#<- I think this is what I’m tagging it for now just to keep it distinct from SDMI

[cheftsunoda]

wait for your love — al12

smau + blurbs

arthur leclerc x !male piastri reader

oscar piastri x !twin brother reader

(a/n) : quick little write for my love @lvechroniclee ! my first time writing with a male reader insert, hope you like it my love 🫶🏻 also working on my list of requests rn! hope to have all out ASAP.

Arthur Leclerc and YN Piastri—Oscar’s twin brother—met during the Prema days, surrounded by speed, sweat, and dreams too big to say out loud. What they had wasn’t supposed to last, but somehow, it did. YN was everything that Arthur wasn’t ready to be loud, proud, and unapologetically himself. Openly gay in a world that still whispered behind closed doors, YN didn’t flinch when the cameras turned. Arthur, on the other hand, kept his love locked behind private Instagram accounts and late-night voice notes.

They lived in the in-between…hidden glances in hotel hallways, fingertips brushing under the dinner table, and love that waited in the shadows of the grid. But the thing about hiding something beautiful for too long? Eventually, it begs to be seen. Arthur’s heart had always belonged to YN but it wasn’t until now…years, podiums, and heartbreaks later, that he realizes he doesn’t want to keep it quiet anymore. Not when he’s in love. Not when it’s real. Not when the person he wants the world to know about has been ready all along. And this time? Arthur’s ready too.

fc : wolfalexanderl on ig

not proofread

—

yn.piastri

nyc 📍

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, arthur_leclerc & 1,243,907 others.

yn.piastri : me thinks me needs to stay in nyc forever. thank uuu @/calvinklein 💌

tagged : hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, & lilyzneimer

—

oscarpiastri : oh so everyone was invited but me? your TWIN brother.

liked by yn.piastri

yn.piastri : wait- are you upset about this? is he showing emotion?

nicolepiastri : he didn’t even show this much emotion when we left him at the airport that one time

liked by yn.piastri and hattiepiastri

hattiepiastri : or when his hamster died

oscarpiastri : lies I cried when squeaky died

oscarpiastri : just not in front of any of you

liked by yn.piastri, hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri and lilyzneimer

lilyzneimer : So much fun! Love you💘

liked by yn.piastri

yn.piastri : love and hugs to you my sister

nicolepiastri : had so much fun with my girls and my boy (if Oscar wasn’t busy ignoring my calls maybe he would’ve been on this trip)

liked by yn.piastri and oscarpiastri

yn.piastri : love you mama

hattiepiastri : next time a brand wants to take you somewhere can it be seoul? been dying to go

liked by yn.piastri

yn.piastri : @/calvinklein

calvinklein : taking notes 📝

arthur_leclerc : my favorite piastri needs to come back asap

liked by yn.piastri

oscarpiastri : I’ve been in monaco the whole time bro

yn.piastri : NOT YOU

—

your pov :

I wasn’t expecting anything different.

After being away for nearly two weeks—bouncing between shoots, cities, and time zones—I thought I’d come back to the usual quiet. Maybe a late-night drive from the airport. Maybe Arthur in a hoodie and cap, waiting in the car with a takeaway coffee and that smile he only gives me when no one’s looking.

That’s how it’s always been between us. Hidden. Safe. Quiet.

Because Arthur wasn’t ready.

Not for the questions. Not for the headlines. Not for the way people might look at him differently just for loving me.

And for a long time, I told myself that was okay. That the sneaking around and the secret hotel rooms and the birthday wishes sent through Oscar were enough. I told myself that what we had was real, even if the world never got to see it.

But when I walked through arrivals, everything felt different.

He was there. No hoodie. No hat. Just Arthur. Nervous, but not hiding.

He walked right up to me, in front of everyone, and pulled me into the kind of hug that felt like more than just welcome back—it felt like I’ve missed you in ways I can’t say out loud.

And then he whispered, “I’m ready.”

I froze. I think part of me thought I imagined it, because how many times had I let myself dream of this moment? But then he looked at me—really looked at me—with that mix of fear and love and absolute certainty.

“I don’t want to keep us quiet anymore. I want people to know who I love.”

And just like that, all the weight I’d been carrying—the silence, the pretending, the second-guessing—started to melt away.

He’s ready. For me. For us. For the truth.

And this time, I’m not the only one standing in the light.

—

He’s curled into me, head on my chest, breathing slow and steady like he always does when he’s trying not to overthink. My fingers move gently through his hair, more out of instinct than anything. The kind of intimacy we built in private, in pieces. Quiet love.

The kind that doesn’t ask for permission, but still begs to be seen.

We haven’t said much since getting home. Just touches. Glances. A shared silence that feels a little less heavy than it used to.

But the question’s been sitting on my tongue all night, and I can’t keep swallowing it down.

“What changed?”

