The examinations officer looked down to the left of his notebook to a propped up screen, the camera to far away to read what was visible on the screen. "Don't worry. We only have to talk about one." Another second passed, then—

The lights went out.

The next couple moments were a blur. Agent Ross started pacing between different computers, Tony Stark went off to talk to his AI, Natasha had already left the room. Steve had stood up straight at the outage, looking towards the woman and immediately signalling at Sam to following him. Believe me, you tried to stay put, not let anything get any worse than it already was, but Steve clearly knew where Bucky was, and if what you thought was happening was happening, then they needed you. So you spotted as one of the guards slipped, moved out of space for a single second, distracted, and you bled into the shadows, melting away so that no one could follow you. Hydra didn't simply train you with hardware and software, after all.

You slipped through and into the glass room, then again through the door that Steve had just disappeared through. Once you were in a clear corridor with both Steve and Sam at the end of it, you began running after them, pausing for just a single second to use a door handle to break the handcuffs that were restraining you.

Because, of course, the examinations officer wasn't CIA, or FBI, or actually from the UN like he said he had been. You knew you recognised the book, the red leather front and that stupid fucking black star painted on it. Your own fucking writing was in it! How the hell this man had gotten a hold of it, you couldn't figure out, but that wasn't the priority. Right now, the Winter Solider was being summoned, and would be under the control of some random person, who was also probably at the fault of T'Chaka's death too. Only God knew what he was really planning, but Bucky would be at the heart of it and that was the one thing you aimed to stop.

Eventually, you caught up with Steve and Sam. It took them both a while to clock you were running behind them but neither of them cared enough about you in the moment to stop running because you all had the same goal: finding Bucky.

The three of you made it to the entrance of whichever room Bucky had been put into. Steve came to a halt at the seemingly endless pile of bodies on the floor. It was too late. He was already the Winter Solider and he had already hurt people.

Steve turned to you, chin held high. "How the hell did you get out?"

"Slipped away." You shrugged. Steve's lips parted as if to speak again, but you held a hand up, shaking your head. "But that's not what's important right now. Bucky has just become the Winter Solider again, and if we don't get to that man in order to save Bucky again, then we're all going to be in a lot of trouble and not just with the government this time."

He ran a hand over his face but nodded, turning back towards the doorway.

In the middle of the room, Zemo was curled into the floor, shaking. Steve didn't give you nor Sam any chance to do anything, running forward and picking him up, shoving him up against the desk, chin held high as he began to speak. You were so focused on Zemo, that you didn't notice Bucky standing in the corner of the room, shoulders dilating as he panted, fully reformed back into the Winter Solider. You also didn't see as he made a leap towards Steve, shoving him across the room at lightning speed.

At the sound of Steve crashing against the wall, you leaped too, in a way that left your hands rested on his shoulders, readying to pull off. All three of you had the serum, but they were still both men, and Bucky under the brainwashing programme gave him extra strength, no holding back. When his trapezius twitched and his jaw sharpened, you knew he was going to swing behind him, so you ducked, dodging his hand and using the temporary drop in his barriers to reach for his arm, curling it around his back.

His metal arm was still pressing against Steve, so with your hands still keeping his flesh arm behind his back, you leaped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, your other hand moving around him to cover his face. Confusion, distraction, anything that meant Steve could get himself out of the grasp Bucky had him in.

And while Steve did make it out, slipping from his grasp, Bucky caught on far too quickly. He was able to maneuver himself to make you fall, spinning on his feet and falling to his knees as your back hit the ground. He went for your hands, clasping them above your head so there was no way to get out. This position certainly wasn't unfamiliar, but every other time, you knew he would let you go at a signal. The Winter Solider would not listen to a signal. He climbed your body, eyes meeting yours straight forward.

They were pained. A familiar warmth that looked like home but only once you dug deep. On the surface was simply a message, follow the mission, the unfamiliar blue did scare you. The only thing that kept you going was the knowledge that Bucky was in there somewhere, no matter how much it didn't seem like it — Bucky was there. You'd get him out, or die trying.

"Bucky—" You gasped, gaping for breath, trying to get his attention. His, not the Winter Solider. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me."

He simply snarled, teeth bared. You lifted your head to look outside of his gaze, seeing Sam and Steve after Zemo, who had given in not so quickly. Looking back towards Bucky, you met the blue again, letting your head drop to the floor, letting your muscles relax, your breathing beginning to settle as you calmed. If you were calm, then so was he. If he was calm, then so were you. That was the deal. But that did nothing, if anything it worsened the situation, because he removed his metal hand from holding yours, still able to keep you bound with just one, and moved the metal so that it was pressed up against your neck.

Not pushing, not squeezing; just settled. Acting as a warning, to make sure you didn't try anything.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but— everyone calls you Bucky and you can't remember why." You speak, more wary of your breathing than you ever have been before. A quick glance downward, then back up to meet his eyes. "Your favourite singer is Frank Sinatra, but you think musically, Nancy Sinatra did better work. You—" You gasped for air as his fingers twitched around your neck, your words beginning to break through. "There's a cat, you call her Alpine, that always stops at our window and you shouldn't feed her— because she's not our cat, but— you do any way— because you're secretly a softie."

Bucky blinks. Bucky blinks. Not the Winter Solider. The warmth slowly flows towards the front of the blue, that familiarity coming back.

But that's what Steve didn't see. Steve handed Zemo over to Sam to get rid of then turned to see the Winter Solider choking you, so he leaped towards the two of you. The shield bashed against Bucky's side, knocking him over. Just as he was ripped from your sight, you saw the blue darken again, and Bucky was gone.

"He's making his way to the helipad—" Steve spoke, storming in the direction of the mentioned exit, not even sparing you a glance as he passed you.

The fight had gone shit. Sam had been sent after Zemo and had no luck, the man seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth. Everyone had had their turn at Bucky, only making things worse, only escalating things. You had managed to pull Black Widow away from the solider, pushing her to the side and running after Bucky as he fled. Then Iron Man had wanted a turn, half suited and dodging a bullet that Bucky had managed to aim in his direction. Steve had been in and out of everything, and was now on his way to following Bucky as he attempted to escape.

You hadn't seen Steve since he had knocked Bucky away from you in the bunker. Now he was storming away from you and you had some less than pleasant words that he definitely needed to hear. "Steve, I swear to God, what the fuck—" You paused, still walking after him and scoffing as he simply continued walking. "I had him! I had Bucky back and you ruined it! What right do you even have protecting him or me like that?"

It was a stupid thing to say. You knew that him and Bucky had been inseparable during the war, because who didn't? You knew that he was risking his power as Captain America in order to protect Bucky from prosecution.

Steve paused, turning around and finally facing you, pointing an index finger at you in a accusatory act, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but Bucky is my best friend and I will do anything to make sure he's safe. So don't bullshit me with who deserves him more, because I don't know a single good thing you've done for him in the past 100 years."

You grit your teeth, fighting off a groan. Just about to reply, movement in your peripheral shifted your attention, seeing the solider swing open the door to a free helicopter. "Steve, quick—"

He followed where you were looking, and at the realisation that there wasn't time for a spat, you both started running, outside and onto the helipad. Bucky knew how to work it, getting the vehicle up in no time. Steve leaped, grabbing the landing skids, attempting to pull it downward. Bucky saw, shifting so the helicopter moved away from Steve. You reached for Steve's spare hand, using your joint strength to further pull the helicopter towards the concrete.

Bucky shouted, again shifting and this time behind successful. The helicopter was dragged towards the edge, Steve dropping your grasp and having no choice but to latch onto the yellow railing around the edge of the helipad.

"Let me help!" You shouted, rushing forward and pulling on his hand, you in turn, starting pulling both Steve and the helicopter away from the direction it was heading towards. Knees pressed against the concrete, you grabbed onto the railing as a fail safe, which eventually came in handy as the helicopter tugged the two of you and Steve away from the ground.

You were dangling in mid-air, hand in hand with the Captain America, attempting and failing to pull Bucky back to the ground. What the fuck? What the actual fuck. Steve caught your eyes, a mouthed 'tug on three, yeah?' You nodded in return, and he began to shout over the whirring of the main motor. "One—" You were latched onto the yellow railing, securing your grip. "Two—" It was a struggle, but it seemed possible. Or at least, you tried to tell yourself that. "THREE!"

Steve pulled, as did you, a sudden, unexpected tug. It sent pressure through the helicopter, a shift that Bucky couldn't predict and therefore couldn't avoid. The vehicle stuttered, and lost momentum, crashing into the side of the railing. Rubble was everywhere, you had lost Steve's hand and he was nowhere to be seen.

The helicopter creaked as it collided with the concrete. Then it slipped, stuttered, and slowly dropped from the ledge, falling into the river below.

Bucky groaned, muscles aching. His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the stern looks of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, both with their arms crossed over their chests. He spluttered a cough out, pushing himself to sit up. As the two stayed quiet, Bucky let himself look around the room. Leant against the far brick wall, was your body, limp and still unconscious. At the sight of you, Bucky sat up fully, pushing himself up and moving towards you.

Steve stepped to the left, blocking his path. "Hold it—"

"Let me get to her, Steve." Bucky pleaded, voice wavering in fear of the way she was so limp against the wall, a hand held out pointing towards her. "I need to check she's okay. If she's not— I don't— She has to be okay, just let me ch—"

The captain cut him off, a hand held up to cease his speech. "She's okay, trust me. You can go see her in a second, we just have a couple questions, first."

Bucky swallowed, nearly glaring up at Steve. He shrugged. "Go crazy."

"What's your name?"

He scoffed, shoulders shaking, eyes never leaving yourself. "Bucky Barnes."

"When were you born?" He was being very very quick with these questions. Bucky found it almost demeaning, but under the circumstances and taking into consideration the entire situation, he became a bit more empathetic.

"March 10th, 1917."

Steve swallowed, allowing two quick glances, one toward Sam stood next to him, and then behind him to where you were still unconscious. "Tell me something only Bucky would know."

Bucky sighed, shoulders deflating and finally being able to draw his gaze away from you, meeting Steve's. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes—"

At Sam's small chuckle, Steve held a hand out, pausing him. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry for the paranoia, but with the fight that just broke out, I hope you can understand why. I swear, we've done our checks and she's really alright but you go ahead."

"Thanks." He nodded curtly, rushing towards you and falling to his knees. He pushed your hair back from your face, hands pressed against your cheeks, examining your face.

Steve, arms crossed again, looked to face him. "Who even is she?"

Bucky grinned, forehead pressed to yours, letting out a deep sigh as his conclusions came back that nothing was inherently wrong, you simply needed to wake up. "She's my saviour. She is the reason I'm still alive, that I'm not a slave for Hydra anymore." Pulling back, he sought Steve for a reason. In the small moment he was looking away, you twitched, gasping for air and eyes flicking open, regaining consciousness.

"James—"

At the breathe of your name, he spun, eyes widening at the sight of you awake. Immediately, he pulled you into him, arms around your torso, chest flush against his. You sighed, realising he was here, and safe, and not the Winter Solider. His face pressed against your neck, warm breath jarring against the cold of wherever the safe house was.

He sighed contently into your neck. "You're okay, doll, you're okay. Are you okay? How—"

Pulling back, you laughed, palms moving to press against his cheeks. "Am I okay? Oh, James, I swear. Are you okay? You're the one that was triggered, how do you feel?"

"A bit shaken." He spoke, breathing calming down. "But alive, and happy you are too."

"Good."

Sam cleared his throat, and the two of you were brought back to reality. Steve hid a chuckle behind a cough and in order to force the awkwardness to dissipate, he took over the room, setting about recap of the circumstance and what the next plan of action was. It would be a lot of work, but anything to make sure Bucky was free.

a/n: hope you enjoyed!! lemme know if yous want a part 2 or want me to create a tag list or anything any support is appreciated 👏

[old-op-81-lvr]

💍 Trophy Husband!Charles Leclerc x Driver!Male!reader

Series masterlist

Summary: Charles Leclerc-(L/N) lives a lavish life, he has his dog and his rich husband whos job allows him to travel around the world. He gets on with the other WAGs and becomes something of an icon.

Tagging: Allusions to homophobia, Far to many mentions of the dog, The media are shitbags, cheating rumors (dw nobody did anything), Allusion to smut at the end (It’s a convenient way to end a fic tbh)

A/N: Fun-fact I have really bad fear of dogs so I apologise if my writing of them is unrealistic, I do apologise and feel free to correct me

Consistent plot? Me, Personally, could neverrrr.

~

“Charles” You whispered down into his ear. “Charlie, we have to get up” You said, placing kisses down his neck in a bid to wake him up gently.

“5 more minutes, Chérie” He whined

“Nope, I already gave you 5 minutes more. Get up” You said, standing up from your bed and throwing your shirt on and leaving bed to go get Leo from his crate.

You picked the small blonde dog up and took him back through to your bed. You place him on top of Charles, hoping he would at least get up for Leo.

“Look, Leo wants kisses. You have to get up now” You said, laughing as Charles squirmed while the small dog licked his face.

“Okay, okay. I’m getting up” Charles said, picking up Leo and getting up out of the bed.

“Good, we have to be leaving here in the next hour if we want to get to the track on time” You added, you were in Monza for the Italian grand prix and being a ferarri driver meant you had to schedule time to leave early as to take some time with Tifosi that crowded your hotel.

Charles kissed Leo on the head and then let him down to go sniff around the hotel room again.

“I don’t get why you entertain them so much, personally I would just run them all over with my car” Charles joked, even though he was pretty useless at driving and much preferred being your passenger.

“Maybe because they all have cameras and that could get me into very serious trouble” You said, throwing clothes at Charles at telling him to hurry the fuck up and get dressed instead of pissing about.