My voice barely breaks the stillness. He stirs a little, his head lifting just enough to meet my eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and I can already see the flicker of hesitation behind his lashes.

I run my thumb along the curve of his jaw.

“You. You changed.” I let out a breath. “You used to flinch when someone looked at us too long. You panicked when my hand got too close in public. And then today, you showed up at the airport like you’d been ready your whole life. So… what changed, Arthur?”

There’s a pause—long enough that I think he might retreat again. But he doesn’t. He only presses in closer, arm sliding over my stomach, nose brushing the side of my neck like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

“I got tired,” he says quietly. “Tired of pretending like loving you was something I had to hide.”

I feel my chest tighten, my heart beating just a little harder beneath his cheek.

“You’ve always loved me.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I used to think keeping it private meant keeping it safe. That if no one saw it, no one could take it away.”

He lifts his head, eyes locking on mine with a clarity that catches me off guard. He’s scared. I can still see it. But underneath that is something stronger. Something real.

“When you left for your trip, I missed you so much it hurt. And then I thought—what if something happened? What if you never came back and no one even knew you were the best thing that ever happened to me?”

His voice wavers, but his gaze doesn’t.

“I don’t want that kind of love anymore. Not the kind that hides. Not with you.”

I’m quiet for a long moment. Then I ask the thing I’ve been afraid to know the answer to.

“Are you still scared?”

He nods.

“But I love you more than I’m scared.”

And that’s it. That’s the truth I’ve been waiting for—not some grand gesture or Instagram post, but this: Arthur Leclerc in my arms, choosing me with his whole heart, even if his voice shakes while doing it.

So I kiss him. Slow. Deep. Certain.

Because finally, we’re not hiding anymore.

—

yn.piastri

spain 📍

liked by arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri & 2,907,098 others.

yn.piastri : in (s)pain

—

oscarpiastri : glad you’re in spain while im here studying data sheets

liked by yn.piastri

yn.leclerc : you could’ve come with us but your twin privileges have expired

charles_leclerc : hmmm do i know this man?

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

yn.piastri : oh maybe just a little bit

hattiepiastri : YESSSSSS closest to a hard launch we’ve been in years

liked by yn.piastri

nicolepiastri : So cute! Have fun my loves! ❤️

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : need another margarita

liked by yn.piastri

yn.piastri : me too. let’s do it

—

arthur_leclerc

spain 📍

liked by yn.piastri, charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri & 1,290,089 others.

arthur_leclerc : spain is best when in love

—

yn.piastri : huh funny seeing you here

liked by arthur_leclerc

username00 : yn and arthur??? oml. hottest couple ever

charles_leclerc : aw the baby of the family is in love 🥰 how cute

liked by arthur_leclerc and yn.piastri

arthur_leclerc : you act like you haven’t known for years

alexandrasaintmleux : ❤️❤️❤️

liked by arthur_leclerc and yn.piastri

carlossainz55 : in my country!?? without visiting me??! rude

liked by arthur_leclerc

—

It’s late — the kind of late that hums with soft streetlight and distant music, where the air is still warm and everything feels just a little bit slower.

We’ve walked for hours. No real destination. Just hand in hand through cobblestone alleys and sleepy plazas, sharing bites of gelato and laughing at each other’s terrible Spanish.

Arthur’s fingers brush mine again, lazily intertwined, like he’s not thinking about it anymore — like it’s become natural, easy. Like he’s not watching over his shoulder to see who might be looking.

We stop at a bench by the beach. The moon’s low, and the waves roll in like a lullaby, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like the world’s not asking us to hide.

He leans against me, head on my shoulder, and we sit like that for a while — saying nothing, but somehow saying everything.

Eventually, he murmurs, almost shyly, “I like who I am with you.”

I look down at him, this boy I’ve loved in quiet hotel rooms and half-lit mornings, and I feel it everywhere — in my chest, in my bones, in the way my thumb automatically finds the back of his hand and starts tracing little circles.

“I like who you are with me too,” I whisper.

It’s simple. It’s soft. But it’s the kind of moment you remember. The kind you tuck away for the flights back home and the busy days ahead. The kind that makes you think: this. this is what love is supposed to feel like.

And for once, neither of us has to pretend.

—

We were supposed to walk separately.

That was the plan.

Not because we’re not together — we are, deeply, hopelessly, in that way where I already know what he wants to eat before he says it. But because public and private have always been two very different worlds for Arthur. For us. And that was fine. I’d gotten used to the distance. To the quick looks. To the way his pinky would sometimes graze mine on the inside of his pocket when the cameras were around.

But this? This red carpet, the flashing lights, the interviews happening just meters away?

This wasn’t the place I expected everything to change.

One second I was standing there, smiling for photos, thinking about how much longer I had to keep my posture perfect before my face fell off — and the next, I felt a hand on my arm. Firm. Familiar.

And then… he kissed me.

He kissed me.

Not a half-second, nervous, hide it in the background kiss. No, this was Arthur Leclerc kissing me in front of the world.

I froze for a split second, because how could I not? And then I kissed him back, right there under the strobe of paparazzi flashes and a dozen open jaws.

When we finally pulled apart, I could hear Charles somewhere behind us — loud and French and absolutely delighted.

“C’est pas trop tôt!”

Oscar, meanwhile, was standing five feet away recording the entire thing on his phone like a proud twin, grinning so wide I thought his face might split in two.

Arthur just looked at me, his hand still in mine, and said quietly — only for me.

“No more hiding. Thank you for waiting for me.”

And that was it. No PR-approved post, no cryptic caption. Just him. Choosing me. Out loud. With the whole damn world watching.

—

arthur_leclerc

liked by yn.piastri, charles_leclerc, nicolepiastri & 4,908,097 others.

arthur_leclerc : happy 5 years to the best thing to ever happen to me. i absolutely adore you.

—

yn.piastri : my loveeee🥹

liked by arthur_leclerc

nicolepiastri : my boys ❤️❤️

liked by arthur_leclerc and yn.piastri

username00 : so cute

username15 : awwww oml

charles_leclerc : happy anniversary you two! so happy for you❤️

liked by arthur_leclerc and yn.piastri

view 109,807 other comments.

—

yn.piastri

liked by hattiepiastri, lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri & 7,800,908 others.

yn.piastri : can’t believe it’s been 5 years with you. i love you more than anything

—

hattiepiastri : YAYYYY MY FAVORITE COUPLE!!❤️🫶🏻

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

lilyzneimer : so happy my loves! happy anniversary to the best💘

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

nicolepiastri : the CUTEST. love you both

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

username8 : so so sweet

username15 : love this

username9 : omggg yessss

oscarpiastri : does being your twin automatically make me your best man??

liked by yn.piastri and arthur_leclerc

yn.piastri : yes, twin privileges are valid currently

—

🐡🌙🦋🦕🐋🐢🪲🌵🧚🏻

[pome-seed]

Protective Friends (Right?) Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Friends to lovers!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky gets protective when your boyfriend intrudes on a get together and goes a little too far.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Verbal harassment. Slut shaming. Verbally abusive relationship themes. Jealousy. Minor violence.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Just a little drabble for fun, because I love protective Bucky. ALSO, if you want to be apart of my taglist, let me know :)

You giggle excitedly, drumming your hands on Sam’s back as he cracks open a beer. “I’m proud of you Sammy,” you cheer. 

You’re all over at Sam, Steve, and Bucky’s apartment to celebrate Sam getting a new job- and leaving the one he’s hated for months. You wanted to celebrate him, but it was also just an excuse to get together. 

You gladly tagged along, since you didn’t often get to join the big group hang outs. You used to, but just not recently. Your boyfriend, John, wasn’t the biggest fan of your friend group. 

Specifically the guys. 

Specifically Bucky.

“Sam you pick the music, or Bucky’s gonna put on some bullshit,” Clint shouts from the kitchen, where he’s making nachos. 

“Watch it,” Bucky snickers from beside you, handing his phone to Sam. “I have great taste in music.”

You suppress a smile. 

Bucky glances down at you, lifting a brow. “I do!”

You hide your smile behind your drink as you take a sip. “Hey, I like your music, you know that.”

“Then what’s with that look, huh?” He bumps you with his elbow. 

“That pout,” You shrug. “You have a pout.”

“I do not pout,” Bucky scoffs.

“Yeah man, you totally do.” Steve shouts from the couch. 

“Hey!” He rolls his eyes. He turns his fond gaze back to you. “I don’t pout.” He repeats, his lips curling in a soft smile. 

“Okay, sure, you don’t.” You chuckle, turning to follow Sam to the kitchen. Bucky follows you wordlessly, like he always does. “So, now that Sam’s making big boy money, is he finally moving out?”

Sam clicks his tongue, handing Bucky a beer. “Hey, don’t go putting ideas in their heads. I’m here for the long run.” He sips from his drink. “Rent ain’t cheap.”

“Why? are you looking for a new roommate?” Bucky leans his hip against the counter, his smile fond as he looks down at you. 

“Natasha’s probably the best roommate I’ll ever have, so no.” You chuckle, glancing at the woman in the living room.

Bucky sighs, shrugging. “Mkay, your loss. Hanging out would be a lot easier if you were just down the hall, though.” He pouts.

“I think I can make do with just a few blocks between us.” You respond.

“Sure about that? You avoid this place like the plague.” He groans, wiggling his fingers at you. 

“I do not,” You roll your eyes. 

But he’s right. You do.

“Keep telling yourself that. Last time you bailed I had to go to the movies with just Sam- awful.” He huffs.

“You went without me-?” you gasp, smacking his arm. 