You successfully managed to get ready ahead of schedule, giving you more time outside with the loyal Tifosi.

Charles had Leo on his leash as they trailed behind you. They would hang back while you signed stuff and honestly Leo was just there to do his business and stretch a little before you got in the car.

You signed a couple things, took some selfies, took some selfies with fans and Leo, Charles ended up in a couple photos and then you gave it a rest and decided you had to get going.

You waved to the fans that were climbing up the gates just to get a chance of a signature, wrapped your arm around Charles’ shoulder and began walking to your car with Leo padding beside you.

You got into your car, started it up and began your drive to the track in your Ferrari as Charles fiddled about with the bluetooth on his phone, Leo curled up on his lap ready for the journey and full day of meeting people ahead.

~

f1wags

❤️ 💬 📟 🔖

Liked by User1, User2 and 8368 others

f1wags Charles Leclerc-(L/N), Husband of (Y/N) (L/N) is in the paddock for qualifying this weekend with Leo.

User1 Did anyone else see the qualifying broadcast, bro was stressing for no reason 😭

User2 Swear he fears for his husband’s life more and more every time he gets in the car

User3 LEOOOOOO 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

User4 Remind me, what does Charles do for work again? bc he is at EVERY race

User5 We don’t actually know, rumour has it he stopped working after they got married in 2019 and is fully supported by (Y/N)

User4 Wait, so the trophy wife Charles allegations are not false 😦

~

Charles met you after qualifying in your garage with Leo squirming in his arms. You pulled your helmet and HANS device off and hand them off to a mechanic before going to see Charles.

You pulled your balaclava off and placed it on the ledge Charles was standing next to. Letting your sweaty hair fall down onto your forehead

You had qualified P4, pretty good stead going into the race tomorrow. You kissed Charles on the lips and took Leo from his arms.

“Oh pretty puppy” You said, holding Leo up so he could lick your face excitedly. You kissed his head and rested him in your arms leaving Charles looking at you awkwardly.

“What? You want kisses too?” You joked looking at Charles who was pouting slightly, watching you kissing your dog before properly greeting him.

“Hm? You want kissed too?” You continue teasing, coming closer to him and placing kissed all over Charles’ face and being careful not to crush Leo.

You knew there were cameras everywhere, more importantly prying eyes. People who wanted a glimpse of your life with the infamous Charles Leclerc-(L/N).

Your relationship was rumoured about in the press a lot. Between it being a same sex marriage, the rumours about Charles career and the whispers being spread about your marriage being PR to make F1 look more inclusive.

It was all utter bullshit, all of it, you were in love, you married for love and quite frankly the press would be happy for Charles to be unemployed if he was a woman.

You two were still stood right in the middle of the garage with your dog being held in between you two. It would actually be quite romantic if you weren’t sweaty, in need of a shower and surrounded by other sweaty, loud mechanics and invasive cameras.

“Oh, I also kinda made dinner reservations with Pierre and Kika tonight just before I forget to tell you. Be ready for 6:30” You said before handing an agitated Leo back to Charles as you’re dragged away by engineers to look over session data.

“Wait-“ Charles says, his voice falling short as your pulled away by engineers. He just sighs and looks down at Leo “What are we gonna do with him?” He said putting Leo down and walking out the garage.

~

“Charlie hurry up” You shouted through your hotel room, adjusting your tie and pulling the sleeves of your shirt.

“I’m coming, i’m coming” Charles said, coming out the bathroom with Leo in tow. Charles spent more time with Leo so he attached to him.

“Good Carlos and Rebecca are here for Leo now move it” You stated, smacking his ass lightly as he walked by.

~

charlesleclerc(L/N)

❤️ 💬 📟 🔖

Tagged @/francisca.cgomes, @/your_username and @/pierregasly

charlesleclerc(L/N) Maybe this double date thing is not so bad, love a catch up with Kika

user5 I just KNOW the tea spilled here was piping hot bc I know (Y/N) and Pierre are such gossips too.

your_username I love you too, babe 😅

charlesleclerc(L/N) You got involved in the gossip too, lets not lie to everyone

your_username Maybe a little 🤏

user5 What I wouldn’t pay to be involved in this conversation

user6 Say what you want but (Y/N) knows how to treat his man right

user7 Preach 🙏

user8 No fr, Prince(ss) treatment goes crazy

user9 Does Charles just know all the wags or just Kika?

charlesleclerc(L/N) Gotta do something to stop myself having a panic attack while my man races 🤷🏻‍♂️

~

~

“(Y/N)? Chérie? have you seen this?” Charles said, turning his phone around to face you. It was a Twitter post that showed a photo him and Rebecca being papped from 3 days ago

“No? Why, I don’t see the issue here. It’s just baseless rumours Charlie. They’re always gonna happen” You said, stroking his back gently. You were both laying in bed, Charles scrolling his socials while you reply to e-mails, with Leo curled up at your feet sleeping soundly, neither of you had the guts to move him.

“Yeah but it’s been happening a lot more lately and I don’t know how much longer I can take being accused of cheating” He whined, laying his head on your shoulder and hid phone in his lap.

“Then make a statement but that won’t stop them. Last month it was Kika, this month its Rebecca. Next thing you know you’ll be accused so stealing Checo’s wife and kids. They won’t stop no matter how hard you try” You said, smiling slightly as he curled further into you

“I guess so, I commented on the post either way. That might get some attention” He added, eyes glancing to his phone. “I’m just gonna leave it a few hours and see what happens”

“Or until Ferrari PR call me” You added with a smile on your face as Charles curled into you and practically fell asleep.

~

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! What do you think of your Husband speaking to members of the press rudely?” came from a male shoving a microphone is your face.

You kept walking. Sunglasses down, eyes forward. Charles’ hand was cupped in yours as you made your way to the Ferrari unit.

“(Y/N), surely you have a word or two to say on your partner cussing out a journalist” A woman pressed, a phone recording a voice note being shoved in your face.

“Surely this behaviour is not acceptable” Another woman spoke, yet another microphone shoved in your face.

You kept walking as you got to the doors of your unit where the reporters could go no further without being reprimanded.

“My husband’s action has nothing to do with you, I do not control him and he does not control me. Maybe if you cunts minded your business for 3 days we wouldn’t have the need for this conversation.” You snapped back, roughly slamming the sleek black doors behind you.

As soon as you were in the unit you and Charles where giggling, even when your press officer attempted to approach you, a distressed look on her face.

“(Y/N), per favore, una parola (please could I have a word)” She said, trying to talk to you and not cause even more of a scene than you already had.

“Hmm, scusa Lina. Ho una cosa di cui occuparmi prima (hmm, sorry Lina. I have something to take care of first)” You replied, a still giggling Charles trailing behind you as you dragged him to your drivers room and locked the door.

~

[thevanillerose]

REGAL | CIEL x SHY!READER | BLACK BUTLER

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

“I'm nervous...” “Don't be.”

Sebastian smiled at you charmingly, hoping to calm your nerves even by a little. The two of you were standing outside the door that led into Ciel's quarters. This infamous boy, the 'Queen's Watchdog' as they called him.

Believe it or not, you were a marriage candidate for him. It was crazy to even consider, but there was a chance that he would say 'yes' to you, and just like that you'd be married to such an iconic person.

On the flipside, there was also the chance that he might say 'no'. That was always a possibility, unfortunately, and not one that you especially looked forward to.

Nobody wanted to be rejected, did they?

“Any last minute advice?” you looked up at the tall, black haired butler. He simply continued smiling down at you. “Just don't act too rashly, that is what I would advise.”

Don't act too rashly. Okay...that should be simple enough, right?

 Gulping, you readied yourself just as he pushed the door open and let you go inside. You truly had no idea what you were expecting, as he closed the door again and left you standing there in the glass walled conservatory.  

 The place where you had been tasked with meeting the young master Phantomhive was a pleasant one. Delicate rays of sunlight shone in between pastel rose petals, which surrounded a seating area of wooden furniture painted in flawless white. Upon the table there was a rack with an array of pastries, and two cups sat ready and waiting by the teapot.

 Upon the bench, there he sat.

 Ciel wasn't particularly tall, but you were instantly intimidated. Uneasily, you tried to approach with grace nonetheless, and caught his attention as soon as you were close enough to the side of the bench. Ciel slowly turned his head, and simply looked at you.

 “...”  For a brief moment, his eyes almost seemed to widen, and your hopes raised. Yet just as quickly he was wearing that placid mask again, one which didn't tell you even a little of what he was truly feeling. It felt so tense, knowing that you were being silently judged by him, worrying about what you should do or say.

 “...Aren't you going to sit down?” Ciel suddenly prompted, and gestured to the bench opposite from him. In an instant you were flustered, hurrying to take the spot.  “Ah yes! Of course, I apologize...I'm already wasting your time...”  He quirked a brow. First impressions...  ...You were very pretty. That much could certainly be said. You also seemed to be very shy though, to the point where it appeared to be hindering you somewhat, making you excessively anxious when you really didn't need to be.  

 As you sat yourself down, Ciel clasped his hands calmly in his lap and observed you thoughtfully.  “I'll admit that I did not expect you to be so...meekly mannered.”  “That's my fault, I'm afraid.” you admitted, going a little red in the cheeks as you shifted to get more comfortable. “I...I'm a bit of a shy person, you see...”

 “Hmm.”  Ciel pondered that. Well, you did come across that way. Was it necessarily a bad thing? That he wasn't sure of. It didn't actually bother him too much.

 So many of the potential candidates who had been sent to him had been too loud, too arrogant, or too annoying for his tastes. You were different from the lot of them...and though it made for a slightly awkward scenario, he was actually pretty relieved that you were.

 “...[Y/N], that's your name?” he prompted, to which you nodded and looked up into the one azure blue eye that he had to show. The other was shielded by a black patch, partially obscured further by his soft blueish hair. You could certainly see why so many wanted to be his wife. He was like a porcelain doll.

 But this only made you worry more about how worthy you actually were. Could you possibly be a good spouse for someone like him? You didn't know that you could...

 “Yes...that's my name...” you uttered, and Ciel sighed softly before pouring you some tea.  “Well tell me then, [Y/N]. What is it that drew you to me?”  Actually, that was something you could answer.  “Well it wasn't just recommendations from my family that made me decide I'd try my luck. I...I've heard so much about you, I've become so curious. And in person, you're a little...”

 It was just going to all come out now, wasn't it?  “...Stunning.”

…

 Funny how a single word could claim you that chance.

 A few days passed after the meeting before a finely written letter arrived at your parents' mansion, notifying you all of your success as a bridal candidate. Actually realizing that Ciel wanted to be with you...it was a dream come true.

 Of course, you were still nervous about it. Yet the more times you met him, and the more pieces that were put into place for your eventual wedding, the more you started to relax and fill that role.

 It was on your shoulders to put forth a good image, after all. To represent the Phantomhive name as best as you possibly could. This would mean standing tall and graceful before others, proving that you were a worthy wife. You couldn't allow your inherent nervousness to change that. To put it in jeopardy.  

 So...you asked him, one day:  “Ciel I...I would very much like it if you could teach me...”

 “Teach you?”  He turned away from the array of blue and violet roses he had been admiring, and faced you fully. “What are you seeking to learn?”  You clasped your hands before yourself. Over the past few meetings you'd had together, you'd yearned to ask for some sort of guidance. You would have asked Sebastian but he wasn't your butler, and he only seemed to answer to one...

 “...I see. You don't need to say it, I think I already know...” Ciel walked up to you, already smelling like the flowers around this place, “You wish for me to teach you how to be more regal? To be like a true lady of the house?”  “Mm.” you nodded, and looked up at him sheepishly. Call it old fashioned, but that was what you wanted.  “Alright. Sit down with me.”

 He gestured to the very same bench where you had sat together during that first meeting. As you joined him there, Ciel brought over the teapot and fine china cups, one of which he set down before you. He then handed you the teapot.

 “Pour me a cup of tea the right way.”

The 'right way'? What 'right way' is there, exactly?

 That was the question, wasn't it? Regardless, you obliged of course, nodding and proceeding to gently tilt the teapot. Immediately the lid almost fell off, but Ciel's pale hand quickly shot out and grabbed it before it could drop completely.

 “Careful.”  “S-sorry!”  “Why are you so nervous?”  “I-I don't know I just...”

 Your heart was pounding after that. You looked up at him, almost a little tearfully. “-I just worry about...humiliating myself, and then it ends up happening.”  “Perhaps if you stopped overthinking things so much then it wouldn't?” Ciel suggested, and you nodded. You knew he was right.

 “Here, let me demonstrate. You need to hold it by the top too. That way it won't spill out.” he explained, and positioned himself close beside you. As he did so, you only became more red faced. You couldn't help yourself. He only amplified the hindrance that you so typically had to deal with.

 “...Like this.”  If you hadn't already felt like you were blushing enough, he only worsened things as he laid his hands over yours and guided them gently. It was a simple task, pouring a cup of tea, but in this case you needed to learn to do it properly.

 “I think I know how to do it now.” you said, and then Ciel gestured for you to demonstrate. You did so, with poise and grace, and he looked satisfied.

 “That's it. You're doing well.” he noted, but you just looked at him with hesitation.  “I don't know...I feel like I could do so much better...like I'm not good enough...”

 Perhaps it was about time he made it clear to you. Without any reluctance on his own part, Ciel reached up with both hands and softly clasped your face between them. He held you gently, and leaned in closely before he spoke.

 “If you weren't good enough, I would never have chosen you.”

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: part 2. idk

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: none

word count: 6.4k

part 1, part 2, part 3, …

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— COOKIES AND CONVERSATIONS —

"Natasha?"

Her eyes lock with yours as she slowly straightens up, making Nina let go of her sleeve in the process. You pull your daughter closer, staring at Natasha incredulously.