“You bailed, we already bought the tickets, what were-” Bucky’s sentence is cut short by a loud noise.

A rough pounding on the door cuts through the casual music and laughter. Bucky’s fond chuckle is cut short. He steps back from the group, off to answer the door.

The knocking doesn’t exactly pull you out of the moment just yet. You’re just too caught up in enjoying time with your friends, in a way you haven’t been allowed to in so long.

Bucky opens the door, but his smile dies instantly. 

“Bucky.” John, your boyfriend, grits. 

“John.” Bucky’s grip on the handle tightens. 

You freeze on the spot, muted dread filling your stomach. 

“Where is she?” John huffs, trying to look around Bucky.

“What are you doing here, John-” Bucky grunts as John shoves past him, into the apartment. The air in the room immediately sours as the blonde stomps forward. 

“Hey, what are you-” You start.

“Are you serious, Y/n?” He spits. Someone cuts the music. 

“Woah, calm down- let’s step outside for a minute…” You cringe, glancing at Bucky over his shoulder. 

“Why? It’s pretty fucking clear you wanted to be here bad enough that you’d lie to me. Why not let them see this?”

“Lie to you?” You gawk. “What are you talking about?” Natasha crosses her arms from a few feet away, her protective nature gearing up as she listens. 

“Don’t play stupid, Y/n. You told me you’d stop hanging out with these people. You know how I feel about them.” He spits, inching closer. 

“Okay, man,” Bucky steps forward, “take a breath and calm down. There’s no need to yell.” He tries to keep things easy, tries to save the peace. 

John whips back to look at Bucky. “Stay the fuck out of this, James.”

Even you flinch at the use of his real name. “John please can we just-”

“How could you go behind my back like this- and here of all places!” John shouts in your face. “You know how I feel about him!” He gestures angrily at Bucky. 

Bucky frowns, yanking John back by the arm. “Look, I don’t know what has you so fucking pissed off, but you need to calm down, or get the fuck out of my house. You’re not gonna talk to her like that.”

Your boyfriend yanks his arm free and steps into the other man's face. “Why? How I talk to my girlfriend isn’t any of your fucking business, Barnes.”

You wince, your hands clasped together in front of your lips. “Oh god-”

Natasha’s hand pets your back silently as she watches Bucky try to calm the blonde man down. 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re not going to throw a fit and yell in her face. Especially not in my house.” Bucky refuses to back down, his deep disgust for the other showing in his expression.

“It doesn’t matter?” John scoffs. He glances back at you with a scowl. “Is this why you’re here?” He shouts. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You huff, throwing your hands up. 

“Him!” John turns back to Buck, shoving a hand into his chest. “Is that it? I fucking knew it, man. I fucking-

“What are you talking about?” The brunette frowns. 

“Are you fucking my girlfriend?” John spits. 

The words are so out of left field that the entire room goes silent. It was already tensely awkward, but now it’s dead silent. Your jaw drops open as a flushed heat stains your skin red. 

John has never been quiet about his insecurities, and specifically his insecurity around Bucky. Bucky is everything John wishes he could be, whether he wants to admit it or not. He’s always been convinced that you had feelings for the man- or the other way around.

And he never lets you forget it. 

Since the moment the two men met, your boyfriend was sour. He got angry every time you mentioned him, and always demanded you stay home from group outings that the man would be a part of.

“What?” Bucky chokes. 

“Are you fucking my girlfriend?”

Bucky’s confused gaze flickers to you over John's shoulder. Your stomach drops, humiliation burning hot beneath your skin. “John please stop- that’s not- we’re not-” You blurt, your sentence finding no end. 

John steps back, looking between the two of you. “That’s why you wanted to come over here, isn’t it? Why you lied to me?” He shakes his head, how scowl curling deeper. “You’re fucking him. You’re a fucking liar, Y/n.”

“Alright, that’s enough-” Bucky’s jaw snaps tight. He yanks John back by the arm dragging him towards the door. “You need to shut your mouth.”

John laughs, his hysterics scaring you, frankly. “Yeah? You don’t want me insulting your little whore? Why not- she gives great head when you knock her down a peg, trust me.”

You barely have time to yelp before Bucky’s fist connects with John's jaw. 

The blonde stumbles back a step, his back hitting the dresser by the door. 

Sam winces from behind you, huddled against the wall with the rest of your friends as they watch this play out. 

John grunts, his hand cradling his bruised jaw. “Fuck-” he groans. 

Bucky yanks him back up by the collar, then gets up in his face. “I better never hear you say another fucking word about her, or I’ll break your fucking jaw next time.” He spits, then yanks open the front door. 

Steve steps past you as he finally steps in, pulling Bucky back. “Okay, okay man- let’s not let this get out of hand.” He mutters, helping to shove your boyfriend out the front door. 

Before the door can slam shut, John shoves his boot in the frame. “Y/n, if you stay here-”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, asshole.” Steve struggles to keep Bucky from swinging again. 