"Y/N", she finally says, a tad too coolly for your liking.

"What are you doing here?", you ask, still wary. Nina has grabbed your hand, a bit confused by how icy and distant the interaction between you two seems. You both said you're friends, after all. She's too young to grasp just how complex your relationship actually is.

'Friends' is far from the truth.

Natasha looks around the lobby, noticing the stares she's getting from strangers.

Yes, she specifically. You're a familiar face around here, probably visiting every week with your daughter in tow. She, however? She's unfamiliar. A face that stands out, someone who doesn't fit in. Her traitorous brain remarks that she should be used to that feeling by now. But she isn't.

"Can we maybe move this outside?", she asks quietly, her eyes flitting back to meet yours. You frown, unsure whether you should agree to her request.

But then again, Natasha is safe. Despite the breakup, despite the years of distance — you trust her. Part of you also realizes that your conversation is being overheard, which you don't like. Too many people know too much about you already, so there's no need to give them more stuff to talk about.

"Fine." You reluctantly follow her, making sure you're holding on to your daughter. No way is she running off again. That'd be the second time within less than a week.

You look at her as soon as you're outside, standing by your car. Natasha pushes her hands into the pockets of her coat, observing you out of the corner of her eye. She still can't shake that habit, it seems — always on the lookout, always studying you. It's as endearing as it is frustrating.

"So?", you eventually say, your thumb rubbing Nina's fingers. You're trying to calm yourself down. Or keep yourself calm. Either of those. "Answer me."

Natasha's gaze briefly sweeps over your surroundings. Traffic, an empty sidewalk, that gigantic building you just exited. Nobody in vicinity, which is a relief.

"I wanted to see you", she says. A half-lie. She did want to see you, in some way at least, but that's not what she's here for. She came her to find evidence, to gather intel about your precious husband.

Can she tell you that, though?

No. Not yet.

Your expression falters for a moment, the mask of indifference crumbling and vanishing. A variety of emotions flickers across your face, unreadable yet obvious. Natasha can see every single one, making her chest feel tight with guilt.

"You've got great timing", you say weakly, feeling the early autumn breeze brush over your cheeks. "It's been seven years."

"It's been a little more than five days", Natasha corrects you, still stoic.

"You know what I mean", you say sharply. "That thing at the art gallery? Doesn't count. Besides: if you wanted to see me, why'd you come to my husband's office?"

"I didn't know this was his office", she immediately replies, which — to you — is even more ridiculous than her claiming she wanted to see you. She's a spy, for god's sake. She doesn't do anything without a purpose, especially not something like this.

"So this is a coincidence?" You let out a hollow laugh. "Natasha-"

"Okay", she says, stepping closer. You quickly look at her, feeling the urge to take a step back. You can't get close to her again. "Maybe I did know he works here. But how else was I supposed to find you?"

"Not at all would've been a start."

"Charming", she says drily, her attempt at concealing the hurt in her voice failing. "Nice to see you too."

"Oh, come on." You sigh. "I'm sorry, but this...it's odd. I didn't think you'd be the one to seek me out first after, you know...", you trail off. She smiles bitterly, averting her eyes.

"Not all of us hold grudges", she says, softer this time. "I guess you're just harder to forget than I thought."

There's a teasing lilt to her voice, something that's meant to protect you both. It doesn't work, but you appreciate the effort. Plus, it manages to elicit a small smile from you. That's more than enough for Natasha.

Nina, ever the restless one, lets go of you to grab Natasha's hand again. The woman looks down at her, a smile appearing on her lips. The child is staring at her as if she's some kind of superhero, which is pretty much spot on.

"Looks like I've been replaced", you comment, the smile on your face turning more genuine now.

Nina is sociable. She loves people of pretty much all ages and is guaranteed to talk their ears off. Still, this kind of immediate fascination is something you haven't seen before. Like mother like daughter, it seems. When you first met Natasha, you felt this kind of enchantment as well. It's a spell that's hard to break.

"I am very likable", Natasha boasts playfully, grinning at your daughter. The little one turns to look at you, pleased that she made the pretty lady smile at her.

"Mommy, she's nice", she pipes up. "Can we get cookies? You promised."

"I did promise cookies", you sigh, shooting her an affectionate look. Then you glance at Natasha. "We were supposed to pick up a snack on our way home", you say sheepishly. "Care to join us?"

"Change of heart?", the redhead teases.

"Yeah, well..." You crack a smile. You're aware you went from pissed off to mildly flustered, all within the span of mere minutes. It'd throw her off guard if she wasn't still familiar with it. "It's always been difficult to stay mad at you."

Natasha hums, looking at Nina again. The girl smiles as if on cue, bouncing on the spot.

"Please?"

"Will I get a cookie, too?", Natasha asks, raising her eyebrows.

Nina nods. "You can have one", she says, her tone generous yet slightly self-important. You and Natasha exchange an amused look — it's a kind and genuine offer, but the way she's saying it makes it sound like the cookies are hers to give away. You're starting to see why your parents have called your daughter spoiled before.

"Looks like the boss has spoken. So, you're joining us?"

"I can't say no to Miss Nina here", Natasha confirms, squeezing Nina's hand.

"Nobody can", you huff, smiling, and take Nina's free hand. "There's a café down the block. We can walk there."

To say that this is weird would be more than just an understatement.

You haven't seen her in years. Haven't talked to her, haven't texted her, nothing. Refusal to reach out from both sides resulted in complete radio silence. And now?

Now you're walking down the street together, both of you holding onto Nina as she walks between you. You're not talking — thankfully, your daughter has decided to do that for you. She's chattering nonstop, her little voice ringing through the air.

It's warm inside the café, with the scent of pumpkin spice wafting right into your faces. Nina instantly lets go of you both, running up to the counter to inspect the pastries. She clasps her hands together in front of her, as if to prevent herself from touching the glass that's separating her from the sweet treats.

"She's a good kid", Natasha says quietly as you catch up to the girl. "She must get that from you."

You smile slightly, glancing at the woman next to you. Your gaze gets stuck, lingers, traces her features. You never could've forgotten what she looks like — not in a million years — but she's even more beautiful than you remembered.

Natasha notices you staring. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, subtly tilting her head. "What?", she asks softly.

"Nothing", you respond in a low murmur, quickly digging through your purse. "It's just weird seeing you here."

She manages a faint smile, silently agreeing with your words. Her eyes zero in on your wallet as you reach for a few dollar bills and her hand comes up to gently stop you.

"I got this", she says, reaching for her own money.

"No, hey-"

"Hush", she says firmly, then gives the barista a polite smile. She lets Nina order her own cookie (the rainbow one, of course), then she lists off everything else. Chocolate chip cookies — a classic —, an espresso and your favorite beverage.

You hide your smile, trying to get over the fact that she still remembers.

You find a quiet, secluded corner of the café, and sit down there. The sky is littered with clouds, covering the sun and allowing the soft lights of the café to be the star of the show.

Nina is tucked into the corner seat between you, her little hands breaking the cookie in two. Her excitement over something so mundane is serving as a buffer between you and Natasha, helping you through initial awkward silences.

"It's a nice place", Natasha comments, taking a sip of her espresso. "Much better than that place in D.C. with the squeaky chairs."

"And the bitter coffee", you add, looking at her. You reach out, tapping the frame of the glasses she's wearing. Those are definitely new. "Didn't know you need glasses now."

"I don't", Natasha says, quickly sliding the glasses off her face. Her eyes meet yours, deep green and softened. "They just help me be recognized less, believe it or not."

"I recognized you", you counter, stirring the hot drink in front of you before taking a tentative sip.

"Yes, you did", she says pointedly, glancing at Nina as she holds out a piece of her cookie. The girl has her head tilted sweetly.

"Trade?"

"Sure, honey", Natasha says, handing her a piece of her own cookie in exchange. Then she focuses on you again. "Now let's hope the rest of Manhattan isn't as sharp-eyed as you."

You roll your eyes, an amused sound escaping you. "Well, don't look at me. I don't think a pair of glasses could ever make you blend in." You pause, a thought crossing your mind. "What are you hiding from, anyways?"

Natasha looks at you, her brain — again — settling on a half-truth. "You know me. From the rest of Manhattan, pretty much."

"Right", you say, smiling faintly. "Always on the run."

"Old habits die hard", she says wryly, leaning back with her arms crossed. Irony — her very own way of suppressing the guilt that's starting to rear its head. She's lying to you pretty much constantly, keeping secrets and finding excuses.

Natasha has reasons for that. She can't just tell you what's going on, not until she knows for sure. Until then, you might be of use.

Telling herself that is easier than admitting why she's actually sitting here with you.

"Funny. I thought you'd have found some peace by now." You tilt your head pointedly. "Or at least a better disguise."

"Me and peace in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day", she says, finishing her espresso. "And the disguise? It's low-maintenance."

You let out a sound that's between a laugh and a scoff, wiping a few cookie crumbs off Nina's face absently. She rubs her eyes tiredly and you place a soothing hand on her back. "You were never low-maintenance."

"I thought I was charmingly uncomplicated", she smiles, briefly glancing at Nina to check on her. The girl looks sleepy, so it must be nap time for her soon.

"Yes, sure. If that's what you'd call having three passports in the glove compartment whenever you drove me anywhere."

The sole purpose of the smirk on Natasha's face is to hide a wince. It wasn't just the passports — it was everything that came with being with her. Switching cars while driving in the middle of the night, being prepared to run at any given moment. Making sure she could up and go whenever she wanted. Never entirely grounded, one foot always in the shadows.

Her existence was unpredictable, untethered. A stark contrast to the safe but stifling life you lead now, filled with monotony and routines.

Being with her allowed you to soar, even if it sometimes meant crashing down.

"Touché", Natasha says, watching you smooth down Nina's hair. Yet another new mannerism you've picked up — an endearing one at that. "Makes me wonder why you didn't run."

"Maybe I liked the thrill", you reply, looking at her again. Nina's head droops onto your arm for a moment. She's definitely ready for her nap. "Or maybe I liked the person behind the passports."

"That person hasn't changed as much as you may think."

"I think we've both changed."

Natasha watches you scoop the yawning child into your lap. Nina nestles against you, her eyes closing.

She never thought she'd see you like this: all motherly and nurturing, quietly soothing a child — your child. So maybe you have a point. Maybe you did change.

"Maybe", she admits, giving a small smile. "Some things don't, though."

"Like what?", you ask quietly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Natasha leans forward, her gaze holding yours. The café, the people around you, the noises and smells — it all disappears. At least for a moment, it does.

"Like the way I recognized you, too."

. . .

— THE WEB UNFOLDS —

Her office is small but efficient, filled with the tools of her trade. Screens glowing with data, paperwork and open files scattered across her desk, a steaming mug of tea. She toys with a pen as she scans the financial documents she retrieved once more, one name standing out: Durant Enterprises.

Multiple transfers to and from said company, the amounts large and the descriptions vague. It's the frequency that makes her pause. This isn't just routine business — it's deliberate.

Natasha feels on edge as she puts her pen aside, now pulling up a secondary window on her screen. She cross-references the company with known entities in her database and starts to dig.

At first, Durant Enterprises doesn't raise alarms. Everything seems ordinary until more troubling details surface.

Natasha pauses, her hands stilling. She stares at the screen, feeling a chill run down her spine.

Ties to overseas operations, suspiciously under-the-radar accounts — and, most notably, an association with human trafficking syndicates.

She swallows, her fingers continuing to move over the keyboard in a rapid pace. A list of contacts connected to Ethan catches her eye, several names matching aliases from SHIELD's database of traffickers and corrupt officials. A few of the numbers that are listed appear to be burner phones, heightening her suspicions.

Natasha plugs in the USB stick and runs a deep scan of the files on Ethan's computer. A dense folder of corporate documents, mostly financial data — endless spreadsheets, balance sheets, transaction records. But, nestled among them, an invoice marked for 'freight services' from a shipping company she's never heard of.

It's not an innocent transaction — the total is unsettlingly large.

She pulls up the details, her eyes narrowing as she connects the dots to previous intel. And there it is again: an obscure company, linked to the same shadowy network she's seen before.

Dammit, Bailey, she thinks, taking a hasty sip of tea. What are you dragging them into?

As expected, her thoughts have drifted back to you. To you and Nina, completely oblivious to what Ethan — the man who's supposed to protect you and care for you — is doing.

And then there's Natasha — about to tear this entire network down, about to expose him to his family and countless others. She knows you'll have to find out eventually; it's only fair, after all. You deserve to know the full truth, even if it'll add yet another weight to your shoulders.

Part of her wonders whether you'll forgive her. She's been lying to you ever since that night at the art gallery, and she continues lying to you constantly. It's what she has to do to protect you and Nina.

Lingering affection wars with duty. Shield you from all of this or tell you the truth, let you live in this little bubble you've created for yourself or make it burst. Natasha shouldn't let her feelings get in the way, especially not when this entire mess concerns you and your daughter as well.

Every part of her being is trying to stop her from getting you involved in this. You don't deserve to be a part of this — but here you are.

And she's certain she'll do everything in her power to protect you, even if it means losing you once and for all.

Natasha sets the tea aside and grabs her phone. Her finger hovers above the call button for an excruciatingly long moment, then she decides against it. She leans back in her chair, starting to massage her temples. A dull ache has started to form behind her eyes.

It's a realization, a resolve, that hurts.

She'll have to use you somehow.

. . .

— MOMENTS IN FOCUS —

The sunlight filtering through the windows has a richness to it, making everything appear softer and more vibrant. Leaves dance in front of the floor to ceiling windows, shades of amber and russet that make the scenery outside look like the perfect October morning.

You look up from the ingredients in front of you — bananas, berries, a handful of spinach, all ready to be thrown into the blender — when you hear footsteps approach. Ethan pauses at your side, briefly glancing up from his phone to press a short kiss to your cheek. 

"Good morning", he says, looking like the epitome of effortlessness. Hair wet and slicked back, a crisp white robe tied loosely around his waist. Nina doesn't even notice him; she's too engrossed in the picture in front of her, her tongue sticking out as she focuses on coloring within the lines of the butterfly. "What's on the menu?"

"Smoothies, scrambled eggs, yogurt with granola", you list off, turning on the blender. It hums softly as the colors swirl together, creating a nice pinkish shade.

"Hear that, Nina?", he asks, leaning against the counter next to you. She barely looks at him before going back to coloring, now choosing a purple crayon. "Jesus. We've really got to make sure she pays more attention. This is rude behavior."

"She's tired", you defend her, pouring the smoothie into two glasses and one plastic cup. "Also, it's 7 in the morning. You can't expect her to function properly at this hour, Ethan."

"Why not?", he counters, reaching around you to grab one of the smoothies. He takes a few big gulps, already sitting down at the breakfast table and reaching for the newspaper. "She's almost four. It's time she learns some manners."

"She has manners", you retort, crouching down in front of your daughter. She stops coloring, her eyes meeting yours expectantly as she waits for you to say something. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

"No", Nina says, but gets up anyway. You smile and swiftly lift her into the air, then sit her down on the chair with her booster seat. She reaches for her cup, holding it with both hands as she takes a sip. "That's yummy."

"Thank you, baby." A kiss is planted on the top of her head, then you join them at the table.

Ethan looks up from the newspaper, casually drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Not that I know, no", you say, glancing at him. "Why? Did something come up?"

"Oh, yeah. This magazine — Art & Culture Monthly, you probably know them — called this morning. They want to feature the gallery's grand opening in their upcoming issue. It's a pretty big deal, you know? Anyway, they'll interview me and also feature our family."

You can hear the excitement in his voice, causing you to smile faintly. Of course — another thing he can add to his long list of achievements. You can't believe you thought he'd ask if you wanted to do something normal. Go to a pumpkin patch, maybe visit a park. Simple, ordinary things.

"Whatever. They want to take a few pictures of us later today — you, me, the kid. It'll be great for the gallery's reputation, and it'll really solidify our place in the art scene."

Your smile fades a bit. A photo shoot. You've done a couple of those before, but they were always for private usage. You don't want Nina's face to be printed in some magazine everyone can buy, even if basically no one would recognize her anyway.

"I don't know", you say hesitantly, handing Nina a napkin. She has some of the smoothie smeared across her chin and cheeks. "It's a bit unexpected. Plus, Nina is too young for that. She won't be able to sit still for that long."

"Hey, it's okay", he says, brushing off your concerns. "You'll be fine, Nina. Won't you? Anyways-" He turns to you without waiting for an answer, "it's a huge opportunity for us — for me, really. They want to showcase the perfect family, and we're pretty much spot on."

The perfect family — husband, wife, cute little daughter. Well-off but still relatable, at least in a way. Always happy, always fitting society's expectations. You're tired of being pushed into this mold.

You sigh, glancing at your daughter. She looks at you, not understanding too much. "Photos?", she asks curiously.

"Yeah, photos. A photo shoot", you say, feeling uneasy. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Come on", your husband pushes impatiently. "It won't take too long. Besides — it's not like you have anything to do, do you? You'd spend the entire day sitting around. At least you'll make yourself useful."

You roll your eyes. Yes, that's definitely the case. It's not like you have a toddler to take care of, right? And even if you do — it can't be as hard as what Ethan does, obviously.

"When do we have to be there?"

"Two hours", he says happily, eating a bite of his scrambled eggs. "By the way, did you put chives in this? You know I don't like chives."

. . .

It's an upscale studio, bustling with assistants, lights and backdrops. Ethan is just as polished as the space you're in, immediately stepping up to the photographer — an older man, balding, with tiny glasses and a sweater vest — and staff to charm them. You keep your daughter close, feeling out of place.

As much as you hate this — you have to admit that Nina looks impossibly cute in her outfit. A white cabled fisherman sweater, matching yours, paired with denim jeans in a light wash. A pastel yellow headband is keeping her hair out of her face, making her cheeks look even rosier than usually.

"Mommy, this is itchy", she whispers, tugging at the front of her sweater. You grimace, quietly sympathizing with your daughter. The fabric doesn't exactly feel nice on your skin.

"I know, honey", you reply in a hushed voice, making sure the assistants and photographer don't hear you.

"And it's bright", she adds, squinting as she accidentally looks at one of the lights. You snort in amusement, gently making her turn away so she doesn't let the brightness fry her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be over soon, alright?"

"You ready?", one of the assistants says, waving you over. You nod and gently nudge Nina along.

The photographer positions you in various poses — Nina perched on Ethan's knee, Ethan with his arm around you, you holding Nina. It feels rehearsed, like they know exactly what they want to sell. Which, realistically speaking, is probably the case here.

Picture after picture, pose after pose. You're not the only one who starts to get restless. You spot Nina fidgeting more than once, subtly reaching into her pockets to make sure her crayons are still there — crayons she brought along secretly.

"Stop that, please", the photographer's voice cuts through the air. You don't like the irritated tone with which he's speaking one bit, but you decide to ignore him.

Nina stops, quickly pulling her hand out of her pocket.

"Yes, perfect. Ideal!", he gushes, continuing to snap pictures of you. You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You silently wonder whether anyone will look at the pictures and realize that you'd rather be anywhere else. Ethan won't, that's for sure — he's beaming, oblivious to your discomfort.

"Mommy?", Nina whispers as you pick her up, already clutching her crayons in her smaller hand. You're finally done after what feels like an eternity of posing and smiling stiffly. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, sweetheart, we're going home", you nod, letting her nestle into you. "Let's just finish up here, okay?"

"Okay", she mumbles, her crayons pressed against the clean fabric of your sweater. They'll most likely leave stains, but you couldn't care less about that. You're just relieved you're done with this.

The drive home isn't silent, to your dismay. Ethan keeps going on and on and on about how great the photos are and how important this is and how it'll certainly elevate his public image. He's talking so much you're surprised Nina managed to doze off in her seat, her chin resting on her chest.

You don't bother responding — instead, you just stare out the window, your mind drifting. You wonder whether Natasha would've laughed at how absurd this whole thing is. You wonder what's she's doing, whether she's thinking about you.

In that moment, you get a text message.

Natasha: Hey, Y/N. This is a bit random, but does Ethan know a few guys in the whole arts world?

I'm looking into something for Tony. — 2.17 pm

You: Hey! I can ask him for a few of his

contacts and send you a list, maybe? — 2.17 pm

Natasha: That's perfect, thank you. — 2.18 pm

You look to your left when Nina stirs. She looks at your phone, rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Who is that?"

"That's Natasha", you say. Ethan doesn't even notice. He's now telling your chauffeur about the feature, again rambling about the interview and the art gallery. Part of you is thankful for that.

"Natasha?" Nina suddenly doesn't seem so sleepy anymore as her eyes light up. "Say hi!"

You smile at your daughter's enthusiasm. Seems like she's really starting to adore the redhead.

You: By the way, Nina says hi. She's all smiley. — 2.19pm

Natasha: Right back at her :) — 2.20pm

Natasha: Are you guys in town next week? There's this park near

the old tower, I think she'd love it. (I promise I won't hog the cookies

this time.) — 2.21pm

You glance at Nina. She looks at you, wide-eyed and practically buzzing with excitement.

"Natasha's asking if we want to go to a park with her", you say, reaching out to adjust her seatbelt. "What do you say, NeeNee?"

Your daughter immediately nods. "Yes, I want to go! Can we go?"

You smile faintly. "Sure, we'll go."

You text Natasha back, confirming the day and time. Then you slip your phone into your pocket.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving into a smile before you even realize it. The weight of your lousy day lingers, but it seems lighter now.

The idea of seeing Natasha tugs at your chest in a way you weren't prepared to unpack. It's almost absurd, how a simple text exchange could bring you such warmth. There's a faint flutter beneath your ribs, caused by a mix of excitement and a wary kind of anticipation.

It's been years, yet you still don't know what it is about Natasha Romanoff that can do this to you with such little effort.

. . .

It's a nice day — the October sun is warm but not overbearing, the chatter of children is echoing through the open space. You get out of the car and scoop the squirming child out of her booster seat, her hand tightly clutching her favorite stuffed bear. You set her on the ground, making sure she doesn't just run off.

"Mommy, can we go there first?", she asks, pointing at the swings. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Let's find Natasha first, sweetheart. Then maybe she can push you."

Your suggestion earns a gleeful nod. With her hand clasped in yours, you start making your way down the winding path leading into the park. The late-afternoon light dapples the ground through the trees, creating a peaceful but slightly surreal atmosphere — though maybe that's just your nerves.

You spot Natasha near a quiet corner of the park, leaning casually against the wooden fence by the playground. Her pose is relaxed, but her sharp eyes are scanning the area around her.

Once she sees you, her face softens.

"Natasha!", Nina yells, voice bubbling with excitement, and frees herself from your gentle grip to dart forward.

Natasha crouches down just in time to catch the girl in a gentle hug, her expression warm. "Hey, Tiny!"

You ignore the nickname and the way it sends butterflies through your stomach. Instead you approach her, your steps hesitant but steady. She straightens up, her eyes meeting yours, and the park fades into the background.

You feel a small rush of warmth — one that leaves you confused.

"Hi", you say, your voice quieter than intended.

"Hi", she responds, her tone equally soft. But her gaze lingers, taking you in, and the curve of her lips hints at something deeper. "Should we sit? Or does Nina have a playground mission I should know about?"

Nina tugs at Natasha's hand, a grin on her face. "Swings first!"

The little girl manages to slightly break the tension. You let out a laugh, shooting your daughter a fond look. "Looks like you've got your orders."

"Please", Nina adds, remembering the magic word. She keeps pulling at Natasha's hand, who plays along easily. She follows Nina to the playground, all while exchanging a brief look with you — a silent 'Is this okay?'

"Go ahead", you say, nodding, and follow them to the swings.

Leaves crunch beneath the soles of your shoes, the air having a slight bite to it already. A boy, slightly older than Nina, runs past with his father chasing after him. Laughter and voices carry through the air, allowing you to relax a little.

Natasha makes sure Nina's holding on tight before she takes the lead in pushing her. You stand next to them, arms loosely crossed over your chest to preserve some warmth.

"Higher!", Nina promptly demands, trying to glance at Natasha over the thick fabric of her scarf.

"Higher? What are you, a little daredevil in training? You're going to give your mom a heart attack!"

"She's already started", you say, mildly exasperated. "You should've seen her last week, when she tried to climb the bookshelf."

"Huh." Natasha smiles, her eyes briefly meeting yours. There it is again, that annoying tug of warmth. "Sounds like someone I used to know."

You huff, but you can't deny the truth behind her words. You shrug, pushing your hands into the pockets of your coat.

"You never complained."

"I didn't", she agrees, gently stopping the swing when Nina starts to talk about the merry-go-round. "Doesn't mean you didn't make my nerves fray, though."

"Please." You start walking to the merry-go-round, watching Nina speed ahead. "If anyone's nerves were frayed, it's mine. I watched you leave for missions on a weekly basis. I can't even count how many times I stitched you up afterwards."

"You make it sound like I was some kind of wrecking ball", she smirks.

"You didn't need to be." You let out an amused chuckle, your eyes glued to Nina as she sits down on the circular bench of the merry-go-round. "You were a force of nature, and I spent most of my time just trying to hold it together while you ran off into the chaos."

"You always did", she agrees, her voice quieter now. You stop when you reach the merry-go-round, watching Nina as she starts to spin around. "You were good at it, though. At stitching me up, I mean. Better than I deserved most days."

"Very true", you say, trying to keep it light. "I think I deserved a medal for keeping up with you."

"You mean for putting up with me?", Natasha corrects you, her hand briefly touching the handle of the merry-go-round to make sure it doesn't spin too fast.

A faint smile forms on your face. She's not entirely wrong — some of the time, it really was 'putting up with her'. Rolling with it, with her lifestyle, with the way every day seemed to be pure chaos.

You know it's not her fault. It's who she is, it's the life she ended up choosing for herself after never getting to have a choice. You were patient, too — you understood why she had to do all those things. Why she could never just rest.

"I'm just saying: most people would've thrown their hands up after the third emergency stitch job", you say mock seriously, earning a quiet laugh.

"Good thing you're not most people", she says, her smirk letting some tenderness shimmer through.

"Yeah", you agree, watching her. She's looking at Nina again, making sure she isn't spinning too fast or getting dizzy. Again and again you realize the same thing: only days later, Natasha fits in perfectly. Maybe that's what scares you the most. "Real good."

. . .

With Nina playing in a sandbox, you and Natasha get to be alone for a moment. You never take your eyes off your daughter to make sure she stays right where she is, but most of your attention is on the woman sitting next to you.

"I never knew how fast things could change", you speak softly, your words lingering in the chilly air. "I mean — one moment, I was making all these big plans. And now?"

"...now, you're a mom", Natasha says, smiling faintly as Nina smushes down her sandcastle.

"Yeah, exactly."

"You found a calmer life", she says, half to herself. It's bittersweet — she's glad you made it to a place where you don't have to worry about her or the dangers that come with the territory anymore. Now, your days are filled with cartoons and picture books and colorful bandaids. No more midnight missions, no more bloodies bandages. "A safer one."

"Calm and safe, sure", you mumble absently. "But I'm not so sure about...better."