“Fine, keep her.” John snarls, glaring at you through the men. “She’s a lousy fuck anyways.” He stomps down the hall.

The door clicks shut. 

For a moment, the entire room is silent.

The comfortable atmosphere died, along with the rest of your dignity. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. But then Bucky’s heavy gaze falls on you, and you can’t take it.

You shove out of Natasha’s arms and rush down the hall. Bucky calls your name, but you ignore him. You slam the bathroom door shut behind you and burst into humiliated tears. 

What the fuck just happened? You knew John didn’t like your friends, but you never lied to him. You’ve only been together for a few months, but you’ve always been loyal. Bucky has been one of your best friends for years, but you’ve never crossed that boundary with him.

No matter what you may have once felt for him. 

You didn’t mean for this to happen. But why did it all feel like it was your fault?

The party was ruined. 

Your relationship was ruined. 

Your friendship with Bucky? God you can’t even imagine facing him after everything John said. He’s so kind and so gentle, so understanding and always there for you. But this was just mortifying. 

A gentle knock makes you jump. 

“Hey, can I come in for a sec, doll?” Bucky’s sweet voice vibrates through the door. 

Your stomach twists with dread as you wipe your tears. “Yeah…” You whisper. The door creaks open, but you refuse to look up. You stare down at your lap, your body tense where you sit on the edge of the tub. 

“Hey,” Bucky mutters, clicking the door shut. “You okay?”

You suck in a shaky breath. “Yeah…” Your hands curl to fists in your lap. “I’m so sorry-” You huff, slapping a hand over your face. 

Bucky flinches, his brows furrowing. “Woah- no, no, don’t be,” he rushes forward, kneeling before you. Your lips press into a thin line as you try to keep from crying. “Hey, hey, it’s okay-” he whispers. His large fingers slip carefully around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your face. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You frown, blinking up at him. Your stomach drops beneath his gaze, shame burning in your veins. 

“It’s not your fault that he’s a dick,” His thumb strokes your inner wrist, refusing to let you go. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, your gaze flickering in the space between you, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. “I’m fine- he just gets like this. He gets jealous…”

Bucky frowns, tilting his head up at you. “He does that kind of stuff often? Does he-” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Does he always talk to you like that?”

You shrug awkwardly. “Sometimes.” You murmur. “Mostly-” you pause, glancing up at him. He waits patiently. “Mostly just when you’re involved…”

His grip on your wrist twitches. “What do you mean?” Though he already knows the answer. Because he heard everything John said, every poisoned, directed word. 

“He’s just insecure.” You shrug, wiping your cheek on your shoulder. “He’s always been insecure about you. He’s paranoid that you’re in love with me, or something.” You huff, staring down at your lap. 

“Oh,” he mutters, his thumb still carefully stroking your inner wrist. 

You glance up at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. He stays silent as he watches you. You almost flinch when his free hand grazes your cheek, wiping at your tear streak. 

“Oh?” You prompt.

He tilts his head, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “He’s not wrong.” He admits, like it’s any other minute sentence. Your lips part in shock, your chest clenching in unexpected emotion. “But I don’t want that to make you think he’s right for what he did. He should never talk to you like that.”

“He’s not wrong?” You blurt, the rest of his sentence going straight over your head.

Bucky sighs and wipes a hand down his face. When he finally looks back up at you, his ears are tinted a soft pink. “Yeah, sweetheart. He’s not wrong.”

“You like me?” You gape.

He huffs, his lips twitching into a smile. “Did you hear anything else I said?” You swallow, shaking your head honestly. “Y/n, I like you, I’ve always liked you. But you’re my best friend, and you have a stupid ass boyfriend, and he doesn’t treat you right. I’m not saying that because of how I feel, I’m saying that because you’re my best friend, and I never want to see anyone talk to you- or about you- like he did.”

You chew at your cheek, flustered and still deeply humiliated. You nod, listening as he speaks. 

“If you stay with him, that's your decision, and I’ll be there for you. Period, that’s it. But he doesn’t treat you right, and it’ll only get worse. That's how guys like that work.”

You listen and try not to just hang onto those three words, but it’s hard. You want to digest what he’s saying, but sadly, you’ve already thought of it. You know John's behavior is unhealthy. You know it’s a slippery slope to violence and even worse verbal abuse. 

You nod, lowering your head. “I know, I just- I thought it would get better.”

“Do you like him? Not the version of him you first met, but the guy you know.” He tilts his head at you. You can’t fathom how Bucky can so easily have this conversation after what he just confessed. You don’t know how he can do this.

“I…” You contemplate his question, thinking over the last few months of your relationship. 

Deep down you already knew the answer. Because even the version of him that you met wasn’t striking. You weren’t head over heels in love with John. You just noticed him, and he noticed you. He took you home, and took you out every week since then. You thought he could be funny, and he could be kind, but his temper was always short. 