Natasha turns to look at you, frowning slightly. What you said is odd enough, but the way you said it really threw her off. She scoots closer, her voice lowered.

"What are you talking about?"

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can say anything, Nina calls out to you. She's running, one hand clutching her teddybear. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"Come here, honey." You grab a juice box from your backpack and hand it to her. She struggles with the straw for a moment, then she manages to poke it through the hole. The straw is now covered in grains of sand, making you grimace — but, of course, your daughter doesn't care about that.

She empties the juice box in record time, then she tosses it into the trash can. Off she goes again, her eyes locking onto the pony spring-rider. Natasha watches her with increasing fondness, silently wondering whether, in some other, faraway universe, this is what her life looks like.

"Always on the go", you say quietly, watching her. "So full of energy, I swear."

"I guess that's why I like her so much", Natasha says, glancing at you. You smile.

"She reminds you of yourself, huh?"

Natasha laughs under her breath, shrugging. "Maybe. Though I hope not too much."

You look down at your lap, at your hands that are resting there, and subtly toy with the ring on your finger. Your gaze shifts back to Natasha, a small, wistful smile on your face.

"I disagree. I wouldn't mind if she was a bit...wilder." You bite your lip, then add: "Like you. I mean, you were the one always pushing me out of my comfort zone. It was part of the deal: I tried to rein you in — unsuccessfully —, and you kept pushing."

Natasha smiles, her hand briefly reaching out to squeeze yours. You exhale softly at the simple touch — you haven't felt her skin against yours in years, but it's still the same.

"Did I ever do it right?", she ponders. "Push you the way you needed?"

"Maybe not always", you admit. "But you made me feel alive. Even when it was complicated."

. . .

"For you!", Nina says, handing a flower — a chrysanthemum — to Natasha. The redhead smiles, taking the small plant and twirling it between her fingers.

"A flower? For me? I'm honored!" Natasha turns to look at you, a teasing look on her face. "See? She already likes me better than most people."

You chuckle, lifting Nina into your arms. "I wouldn't be so sure", you say, smiling back just as teasingly. "She gave the mailman a flower last week, too."

"Oh really? And here I thought I was special."

You hum, adjusting your hold on your daughter. "You are special", you say, this time completely sincerely. You can't remember the last time Ethan spent the whole day with you like this — simply existing, doing things that aren't work-related, making sure Nina has fun. This was Natasha's idea, too — not yours. For the first time in a while, you don't feel isolated.

You clear your throat, giving a quick nod. "Well, uhm...thank you. For this. She really had fun."

Natasha hesitates, her gaze flickering from the flower to your face. "I didn't just come for her", she eventually speaks, the words hanging in the air as you exchange a look. You swallow, managing a faint smile.

"Let's not get too sentimental", you say, trying to sound lighthearted. You nudge Nina to distract yourself. "Say bye, honey."

Nina waves at Natasha. A few hours of playing outside in the fresh air have turned her cheeks rosy. "Bye, Natasha!"

"Bye, Tiny."

Another quick glance at each other, then you part ways. Natasha goes in one direction, you go in the other. Years linger between you, years that were spent together and that keep you close. There's a pull that's close to magnetic, and you're not sure how you managed to resist it for such a long time.

Both of you wonder whether you were ever able to truly leave your past behind — or if, somehow, you're still tangled in it, just waiting for the right moment to unravel.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @fxckmiup

[grimespial]

Too Sweet

Carl Grimes x Shane's Son Male reader

slightly aged up just for plot reasons

You did not have a good relationship with your dad.

He was practically two different people in public and private. In private you were mostly ignored, but if you weren't, then you were just a disappointment.

All because of Carl and Lori Grimes.

Nothing you could do would make him proud, he would throw you away in the blink of an eye if it meant taking Rick's place.

You and Carl used to get along, but you couldnt help but push him away, atleast it could be played off with you being older and teen moods.

Rick tried to include you, he was more of a dad to you than Shane, talking, playing, sports, just spending time but it just hurt.

So when the apocalypse starts, it's not a suprise you just happen to be left.

You somehow made your way to a farm, hoping it would be abandoned, but of course it wasn't and a woman on a horse came at you.

That's how you ended up joining the Greene family. It was hard. You actually got cared for, you practically were adopted

But then a boy was shot and Hershel had to help, and of course the people you honestly never wanted to see again had to show up.

Rick almost choked you with the hug he gave, Shane wasn't back yet, still out with Otis. The man who was teaching you to hunt with a gun because a knife won't always work.

Your dad came back, alone. You were already Maggie and Beth's brother, but Otis was like an older brother. And now he's gone.

When Carl woke up, Rick with all good intent, told him you were here. You would think it was magic how quickly he healed enough to go looking for you.

He was so insistent. Didn't matter how much you walked away, or replied rudely, he would just follow you everywhere.

For Carl, it was worth getting shot, because now you're back! He missed how you two hung out and when everything went down he didn't think he would ever see you again.

Everything was horrible with Shane, his whole group didn't even know you existed, even worse when they thought Shane was Carl's dad at the very beginning.

The Greene family were on edge around Shane, sometimes even getting hostile if he started crossing the line against their brother and son.

Rick had to step in and tell Shane to leave you alone until they found Sophia, because Hershel warned him they'd get kicked out if it continued.

Your relationship progressed without you or Carl noticing, but everyone else did.

Carl included you in everything, and included himself in anything you did.

It was hard to get over the jealousy, but with Shane gone and how Carl seemed so happy to spend time with you, like you were the greatest thing in the world, it was easier to heal.

Maggie was having the time of her life teasing you, hypocritical considering her and Glenn can't leave eachother alone.

What pushed you two to date was when Lori died. Daryl asked you to look after Carl, so you did. Spending time in his cell, getting him outside for some fresh air, just talking to him.

When he wanted some private time, you cared for Judith instead. Hershel joked that neither you or Beth should think about having a baby antime soon.

Maggie, humorous as always, told him there was no worry on your side unless Carl could get pregnant.

It was later when Carl came out of his cell, you were still looking after Judith while Beth made milk and Glenn helped Maggie make some food.

That night, you stayed up with Carl. He was struggling to sleep lately, so you stayed up until he fell asleep. This night he just started crying.

So you just hugged him. Nobody spoke. The only sound was Carl hiccuping and breathing while you wrapped your arm around his shoulder.

When Carl quieted down, he turned to see you, but you were already looking at him. And you were close.

It was easier to push away any feelings before, there was no time to think over feelings, more important things were happening.

But here you were face to face and before you knew it Carl kissed you.

Carl is practically your owner and you're the guard dog. Stubborn is your middle name, but one whisper of your name from Carl and you listen.

He never gets over the butterflies or blushing, you hold his hand and he's practically burning and trying to hold his smile back.

You constantly were protecting him. There was technically no need, he could take care of himself perfectly fine, but you insisted on it.

Sometimes it got annoying to him and he'd snap, Rick would end up explaining that you just care for him and dont want him to get hurt.

It's free entertainment for the adults watching you two go through a relationship.

You both sneak away from the group to make out, but when youre on the road its harder and Carl really doesn't want to make out in front of anyone, especially his dad.

You do end up breaking that rule one day, you were with Michonne after the prison fell, and when you found him you both just ran to eachother.

Cuddles are mandatory.

You have to be watched when eating, because you will just give Carl your food if it means he's healthier, Carl was not happy when he found this out.

Carl loves being pampered by you but he'll pretend he doesn't, but if you can't for whatever reason it doesn't feel right.

this is based off the Carl fic i have with the same premise, i might end up putting it on ao3...

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[findmeinforks]

The Incident - Paul Lahote x Fem!Reader

A little one shot that I just couldn't stop writing. A good angst to fluff (btw my fics will never be all angst, im too soft). Also do not fear, Im working on a Sam fic and part 3 to not letting you go. But you let ME know what you think of this one ❤️ 2K words

"My SISTER, Paul. She's my fucking SISTER!" you yelled, voice hoarse as your throat cracked.

"I could give a SHIT LESS WHAT SHE IS. YOU'RE. NOT. GOING." He screamed, jaw taut as he tried his best to subside the tremors that were threatening to take over his body.

You ignored the teeth he bared, shaking your head and scoffing.

"Aren't you tired of this?! I'm going over there. I HAVE to know she's safe."

"YOU SERIOUSLY THINK I'LL JUST SIT BY AND WATCH MY IMPRINT GO TO A PLACE WHERE I CAN'T PROTECT HER? WHAT ABOUT ME KNOWING THAT YOU'RE SAFE?? HUH?? YOU'RE SICK IF YOU THINK I WOULD BE OKAY WITH THIS!"

"Sick?!? SICK?!? LETS TALK ABOUT HOW 'SICK' IT IS THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO KILL HER AND THE BABY. THATS MY FAMILY PAUL!"

"AND WERE NOT?"

It had been like this for a week straight. Ever since the pack stormed through the door announcing their mission to kill Bella and the unborn child within her.

You felt as though your two families had been pinned against each other. Head spinning at the idea of there being a 'choice' between your sister and imprint.

On one hand you were desperate to make sure she was alright, but also exhausted at the never ending battle with your boyfriend.

Sure you had talked to Bella over the phone, but you didn't buy into the lies like your father had. Even though you knew significantly more than he did, she still attempted to downplay the situation. She had done this numerous times since getting thrown into the vampire world, but she could only keep you in the dark for so long before you unraveled the truth.

You had to see her. Even if it was the last time. By fate, or at the hands of the pack. You had to be there for her, as she would you.

Leaving your imprint though? Was at task challenging at best. On at least four different occasions you fought with Paul for so long that Emily and Sam had to intervene, prying you two apart at the pleads of other pack members.

Emily would console you while you ranted and Sam would make Paul run off his anger in the woods. When you faced him again, it turned into a rerun of the same argument. Nobody in the house had gotten sleep, and the things were progressively getting worse.

Quil came through the door, widening his eyes.

"Just a heads up everyone, a little comedic relief does not go over well. I saw my life flash before Paul's eyes." He huffed before sitting down.

"When is this going to be overrrr?" Embry whined. He shoved his head in his hands on the kitchen table while you and Paul went at it in the front yard.

Emily sighed.

"Unfortunately sooner than you think....Y/N packed her suitcase this morning." She said quietly.

"You're not really going to let her go over there are you?!?" Kim stood up, looking at both Emily and Sam.

"If you would like to stop her, please, be my guest." Sam motioned his hand to outside, where you and Paul could be seen through the window. You were throwing your arms up and pointing fingers at him, while his voice boomed loudly, towering his large frame over yours.

Kim winced.

You had always been the calm to Paul's raging storm. 'Made him all soft' as the guys would tease. None of them had actually seen you two disagree with each other. In the mind link they saw glimpses of minor arguments, most of the time being reconciled in the sheets..

Paul eventually got an order by Sam to think about something else while on patrol. 'Literally, anything else'.

"She's not going anywhere. I can count on my hand how many times they've been apart since he imprinted. They'll work it out eventually." Jared said as he pulled Kim on his lap, taking a hunk out of his apple.

Kim didn't share a look that she believed him, worriedly looking out to where you stood.

A few moments passed when her body stiffened and she gasped, making Jared look where she was.

"SHIT! SHIT!" He said, throwing Kim off his lap.

Sam turned to look out the window in time to see Paul phase, his sharp claw making contact with your skin. Your blood curdling scream instantly had everyone else off their seats, nearly knocking each other over to race outside.

You laid on the ground as your body wracked with sobs, clutching your side. Blood gushed through your hand as you started to panic, scrambling to stand. The large silver wolf only stood for a few moments before Paul shifted back, completely horrified as he frantically tried to reach you.

He felt his heart nearly rip out of his chest as you backpedaled into Emily, who was helping to hold you upright.

"NO! NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! IM DONE!" You cried.

Sam stood in the middle of the two of you.

Paul could feel his chest caving in, hand out, speaking more gently than he had at all in the past week.

"B-baby. Please. Please, I'm- I'm so sorry baby. Please let me just see-"

"NO! I'm done. I'm done. I'm leaving. I'm done." You repeated like a mantra, limping to the car.

"Y/N you cannot drive like this..." Emily attempted to say as she stepped in from behind you. She could see your anxiety was heightened, and afraid to set you off further.

"I have to go," you choked, on the verge of tears as you tried to open the drivers side. You had yet to even notice the gash in your side, adrenaline pumping wildly through your body.

Paul made his way around Sam, grabbing your other arm that was holding the door.

"You are crazy if you think I'm letting you leave like this. Please come-"

You yanked your arm from his grasp.

"Don't. Let me go!" You said coldly.

Paul froze. He couldn't move. You never spoke to him like this. Even in the numerous fights you two had this week.

Every single instinct in his body needed to help you. He knew you were downplaying your injuries. He knew he just royally fucked everything up. But the absolute last thing you could do was walk into a house full of vampires dripping in blood. Fucking doctor or not.

"Come inside and let me take a look at you, okay? Please." Emily said to coax you, frantically looking at your wound.

This made Sam follow her gaze, looking down to see the blood pouring from your side hadn't stopped, and you were growing paler by the minute.

"Y/N....you're going to stay here and I'll call Sue." He said in an authoritative voice, leaving no room to argue as he turned to start dialing the number.

You almost argued. You almost fought both of them on the subject. Your stubbornness almost won.

But you felt an immense pain. So strong you don't know how the hell you didn't notice it when you stood up.

That couldn't be good.

"....Y/N?" Paul said, barely above a whisper. Tears were now silently streaming down his face as he held both hands out slightly. Not close enough to touch you but to be prepared in case you fell.

You could feel yourself start to float in and out of consciousness. You tried to ground yourself by focusing on something. You looked at his hands that were outstretched.

Those hands that you held on your first date. The hands that hover your back anywhere you go. The hands that lift you up from the couch on movie nights to bring you to bed. The hands that move in just the right way when making love to you. The hands that were now shaking, not out of anger, but fear. You loved those hands.

"Y/N? Baby?" Paul said louder, more urgently as he could see you fading.

You watched him get blurry as the world started to spin.

"Paul," you murmured, before fading into darkness. The last thing you remember were the hands that caught you before you hit the ground.

"Y/N!!!" Paul screamed as he caught your body falling into him.

Sam ran back, telling him Sue was just up the street. He instructed Paul to carry you inside and onto the bed. The pack dispersed, each trying to find something to help you such as towels, an emergency kit and pillows.

Paul held you close as he lay you down, while repeatedly whispering in your ear.

"I'm so sorry baby. I'm so-so sorry. I cant lose you. Youre everything to me. I'll never yell at you again. I swear on my life. You can do whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want. Please, I love you." Paul pressed kisses to your hairline when Sue and her nurse friend entered.

Jared reluctantly came in behind them to lead Paul out of the room as they worked.

"Come on man, she'll wake up soon I promise."

After he was guided out, Paul slid down to sit on the other side of the door, refusing to move. Jared didn't push it, leaning down to sit next to him.

"Sue's seen this kind of stuff before. Just needs stitching up and stuff," Jared reassured as he put his hand on Paul's shoulder.

"It's not the injuries I'm worried about. So much as what she'll think of me when she wakes up. I....I fucked this one up, Jare."

"If Emily can forgive Sam, I think Y/N will forgive you. She's crazy about your ass."

Paul just nodded, praying he was right.

~

Your eyes fluttered open slowly as you woke. You looked around to see that you had been bandaged up along your left side, an IV attached to your arm sat close by. You attempted to sit up, whining when the pain wouldn't allow it. Within a few minutes Emily entered, her face showing relief.

"You're up! How are you feeling?" She checked the IV before sitting on the edge of the bed, careful of your body.

"Sore...where's, where's Paul?" Your heart ached as you started to replay what happened. There was no doubt in your mind what happened was an accident. You had seen the signs he always warned you about, and chose to ignore them in the heat of the argument. Not only that, but the look on his face when you had refused him was too much to bare.

Emily smiled, not expecting you to want to see him so soon.

"He's just outside the door. Hasn't moved. He didn't know if you'd want to see him..."

"I need to talk to him."

It hadn't even been a few seconds when Paul stood at the door. He looked more out of shape than you did. The disheveled hair and dark circles under his eyes told you he hadn't slept in days.

"I'll give you two some space. Just holler if you need anything," Emily spoke as she stood up, making her way around him and down the stairs.

Paul remained where he stood,

"If you don't want to be with me I understand. I have no words for my actions other than I am so...." he cleared his throat, trying not to cry. "So incredibly sorry I put you through this. I put you in danger when I was trying to keep you out of it. You don't have to stay I-"

"Paul please just kiss me." You interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest as you already made up your mind in forgiving him.

He stood for just a moment longer, trying to comprehend if he heard you correctly. It was when you weakly opened your arms for him that he wasted no time in rushing over to you, cupping your face and gently yet passionately kissed you with everything he had. Tears flowed his cheeks at the relief that you still wanted him. Even after everything he had put you through.

You two pulled back for air after a moment, and you ran your hand through his hair.

"I forgive you, okay? I can't imagine my life without you."

He let out a breath, smiling for the first time in weeks.

"It will never happen again. I swear on my fucking life baby." He caressed your hair, neck, landing his palm on your heart.

You two sat like that for awhile. Almost scared to leave each other's presence. You two talked for hours on the bed. Paul had confessed that the night before, while you were sleeping, the pack had fought with the Cullens. You learned that Paul refused to go, not wanting to leave your side. You were grateful to hear that Sam didn't push on him being there, knowing you were all that mattered to him, and he'd refuse him if he had too. Even if it went against his every instinct as a wolf. Turns out that Jacob had imprinted on your niece, and Bella had survived, now as a vampire.

You weren't particularly thrilled your sister was now a bloodsucker, but as long as she was alive, you were happy.

Paul eventually made his way to the other side of the bed, kissing every exposed inch of you, whispering all the things he loved about you in your ear until you fell asleep.

When your heartbeat slowed down and he was sure you were out, he reached down and felt the velvet box in his pocket. No doubt in his mind about the future you both held.

[cavernned]

ENHYPEN WITH ENTERTAINER TROPES ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

hyung line ///////

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NOTE: hellloooooo!!! double upload, i know i’m crazy what can i say 🙂‍↕️. i thought that i would upload a little something that i was working on to dabble into the enhypen side of tumblr too! originally it was just going to be the head cannons but then i ended up writing a drabble for each one sigh* absolutely no self control whatsoever. this is only the hyung line but if anybody wants it im down to do one for the maknaes as well (i will gladly write anything about jungwon any day). again if anybody is interested in a silly little taglist let me know!! i’m nugu currently so anybody could be the lucky first one wink wink!

trigger warnings: none! just pure fluff basically (also not proofread like at all)

word count> 3801

LEE HEESEUNG

popstar!heeseung x moviestar!reader

-my boy is a singer

- duh!!!!

- Definitely giving The Weeknd or Harry Styles vibes

- and you’re a movie-star!

- like Zendaya level famous

- safe to say that the two of you are very well-known and very well-off!!!

- the only downside is that you’re both painfully single

- The two of you guys both being at the point of your career where every interviewer is questioning why you aren’t in a relationship

- and it’s becoming a valid question…

- Now the way you guys meet is definitely on accident!

- You’re at some well-known event like the grammy’s or something

- and at the same time you guys end up getting lost

- without agents or bodyguards to accompany you since it was just a trip to the bathroom, you’re now both lost!

- and it’s only up from there 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

- now the internet watches your relationship bloom along with you guys, the first sighting of you guys together being a photo of the two of you holding your stomachs and laughing in the face of your managers for missing thirty minutes of the event!

- from then on you guys can be found hanging out during award shows and fashion events

- and sometimes outside of work too!

- never do you guys actually outright say that you’re dating though ://

- your relationship is definitely private but not a secret!

- until a certain pop up event…

YOU’RE PROMOTING SOMETHING STUPID FOR YOUR FANS…

Another lame Erewhon smoothie that nobody actually enjoys, but only purchases because its from Erewhon. Something mixed with mango and strawberries, a drink that would probably taste good if the price wasn’t in the back of your mind with every sip!

You’re at the front lines, passing these drinks out with lightning speed. You also end up signing cups, lids, napkins, and of course pairs of boobs.

Eventually you do get tired out though so you swap with a staff while you still hover around the front counter snd interact with fans. Instead opting to cover the drinks with lids and poke straws through them.

Outside you faintly hear screams and cheers, but you choose to ignore it as they’re probably either for you or one of your many attractive staff that your fans can’t seem to get enough of.

As your back is turned, somebody calls out to you, instinctively you whip your head around greeting them with a smile but you’re definitely not met with a the bright beam from a fan, rather the small grin coming from your boyfriend Heeseung’s face!

“Can I get the (Name) Smoothie? I’m a big admirer of her work.” he slowly says.

Not only were you caught by surprise, but everybody else inside the small grocery store was stunned into silence.

It felt like a scene straight out of a movie! (see what I did there 😽)

Once you get over the shock of your boyfriend randomly showing up to your place of work, you greet him with the biggest smile you can muster.

“Coming right up!”

From then on he stays with you until the event is over. Standing behind the counter and attempting to distract you, assisting some of the staff with making the drinks, interacting with your fans telling them how amazing you are, and not so secretly taking photos of you as you work.

People would think that you would start to get annoyed but no, you’re lovesick ass is just giggling the whole time he’s there!

Once the event is over the two of you can be seen outside, happily eating together and discuss the events of the day

And OF COURSE you guys were trending on twitter already.

i love it when hot people date each other

today was a great day for (name)seung shippers 🤣

AND THOSE THAT SAID WE WERE DELUSIONAL???? SILENCED

they better get married or i’ll actually kms

he looks at her like a damn puppy

^ they BOTH do

With no point in “hiding” your relationship any longer, the two of you posted eachother on instagram

Heeseung’s post consisting of the photos he took of you as you worked and yours being one simple photo a paparazzi took of the two of you dining.

Both captions being, my other half <3

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PARK JONGSEONG

rockstar!jay x bandmate!reader

- i can see his partner being apart of his band

- specifically a drummer

- because they’re hot-

- the scenario being that his drummer quit after having a baby 🫃

- and then first time you guys met being at the auditions for the spot

- he was obviously judging to see who would get picked and you of course were one out of the LONG line of people that were auditioning

- as soon as you walked in IMMEDIATELY there was tension between the two you

- your quiet confidence and the way you carried yourself immediately drawing him to you

- and of course, you were great on the drums!

- literally the best he heard so far

- passionately and fine as shit? he almost died on the spot

- after your audition was over he already knew that you’d be the one to get picked

- not only did he love you but his fellow bandmates seemed to be thinking the same thing

- and not long after the auditions were cut short!

- which led to you getting called back the next day and being appointed as their new drummer yaaaay!

- unfortunately it does take him a little while to confess

- and by a little while i mean like two months after you get chosen

- LOOK IT FELT LIKE FOREVER TO HIM.

- he was deathly scared of not only rejection but if you guys were ti break up he would have to go through the same process again, and you were a damn good drummer

- despite all this you guys end up dating each other

- in fact he’s not the one to confess… but YOU ARE

- you noticed him secretly pining after you and his oh so often longing stares he shot your way during your solos at his concerts

- and you found it cute!

- he soft launches your relationship on instagram

- some photo of you and him posing, laying in bed together

- and the fans go WILD

- oh my god they’re both HOT

- ykw i can’t even be mad at this they look good asf together 🙂‍↕️

- I NEED THEM BOTH BIBLICALLY

- threesome by any chance 🙋🏾‍♀️

YOU WERE GENUINELY STARVING…

You were at one of your tour stops, sitting inside some shitty hotel with a severe lack of AC. The room was dim, humid and burning hot at the same time, and kind of funky.

You and your boyfriend Jay were struggling to say the least.

To too it all of you were absolutely starving, not getting a chance to eat throughout the whole day. Your dah consisted of fixing your drum set, interacting with fans pre-concert, performing at said concert, congratulatory clubbing, and then making your way to this terrible hotel room.

Not once throughout the day did you get an actual meal in, settling on quick snacks and sipping from your water bottle that was refilled about six times.

So naturally your loving and doting boyfriend went out to the nearest gas station to get you something to eat for dinner.

BUT HE WAS TAKING FOREVER.

He had been gone for an hour already which was strange since the 24-hour diner was a ten minute walk away, and you were not only getting antsy from the hunger, but genuinely worried about your boyfriends whereabouts.

Not wanting to stay in the hotel any longer you slip on a pair of shoes and make your way to the diner yourself.

Once you arrive you definitely didn’t expect the sight you saw. There he was, your boyfriend Jay in the diner like he said, but happily chatting with fans.

Specifically chatting about you!

You hear him mention how great you are and how he felt so bad for not getting you anything to eat throughout the day as if it’s his main priority to feed you.

You can’t help but smile softly at his words. Secretly you sneak up behind him ushering your fans to withhold their cheers and excitement and then…

“BOO!” and he flinched life his life was about to end.

Rather than getting mad or having a pout on his face like fans expected, he quietly chuckled to himself and immediately leaned in to kiss you on the cheek!

“I got your food, love” he mutters as he hands over the plastic bag, “Got a little distracted though.”

“I can tell!” you laugh as his gaze slowly panned towards the group of fans eating inside the booth

After making brief conversation with the group, your stomach ends up growling embarrassingly loud, so you and Jay excuse yourselves (of course taking a photo before the two of you leave!)

As you walk out you can her one girl whisper to her friends,

“I hope I end up in a relationship as healthy as theirs one day.”

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SIM JAEYUN

singer!reader x high-school-sweetheart!jake

- you’d definitely be some indie singer at first

- playing in the crappiest of venues with a decent amount of fans

- until one little video was posted….

- then BAM all of a sudden your dms are FILLED, email inbox FULL, and fans coming up to you on the street

- and of course everybody’s favorite-

- industry plant accusations!

- as you go from 150 capacity venues to 15,000

- from watching award shows to being nominated and attending them

- there’s one person who was there to see it all…

- through the thick and thin there was a singular man

- your lovely boyfriend jake!

- of course you guys met in high school

- that one fated physics class project bringing you two together

- he asked you out on a whim really after accidentally confessing his love for you over text

- truly romantic…

- nonetheless he was great to you

- library dates, trips to the valley, nights under the stars

- you guys were just the cutest!

- and you NEVER shied away from telling him your dreams of becoming a singer

- and he supported you all the way through!

- late nights trying to find any venues that you could book

- constantly giving you tips on your music, even occasionally assisting you on the producing

- and reading over lyrics together day after day

- your own little manager basically!

- when you finally blew up he definitely bawled his eyes out

- he was always there to see all of the hard work you put into your career

- HE CANT HELP BUT BE EMOTIONAL

- once you got a little bigger than expected he quit his “managing” gig

- something about not mixing work with relationships

- DONT GET IT TWISTED THOUGH HE STILL SHOWED UP

- every concert he paid for his own ticket

- would show up to all your little fan and collab events

- your fans would definitely start to notice it though…

- “who is this random ass man and why is he always near MY (Name)

- “i can’t believe names biggest fan is a man”

- “isn’t this borderline stalking 🧍”

- would definitely end up getting cancelled

- some twitter thread about how he’s a crazy stalker

- (even finding photos of him being outside your hotel)

- which would lead to you outting him on live!