It always felt like you were a third wheel in your relationship, sharing space with him and his ego. 

And truth was, there was only one reason you ever went out with John to begin with. 

Bucky.

You just wanted to find an outlet, a distraction, a way to move on from the heavy weight in your chest you’ve felt for years.

“I don’t want to stay with him.” You start. “Because he was right.”

He stiffens, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “About me?”

“About me,” you whisper. “That he was a distraction for me.” You glance up into those pretty blue eyes. “He was right, because I’ve always liked you.” You confess with a heavy sigh. 

Bucky’s fingers twitch around your wrist, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Huh?”

You blush, your chin dropping to your chest. “I have to repeat it? I’ve already had a pretty embarrassing evening-”

“I heard you,” he mutters, his hand slipping into yours now. “Are you sure?”

You nod, your stomach twisting. “Yeah, I’m sure…”

He tries to suppress his ill timed smile- because this really isn’t the time for this- but he can’t. “Oh.”

A soft knock echoes against the door.

“Hey, everything okay in there?” Natasha mutters from the other side. 

“Uh- yeah,” Bucky shouts, his gaze fixed on yours. “All good…”

“I don’t want to go out yet- or ever, honestly.” You mutter, your fingers twitching against his.

“Okay,” He nods, crisscrossing his legs on the floor. “We can stay here for as long as you need.” 

And those simple words remind you of why Bucky was always the one for you, not anyone else. Because he would always be kind to you. He would always be there, patient and loving. 

He would always be Bucky.

A/N: Not amazing, but just a little self indulgent. Also, fun fact- all the things John says are based off real events.

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt

[controld3vil]

letting them pick your weapon

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes, john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, taskmaster (comic ver.), alexei shostakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader

synopsis: The fact that you value their opinion catches them off guard.

notes -> working on requests rn, but inbox’s still open !! I WANNA WRITE MORE tags/cw: inaccurate characterization/have not seen the film, minor scene mention (it’s in the trailer!), descriptions of weapons (flash bombs, bucky’s grappling hook, retractable shield, emergency teleporter, static boots, weapon gauntlet, combat enhanced gloves) headcanons can be read as platonic/romantic

YELENA BELOVA

-> believed you were joking at first. her? you have lost your mind if you thought she would be a good idea to offer advice to. but because it’s you, she’s willing to consider your preferences and style of combat. most of the team already use guns, tactical knives for hand-to-hand combat. you’re a great candidate for any challenge, so she’s not going to pick something easy. if you wanted easy, you would’ve asked someone else. 

“Well, I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” The former Black Widow turned to you with a delighted grin slowly spreading across her face. It’s obvious how smitten she is after your suggestion regarding the weaponry. Valentina had experts for those kinds of things: weapons, gear, and training. Yet, you sought her out for her opinion. Yelena rarely swoons at compliments, but you make her feel lighter on her feet on rare occasions. 

“Is it so wrong not to?” you jest with a smirk. You continued down the hallway of the Tower. The armory is built with a fingerprint pad at the end of the hall. Once you are allowed access, the bulletproof doors open. 

“You’ve got quite the selection,” Yelena notes, her eyes scanning the close-combat display. A few new additions catch her eye – one’s she’s certain weren’t there last week. It’s obvious you favor hand-to-hand combat over long-range, but she has no intentions of making this easy for you. Yelena knows you enjoy pushing boundaries, not just with weapons, but with strategy, roles, anything that keeps you one step ahead. “You’re still positive you want my advice?”

“Of course!” You beam, scanning down the aisles of the collection Valentina has managed to grab for the team. This was something you wished you had, and not just a temporary use. Still, you’re unfazed by Yelena’s pondering. “You’re one of the best I know of.” 

“That you know of,” She corrects, placing her hands on her hips. She’s thinking carefully now. What to give you. Would you like what she suggests? It shouldn’t matter as much, but Yelena now considers your combat style. The way you navigate around the battlefield, how you look both ways before crossing an alleyway. You’re very meticulous when it comes to closed operations, which is why she works so well with you. 

You see her grab something from a barrel, close to the heavy weapons. She holds it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. Her palms bounce the spherical object up and down as if it were a baseball and not something to be messed with. Yelena seems satisfied, as you can tell by the glint in her eyes when she turns to you. Her grin is devilish as she picks up a few more and lays them out in her hands. 

“Flash bombs, huh…” Your expression is neutral, studying them like an ancient artifact. You rarely use them, as it really depends on the mission. If it were a search and rescue, you wouldn’t think to use flash bombs. But then again, it’s slowly that you realize how typical your preferences are. “Never used them.”

“Exactly the point,” the ex-assassin beams with a lighthearted jab. “We rarely use flash bombs– makes it more fun when we do.” 