THE COMMENTS ON YOUR LIVE WERE LOOKING STRANGER THAN USUAL…

Usually your fans always acted a little weird, but today they were behaving more insane than most days. The comments that were quickly flashing on your screen were starting to scare you a little bit. Something about a stalker?

“Guys what the hell are you talking about.”

@(name)luvr (yes he has fan account) trying to steal my wife

theres no WAY you haven’t noticed that one guy thats always at every concert

please be safe (name)!

can he off himself.

A man being at all your events? now thats definitely unheard of—the majority of your fans being women and everything else in-between, but NEVER a man.

All these comments basically scaring the shit out of you, which eventually leads to you finding a certain twitter thread with a decent amount of likes.

and THATS when it hit you.

“Guys, that’s literally my boyfriend Jake?”

WHAT 😀😀

THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE ?

wait they don’t swing the other way-

YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT CREEP GETS TO HOLD YOU EVERY NIGHT??????? 😹

i could treat you better 😈

bro he’s ugly as shi-

meanwhile Jake is in the other room absolutely losing his damn mind.

He was completely fine with being viewed as a crazy fan, in fact he took it with pride! knowing that they would never get to experience the things you did, like he would made his ego HUGE.

But now thats new you’ve exposed him.. surprisingly he feels even more smug!

Sooner or later he ends up making his way towards your room. He softly asks behind the camera if he can join your live and say hello! (really to troll everybody that’s hating on him)

“Here comes the stalker!” you say excitedly.

“HEY don’t call me that they might actually believe that I am.” he says mid-climb onto your hotel bed.

The comments now going at the very least 20 times faster than they were before—you guys spend the rest of the livestream laughing like maniacs reading the funniest tweets and comments regarding the reveal of @(name)luvr

and if a multitude of photos of the two of you being absolute idiots in love is posted on his twitter account the morning after, with the caption being…

HOES MAD 😹😹😹😹 #iliterallywon

then thats nobody’s business!

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PARK SUNGHOON

actor!sunghoon x actor!reader (costars turned lovers trope)

- Sunghoon would be a famous actor, obviously

- otherworldly acting skills + a handsome ass face???? ITS ONLY UP FROM HERE

- would definitely only play in like murder mysteries and action movies

- majority of them where he is some silly super spy or undercover agent

- The reason as to why that is…..

- he’s just shy

- this man can barely talk to women its genuinely a health concern

- of course, he would never admit to that

- in interviews when he gets asked about his lack of different genres in his resume he dodges the question sooooo easily

- “So, any upcoming plans to star in some romantic films this year?”

- “No, but DEFINITELY make sure to check out my latest film-“

- “Any specific reason as to why you choose not to star in any cuter more lax films? you’d do-“

- “HAHA! that’s funny, did you know that I did all of the stunts myself this time around?”

- like he’s embarrassing himself

- even the fans are confuzzled!

- eventually his manager pesters him enough into taking the male lead role in

- some novel, to comic, to film adaption (shoutout to my webtoon lovers)

- something about “putting that pretty face to use!”

- it also had plenty of action which is the only reason why he accepted it!

- that’s where he meets you, his lovely costar

- now you were the complete opposite of sunghoon

- often playing the the romantic lead in the majority of your projects

- (and the people ate it up every single time)

- which is why you decided to switch it up a little, where you’re still going to be giving them some romance but also go through mass amounts of action packed scenes

- the first time you guys met was definitely…. something!

- You being eager to meet your cast mates while sunghoon actively avoids you

- When you finally manage to trap him and hold out your hand for a handshake

- he damn near passes out on the spot.

- “Hey, i’m so excited to get to work with you! My name is (Y/N)!” as your arm is actively stretched out, waiting for him to finally shake your hand

- “Uh… yeah.”

- he shakes your hand but not without shame due to the uncomfortably long time it took him to outstretch his fingers to you and the MASS amounts of sweat they coated with

- his manager notices his shenanigans

- WHICH LEADS TO….

- my favorite trope, forced exposure!

- museum visits, café runs, random sleepovers that adults really shouldn’t be having, and more!

- at first he couldn’t do it.

- would literally stay inside his house shaking in his BOOTS

- until you had to go there yourself and drag him out by the neck!

- “HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN HERE?” (he was in fact hiding in the closet)

- “Your lovely manager gave me a spare key!”

- eventually he would start going willingly

- fortunately, this did make sunghoon get more used to standing near you without combusting!

- unfortunately, led to him developing a strangling crush on his costar, YIKES.

- little does he know… you’re equally obsessed with him!

- something about his pathetic-ness draws you to this loser…

- you’ll never admit that though, not now at least

- what can you say, gotta keep them on their toes somehow

- hopefully the filming goes well….

IN THE VENUE OF THE SET, YOU COULD DISTANTLY HEAR TALKING COMING FROM ONE OF THE ACTORS ROOMS…

You just got done finishing one of your scenes for your upcoming movie—which unfortunately required you to constantly be forced to wear the POOFIEST of princess dresses for almost the entirety of filming, which was just about 18 hours if you’re lucky enough to not have to sleep on set.

the humidity in your lounge room not helping your case, causing you to sweat profusely basically ruining every drop of blood, sweat, and tears your makeup and hair team put into make you look perfect.

“Sorry guys, I don’t know why it’s so hot in here” you apologize for the umpteenth time.

“No don’t worry!” your lovely makeup artist, Stella, says to you has she profusely waves a mechanical fan in your face, “I don’t know why they gave you the stuffiest room, you’re the main character for crying out loud?!”

That was true. You played the main character, the princess that suddenly ran away from home in search of her long lost brother. you’d think that they’d at least give one of their main stars a larger fan, or maybe even air conditioning in their private quarters but alas—what can you do about it.

“I suppose there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

she frowns deeply at your indifference towards your situation. it’s not the first time you’ve been given a shitty dressing room, and it definitely won’t be the last—the mistreatment you face as a female actress becoming less and less of a concern over the years.

Just as you’re about to tell Stella that you can hold the fan yourself, Sunghoon suddenly bursts into the room——with a 7-11 slushee?

“Hey Hoon, when the hell did you get enough time to buy that?” you questioned.

Instead of replying, he walks towards you, silently handing you the bright red beverage.

Confused by his strange actions you ask, “Aren’t you supposed to be filming your solo scenes right now?

“Yeah,” he says bashfully, “but I heard you complaining about the temperature of your room earlier, and thought that I’d bring you something”

The roles were reversed and all of a sudden you’re the one thats silent. The both of you just there with heated cheeks and the shyest of gazes. And before things get even more awkward he swiftly leaves the room just as fast as he came in, not giving you a chance to thank him.

Unfortunately for him, not quick enough, as you notice the pink tint that laced his ears and neck.

The next day he wakes up to his café order being neatly placed outside his lounge room with a small note attached.

Next time you sneak off set, take me with you! :)

(also i hate to break it to you but that pussy does NOT ask you out until after the filming is over and the movie is in theaters 😹)

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[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

how things change - lyra x grayson au fic

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pairings: lyra kane x grayson hawthorne

tags: assistant x boss au

part 1

LYRA:

When Lyra showed up to work that morning, she found Grayson outside. He was lifting 4 boxes. Lyra walked up to him, curiosity clear in her expression as she watched him struggle with the boxes.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Grayson looked at her, his eyes lingering, before he spoke.

“Avery requested that I bring these boxes inside. They’re for a meeting I have to attend later today.” he spoke, his voice crisp and assured. Lyra gave him a look.

“Did she request that you bring in the boxes, or that I bring in the boxes?” Lyra asked. Grayson gave her a hard stare, and Lyra knew she had hit the jackpot.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to.” he said, raking his gaze over her body. There was nothing inherently sexual about the action, as it was clearly to doubt her strength, but it still hinted at it, and when Grayson realized that, his eyes snapped back to hers, before moving to the sky. Lyra held back a snort.

“I did ballet my entire life. I’m stronger than you think.” Lyra retorted, doing him the privilege of ignoring that past awkward action. Grayson’s eyes met her gaze, something curious and mysterious in them that pulled at her chest.

“You’re a ballerina?” he asked. Lyra felt her stomach twist.

“Was.” she corrected flatly, trying to force a mental wall around her past life. One so tall and sturdy that she couldn’t see past it. Then she met his eyes again.

“Now,” she said, switching the topic, “need some help?”

Grayson gave her a look. “I can carry them myself, thank you.” Suddenly, his arm wobbled and the big box on top of the even bigger box nearly fell off. Lyra watched him with an unimpressed look on her face.

“Need some help?” she repeated.

“No.” he stated. Then the wobbliness gave way, and the box on top went tumbling to the floor. There was a pause, as Lyra watched the contents spill out of the box slightly. Then she looked up at Grayson.

“Need some help?”

Lyra and Grayson walked out of the elevator, Lyra holding a box in her arms and Grayson holding 3 in his. She placed the box on her desk, and Grayson placed the other 3 beside it.

“What are in these?” Lyra asked, patting one of the boxes.

“Some materials I’ll need for my next meeting.” Grayson stated curtly. Lyra stared at him. That was vague, she thought. Suddenly he looked up at her, and Lyra looked away, annoyed with herself for staring and then being caught.

“I know. You told me. What kind of materials?” she inquired. Grayson gave her a look.

“Don’t worry about it. You won’t be attending, anyway.” he stated briskly. Lyra barely held back a retort when the secretary for the main hall showed up.

“Ms. Grambs tried calling both you and your assistant, but nobody picked up. She wanted me to tell you that the meeting time has been switched, and that she wants you and Ms. Kane to be there at 7:30, not 5:30.” the lady spoke, her voice polite. Grayson nodded, and the secretary began to walk away, but Lyra’s brain just stuck on one part of the sentence. You and Ms. Kane.

As soon as she realized what Grayson was doing, she turned to him with an offended glare on her face.

“You and Ms. Kane?” she repeated. The damn asshole was trying to sideline her. He didn’t think she was capable of doing her own job! Lyra stepped forward, a furious look on her face.

“Ms. Kane,” Grayson spoke, his hands up, but Lyra interrupted him.

“Lyra,” she corrected. “The assistant that you hired, you know, to actually do work. So far the only time I’ve actually been doing anything is when I beg you to let me help you.” Lyra came closer, only a few inches away from Grayson’s face. His head dipped down to meet her gaze, his eyes trying to exhibit patience, when there was clearly something else in them.

“You hired me, so don’t act like I showed up out of nowhere and started demanding that I do your job. I’m going to that meeting with you, just like how I’m going to start actually doing work instead of finishing up nearly done documents, and just like how you’re going to start treating me like you would any assistant.” Lyra said, her voice coated in anger. Grayson’s eyes flashed.

“I’m your boss.” he said, the words clearly meant to be commanding and put Lyra in her place. But all it did was spur her on.

“Exactly,” Lyra said, meeting his gaze head on, “so start acting like it.”

Grayson stared at her, before the look in his eyes subsided, leaving something much more amused.

“You’re surprising.” he stated dryly, humour clear in his voice. Lyra raised a brow at him.

“I’m so sorry that I’m not like every other person who happens to be in your vicinity.” Lyra said, her voice thick with sarcasm. She feigned a damsel-like sigh. “In the sense that, when it comes to Grayson Hawthorne, everyone seems to swoon at his feet.”

“And yet there you stand.” Grayson replied, his voice softer than it had been previously, and a ghost of a smile on his lips. Lyra’s heart raced, before the look on his face subsided and he suddenly walked towards his office.

A confused look came upon Lyra’s face as her brain questioned Grayson’s sudden exit.

That was, until he returned holding a ridiculously large stack of papers.

Grayson slammed the papers onto her desk.

“This is half my work load for today.” Grayson said, a proud, arrogant, and annoyingly handsome look on his face as he watched her eyes slightly widen, before she regained neutrality. Holding his gaze, Lyra spoke.

“It’ll be done before lunch.”

Lyra’s promises remained unbroken, the stack of papers being done before she went out for her lunch break. And just for stubborn purposes, Lyra continued to work impossibly hard. Any remaining clients that were known for bugging Grayson were gone, documents that used to go to Grayson to check over were looked at by Lyra instead, and even mundane tasks in his office and in the building were being fixed. The broken thermostat on the third floor was finally set to be fixed tomorrow, and the curtain that Grayson was always too busy to change was changed. Lyra looked up from her laptop to see a notification on her phone. Grayson had asked that she install an app that was basically like a text message, but was used to notify Lyra of when he wanted to see her in his office. Standing up, Lyra walked over to his office and opened the door.

“Yes?” she asked curtly. Grayson blinked at her.

“I’m done my work.” he said. Lyra’s brows furrowed.

“O….kay?” Lyra said, dragging out the word with confusion. Then Grayson did something she had never seen before.

He smiled.

It was fleeting, and small, but it still managed to affect Lyra in ways that she refused to elaborate on.

“It is 4:30, and I am done my work. I typically stay at the office till 6:00.” he said, shaking his head. “Even when I had my old assistant, I never finished my work quite this early.” Lyra realized then what was happening; this was Grayson Hawthorne’s version of a compliment.

“I told you.” Lyra said, trying to convince herself she wasn’t bragging—when she definitely was. Grayson held her gaze, the look in his eyes taking ahold of Lyra, before he packed up his things.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. Lyra was taken aback.

“Um—I don’t know, maybe a little.” Lyra stuttered, caught off guard with the question. Grayson had never really engaged in non-work related conversation with her ever since the talk they had when he first heard her voice.

“We still have 3 hours till the meeting. I’m planning to go to a cafe, if you’d like to come along.” Grayson said, his voice simple. Lyra was still surprised, as she hadn’t expected him to invite her to come along. But coffee seemed nice right now.

“Uh, sure, I’ll come along.” Lyra said.