“So you’re suggesting them because you think they’re fun?” You crossed your arms, a smug smile tugging at your lips. You knew better than to expect Yelena to take your request seriously. She was trying to make peace with a past she rarely spoke of. But still, she had a way of making her life a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Flash bombs are like party tricks–best when no one sees them coming,” she said with a pout, holding one up like it was a priceless treasure.

BUCKY BARNES

-> question your mental fortitude. are you serious? but then he listens to you spouting about his days as the Winter Soldier. he doesn’t think highly of those days but the way you boast about his expertise is almost bizarre. do you admire him? that makes him feel oddly appreciated and conflicted. however because of your persistent pleas (you said please once!), he complies and leads you to his room. 

“Where did you think we were going?” The team leader grumbled, eyes fixed ahead as he passed Walker’s door without so much as a glance. There was a hint of playfulness in his voice–subtle, nearly invisible–but you caught it. You always did with him. 

He didn’t look at you. He rarely did when he was in one of these moods. Still, you followed close behind, practically on his heels like a loyal, overly eager puppy. And you couldn’t have looked more pleased. Because the truth was, you never expected to be allowed into Bucky’s room. 

“I mean no one’s allowed in your room,” you said, your voice light, stating the obvious. 

That made him stop. 

Bucky turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, he probably seemed annoyed–grim even. But you had spent enough time watching the subtle gestures to notice the truth. The slight droop in his eyes. That flicker of something softer. 

“Well– you’re the leader,” you added quickly, voice quieter now, “and out of respect, I just… never thought I’d be invited.” Now he looks at you even more deeply. Great, now he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“I mean, I appreciate the kind assumption, but really–” he pauses, eyes locking onto yours with surprising intensity. “You’re always welcome. If you need anything, that is.” 

You nod, taking in the quiet sincerity in his words. For a moment, it felt like you two had cleared the air. The weight of the conversation felt lighter, more comfortable. 

When he opens the door, he steps aside to let you enter first. 

Bucky’s room is nothing out of the ordinary. It was plain and expected, maybe, but not without hints of the man who lives there. A few photos hang crookedly on the wall. Clothes are scattered on the floor, like they were left there in a hurry or maybe forgotten. He doesn’t spend much time here, but it’s undeniably his space.  

“Sorry for the mess.” He passes by you and heads to his closet. You watch as he grabs a case, pulling it down with the kind of care that says it’s something important. You have no idea what’s inside, but you can guess. What screams Bucky Barnes? Probably a custom-modified handgun. Maybe a combat knife with a story behind it.

“Here it is,” he says, setting the case down on the bed. You stare at it, curiosity buzzing as he unlatches the safety lock. His gaze flicks to yours for a split second before he opens it. And when you finally see what’s inside, you can’t help it. 

You laugh.

Bucky turns to you, almost abruptly. “What’s so funny?”

Your eyes cross his. “Is this the grappling hook you used to destroy that military vehicle when you were chasing us?” Recognition flickers in his face. The realization hits him–it is the same one. And for a moment, his expression is as unforgettable as the day you first saw him, tearing across the empty drylands on that motorcycle like something out of a war film.

“Oh… right,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck, guilt creeping into his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly plan that part out.”

“It’s alright…” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The light streaming through the window catches the gleam of his metal arm, making it shine with an almost haunting beauty. “We're past that now.”

His eyes held a longing, a deep, mysterious intensity that you couldn’t quite figure out. He glances back at the grappling hook, it’s been since the beginning of your journey together as a team. He hasn’t used it since then, storing it as a keepsake, but now he’s looking at you.

“It’s yours now."

JOHN WALKER

-> gives you a skeptical look. you know yourself best, why would you go out of your way to ask him? doesn’t turn down the suggestion, but will constantly ask you why. He's been in the military, served two tours in Afghanistan. All he’s ever good for is punching things and shooting. And now, Valentina has given him a mediocre shield in place of Captain America’s. It’s safe to say he doesn’t choose his weapons, he earns them.

“I thought Yelena would be the one to ask, not you.” Walker doesn't seem just mildly annoyed; no, he’s genuinely in disbelief. No one’s ever asked him for a weapon before, and while his options were somewhat limited, he’s beginning to think that with the super serum coursing through him means he’s capable of more than he used to be. But his go-tos have always been the same: his shield and gun.

“You’re a strong guy,” you shrug casually, stripping off the protective gear you’d brought along. The two of you had just finished an operation, and the exhaustion was settling in, yet you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that spurred your suggestion. “I trust your instincts.”

Walker just stares at you, the look on his face speaking volumes. Seriously? He’s caught off guard. After everything that’s happened, now you’re asking him? But you can see he’s weighing your words, even if it’s only for a moment.

“You should trust your intuition,” he says, his tone softening just a little, though the faint skepticism still lingers. “Choose whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Comfortable?” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Well, if comfortable means picking a weapon that might get me killed, then… sure, I’m all in.” You smile, as if this were no big deal, even though deep down, the weight of your decision isn’t lost on you. “I trust you enough to make it interesting.” 