“Good.” Grayson said. And just like that, it was final. She was getting coffee with Grayson Hawthorne.

GRAYSON:

Grayson hadn’t entirely thought out the cafe proposal, and was beginning to curse himself for it as Lyra got into his car, but he just couldn’t help himself. He rarely ever acted on impulse, but being in Lyra’s presence seemed to rip any control he had over himself away from him.

Grayson pulled out of the parking lot, a silence between him and Lyra, before Lyra spoke.

“This is my first office job. I’ve worked a part-time job before at some diner, but never a job like this.” She said, breaking the silence. Grayson glanced at her, his eyes having to fight to go back to the road. What was wrong with him?

“I want to say you got lucky, but after today…” Grayson said, the barest smile touching his lips. “I don’t think it was just luck on your side.” Lyra let out the barest laugh, and Grayson was surprised. He realized then that he’d never heard her laugh, let alone smile. It wasn’t too bad on her.

“Yeah, well, I proved myself.” she said. Grayson didn’t hear it in her tone, but he knew she was proud. Lyra loved this. Grayson didn’t reply, but he made a “hm” sound in the back of his throat. Lyra looked at him.

“What, you don’t think I did?” Lyra inquired. The smile on his lips slightly grew.

“No, you definitely did. In more ways than one.” Grayson said. In the corner of his eye, Lyra frowned.

“What do you mean, “in more ways than one”?” she asked.

“I mean you proved yourself by working hard… and by yelling at me multiple times.” Grayson deadpanned. Lyra snorted.

“Hasn’t anybody told you? Every good assistant yells at their boss.” Lyra joked. Grayson’s lips twitched as he parked on the street walking distance from the cafe.

“We’re here,” he said. He wondered if it’d be weird or not to open her door, but then Lyra opened it up herself and got out, making the decision for him. Grayson and Lyra walked inside, and Grayson saw the expression on her face when she took in the place.

“Do you like it?” he asked, sitting down at a table. Lyra looked at him, her eyes sparkling and the amber of her eyes made even more golden with the cafe lighting.

“Yes. It’s lovely.” she said in a softer tone than earlier, glancing around. Grayson stared at her, his eyes unwilling of drawing away from hers, when a waitress showed up beside them.

“Welcome! What may I get you two?” the waitress asked. Lyra and Grayson glanced up in unison, and Grayson was about to speak when the waitress cut him off.

“Ah, Mr. Hawthorne! I’ll get you your usual black coffee. And for you, miss?” the woman asked, her voice sweet as she turned to Lyra. Lyra seemed to have a disgusted look on her face, before she placed her order.

“A drip coffee with 2 creams and 2 sugars, please.” Lyra asked. Now it was Grayson’s turn to make a face. 2 creams? 2 sugars? Coffee was better unflavoured. The waitress nodded and walked away. Immediately Lyra turned to him.

“A black coffee? Do you come here to punish yourself?” she asked, seemingly appalled. Grayson gave her a look.

“Coffee doesn’t need to be sweetened. How do you expect to stay awake with your order?” he asked. Lyra returned the look.

“At that point, just eat coffee grounds. It has the same effect, and black coffee and coffee grounds are both equally as disgusting.” Lyra told him. Grayson’s lip curved.

“I’ll bring some to the office tomorrow to snack on.” he stated, amused despite himself. Lyra snorted.

“You know, you think it’s obvious that you’re joking, but it’s very much not.” Lyra said. Grayson’s lips stretched further.

“Well, at least I know now to not start my own comedy routine.” Grayson deadpanned. Lyra gave him another one of her discreet smiles, stopping Grayson in his tracks. The waitress was again by their side, saving Grayson from staring again.

“Your coffees.” she said, placing Lyra’s too-sweet coffee in front of her and Grayson’s black coffee in front of him.

As soon as the waitress walked away, Grayson could practically hear Lyra thinking up a retort. And then it came.

“How’s your cyanide in a cup?” she asked as soon as Grayson took a sip. He smiled. There it was.

“Perfect. How’s your diabetes in a cup?” Grayson retorted.

“Splendid.”

And just like that, conversation began to fizzle, with Grayson telling stories of different work incidents and his childhood, and Lyra telling Grayson her own childhood stories. But one thing Grayson noticed was that every time Grayson mentioned work, Lyra looked nervous. Grayson frowned after she’d looked away when he mentioned the word “meeting”.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked. Lyra raised a brow at him, and Grayson immediately realized his mistake, putting his hands up.

“I didn’t mean—“

“Because I’m in the Grayson Hawthorne’s presence.” Lyra interrupted, pretending to be in awe. Grayson gave her a look despite his lips twitching.

“I meant, you just look restless every time I even mention work. What’s going on?” Grayson asked. Lyra straightened, fidgeting with her coffee cup slightly.

“This… meeting,” Lyra dragged the words, her tone shy despite her impulsive attitude. “is my first one. I’m a bit nervous.” Grayson blinked.

“Don’t be. It’s very easy. And besides, this office job is your first one, and you are a natural.” Grayson assured Lyra. She still looked doubtful, despite the confident look she was now wearing on her face. Grayson pulled his chair closer into the table, meeting her eyes.

“Here, if it helps, try thinking positive thoughts.” Grayson said. Lyra raised a brow.

“Positive thoughts?” she inquired.

“Yes. You know, rainbows, kittens, clouds…” Grayson began to trail off. Lyra’s raised brow deepened as Grayson tried to continue.

“Candy, chocolate…. furry… little…. I’m out.”

“Thank god.” she said. A notification interrupted Grayson’s retort, and Grayson checked it.

“Oh, we have to go now. We can’t be late.” Grayson said, seeing that the time was 7:10. Grayson waved at the waitress who had served him, Sarah, to give them their bill. She immediately came over, holding out a card reader.

“Your bill is $7.89. Pay when you’re ready.” Sarah, one of the many workers here that Grayson knew by name, told them, her voice patient. Grayson took out his card in the same moment that Lyra did. Their eyes met.

“We can split it?” Lyra offered. Grayson’s eyes narrowed.

“No. I’ll pay.” he told her. Lyra gave him a look.

“Okay, I’ll pay for the tip.” she insisted.

“Lyra.”

“What?”

“I’m paying.”

“I don’t get why we can’t just split it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Because I’m your boss and I order you to not pay.” Lyra gave him a glare. Yes, he really did just go there, because Lyra wasn’t paying. He was.

Sarah cleared her throat, and Grayson realized she was still there. Lyra was about to say something when he quickly placed his card on the reader, giving the usual $50 custom tip that Sarah already had down for him, smiling when he heard the beep. Sarah gave him a nod and walked away.

As soon as Grayson turned to Lyra, she had the nastiest look on her face.

“Really?” she asked. Grayson gave her a look of his own.

“Absolutely.” he retorted, getting up and grabbing his suit jacket from where it was placed on the chair. Lyra huffed and got up as well, and the two of them began to walk out. Grayson stopped abruptly, and Lyra did the same.

“It’s raining.” Grayson said. Lyra stared at him.

“So what?” Lyra asked. Grayson looked at her.

“The cars parked all the way on the street.” he said, pointing to the car, unsure why Lyra wasn’t getting his point. He turned back to the window of the door. “This seems like a bad storm.”

Lyra snorted. “Don’t be worried about the storm. I’ll grab the ark, and you grab the animals.” Lyra said, thoroughly amused. Grayson raised a brow at the firecracker beside him, choosing to ignore her sarcastic remark.

“I mean you’re not properly dressed. You don’t even have a coat.” he pointed out. Fanning out his suit jacket, Grayson flattened it as best as he could.

“What are you doing?” Lyra asked, surprised as Grayson began to drape the jacket over her head.

“You shouldn’t be soaking wet for your first meeting. At least just wear it like that to the car.” he persuaded her, gently patting the jacket on her head so it would stay. He loved something about the movement, and he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the sheer gentleness of his actions combined with how she looked, snug under his jacket.

Grayson looked away.

“Okay, be ready to run.” he told her.

Then the two of them set off for the car, the wind fierce and the rain fiercer as they raced away from the cafe. Grayson saw that the wind was forcing his suit jacket off Lyra’s head, and he pulled her close towards him as he ran to the street, flattening it over her head. Lyra looked up at him, her amber eyes glowing in the pouring rain, and Grayson had to remind himself that he couldn’t stare. That he couldn’t touch her without a cause.

But still, he justified the rain trying to force the jacket off of her as means to pull her closer.

Once they made it to the car, Grayson pulled the door open for her, and Lyra scrambled in. Then he quickly hurried onto his side and hurried into the car, slamming it shut immediately.

“Oh my god.” Lyra said. They both just sat there for a moment, drenched in rain, before Grayson saw Lyra shiver and remembered that the car wasn’t on. He immediately turned it on, putting the heat to max and both their seat warmers as well. There was a beat of silence, before Lyra turned to him and started laughing uncontrollably. Grayson was surprised, never having heard her laugh this loudly or for this long. It really was a beautiful sound. Grayson stared at her with a smile on his face.

“What?” he asked. Lyra shook her head, not being able to contain her laughter, before finally pressing a fist to her mouth and forcing her giggles to subside.

“We are drenched, and the meetings in 5 minutes. At least my hair’s not so bad, but yours….” she trailed off and began to laugh again, and Grayson was confused before he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His hair was flattened to his forehead. Bristling, he began to try and fix it, and Lyra started laughing harder. Because of this, he couldn’t continue to fake a scowl, and a true grin found its way onto his face.

“Okay, I will try my best not to be offended by your laughter and focus on the fact that we are going to be late.” Grayson said, a smile still on his face. He pulled off the road and began to drive back to his workplace.

Just yesterday Lyra and him were on opposing ends, Grayson’s pride offending her and Lyra’s stubbornness defying him.

But just like that, the two were laughing together in his car, drenched by the rain and uncaring of that fact.

How things were beginning to change.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

[bunbitti]

Hello! Could I request a Sunday x halovian reader who has clipped wings? (Can be platonic or romantic)

Clipped.

:))

romantic-ish?

~800 words

tw: do clipped wings on a halovian count as mutilation? Also, Sunday being Sunday the control freak he is and pulling some strings behind your back

You were one of few Halovians that had more than just a halo. There were the Oak siblings, of course, who had both head wings and back wings, but not many others. 

Your wings were clipped. Not that a Halovian could fly (beyond the wings that would need to be massive to carry a person’s weight, the rest of their bodies were similar to a normal human’s, and therefore unfit for aerial movement), but every time you looked down at your wings, you felt a bit trapped. Regardless of whether it was done for ‘medical’ reasons or for anything else, it didn’t change the connotations. 

You weren’t meant to fly on your own, let alone succeed. Always working long hours doing the same thing, no change to your schedule, let alone improvement. Barely any time for yourself after chores, meals, and sleep. 

Your wings were always clipped whenever they molted. Again, again, again. You could never escape from it. You just wanted to give up at this point.

Your wings didn’t look right when in their resting position around your torso. Didn’t feel right, either. Feeling the flat, unnatural edge made you cringe. Even flapping them in the air felt viscerally wrong. You often held your hands near your waist as though to cover them up and pull the attention away from them, even if nobody was actually paying attention. 

That was when you met Sunday. Ever the charismatic Oak Family head, he was sometimes walking around to make sure things in the Land of the Dreams were working properly. 

He’d found you at your job in the Moment of Daybreak, weaving products that would be sold to the wealthiest of customers, all for the support of the Harmonious system that ran Penacony. He’d been passing by, making small-talk and greeting people to see how their jobs were going and if he should make any managerial changes to make their lives easier, but you looked down and noticed his raven-blue back wings neatly wrapped around his torso under his blazer. 

They were clipped. Instinctively, you wrapped your own back wings tighter around yourself, but it only drew his attention. 

His eyes followed your gaze to his own wings, then moved over to yours, which were far more harshly clipped than his own. At least at first glance, his looked relatively normal. Most outsiders didn’t know enough Halovians that had their wings out of their clothes to notice, and either way, his wings looked like a vest on top of his usual turtleneck. 

You missed the flicker of shock and pity in his eyes when he saw your clipped wings. 

In fact, he acted like nothing happened at all, and so you brushed it off. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. But you’d already gotten attached to the man countless levels in the Family hierarchy above you, making up wild stories in your head about how maybe he was also trapped in some way. 

However, you found yourself bumping into him gradually more often, almost so gradually that you hadn’t noticed. Not until you told some friends (were they friends? Or just acquaintances?) for the fifth time in a week that you met Sunday again, and they told you that nobody runs into the Oak Family head that often. 

Huh. 

Oh, well. Maybe he just likes you a bit. 

He invited you to private meals once in a while, under some excuse of wanting to reward members of the Family so they would be motivated to continue supporting the Harmony. Even he knew that a monotonous, exhausting life would eventually wear people out beyond what any motivation could provide. You didn’t need to know that you were the only Family member being ‘rewarded’. 

It was at those times that his wings were out instead of folded tightly around his waist. When he greeted you at the door and guided you inside, one wing would be lightly pressed against your back to usher you in, just as his hand rested on your upper back. 

His wings brushed against yours more times than you could count. Eventually, you were comfortable enough to let your own wings unfold, and returned the gesture. To touch wings, for Halovians, was something reserved only for the closest and dearest to a person. 

It was a while before you noticed you hadn’t been pressured to have your wings clipped, never realizing that it was because of Sunday’s influence. By the next molt, which tended to be very slow for Halovians, your wings were back to their full glory. 

The next time you shared a dinner with Sunday, you decided to be bold and put your wings behind his back to pull him close and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“—!”

— — — — — — — 

You awoke abruptly from a sweet dream that was supposed to last forever. 

There were supposed to be 7 rest days in a week.

The Dreampool is wet. 

You look down at your wings. 

Clipped.