The former soldier exhales, clearly irritated, though mostly with himself. You weren’t going to give up, and he knew it. If he let this go now, you’d just come back tomorrow with the same question. You were rarely this persistent, but when you were, there’s no way of convincing you out of it. He could either make a decision now or risk you asking him again later. 

“Fine,” he muttered, scanning the armory. 

As you busied yourself, putting away gear and organizing supplies, Walker moved around the racks, his eyes flickering over the options. But the more he looked, the more he found himself caught in a mental loop. 

The rifle? Too heavy. That pistol? Not enough range for someone with your skills. That polearm? Too awkward for you to wield efficiently.

Finding a weapon that matched your needs, something that fit your style, was proving to be harder than he anticipated. He muttered under his breath, his frustration slowly building. Then he stole a glance at you, assessing. His eyes narrowed, running through the possibilities. He paused. The mission… in that moment. He remembered how you struggled to dodge the bullets while also taking down some thugs. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he sighed and reached for something on a high shelf. 

Before he makes it down, you’re already by his side. 

“Whatcha got there?” You look eager, excited by the fact that Walker was this tolerant of your persistent pestering, that he’s willing to go through with his promise. 

“A retractable shield.” He removed the cover, and there it was. The shield was smaller compared to Walker’s, but confident in size to contract in and out like a gadget. It had a charred black matte finish, with dark silver lining across the edges. It had an adjustable cuff. It resembled similarly to a Wakandan shield, which Bucky saw during his time there. It was beautiful. “It was a prototype Valentina had ordered for me, but I never used it. I got this one already,” he gestured to his shield, clasped behind his back. 

“If you like, you can keep this one.” 

“Wait—really?!” 

“I mean— I don’t use it, so it’s all yours,” he says delicately, placing it into your hands. “I can teach you a few tricks, too, if you like.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> extra extra nervous. you asked the guy who doesn’t need weapons or any kind of gadget to fight. if any of the members were in the room, they would be looking at you like you were crazy. bob’s first answer is no, but after seeing you pout at his refusal, he’s quick to please you. but then again, he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Okay! Knives, guns—uh, what are you looking for?” You appreciate the effort of his trying to act like he knows what he’s doing. But he’s trying desperately to meet your expectations. Bob looks nervous, like a lamb to the slaughter in the weapons room, jumping from cabinet to cabinet, looking at all of the variety. 

“Just something new to try out,” You grin, letting his nervous energy follow him around. You stand by the doorway and watch as Bob tries to analyze each piece of equipment. 

“Uhm—are you looking for something practical or—“ 

“Bob,” that startles him, making him freeze momentarily before meekly turning to face you. He was expecting you in mad rage, yet you weren’t. You just had a cute, goofy smile on your face. “Pick something with your heart. I know whatever you choose will be fine.” 

It’ll be fine. He thinks to himself, before nodding, allowing his nerves to slowly subside. Bob takes a deep breath, and in slow strides, he reaches out to something. 

When he turns, your gaze follows, all innocent and cute. 

“Ahh, an emergency teleporter!” You’re in awe because it was something you didn’t think Bob would pick as his first choice. There were plenty of gadgets you thought of— force fields, bulletproof vests, iron-plated brass knuckles. 

“Thought it might come in handy,” he nervously laughs, fiddling with the device, not knowing what to do with his hands. “Uhm— you know, in case you have to go on missions with me— and I don’t know— if something were to happen—“ 

You could practically see his thoughts unraveling from where you stood, Bob always rambled when he was anxious. But the fact that he was worrying about your safety left a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“Hey– I get it,” you say gently, taking the teleporter from his hand. Only then does he realize he’d been speaking out loud, not just thinking it. He freezes, suddenly stiff and wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. Embarrassed and tense. You offer a reassuring smile, one that says you don’t mind if anything, you appreciate it.

“It’s smart to have a backup plan,” you add. “And hey, maybe once this mission’s over, we’ll use it to teleport straight to that pizza place.”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> pokes fun at you. jokes about all the possibilities of how you’ll slip up with whatever item she picks. obviously you don’t take it to heart, but ava’s light-hearted nature is a breath of fresh air— after so many grueling missions, her jokes are something that keeps you motivated for the next. need advice on using the element of surprise? she’s your gal! 

“I mean, come on–sneaking in with suppressed pistols but still blowing the whole operation?” Ava giggles, clearly enjoying herself while you look away, pretending to be interested in the horizon. 

“It was one of my first missions, okay?” you snap, pouting as a hot mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbles up inside you.

“Yeah, yeah—amateur,” she teases, ducking her head and biting back another laugh. 

“Oh, like you didn’t have any screw-ups when you started?”

“Don’t even get me started.” 

You raise a brow. “Well? I’m listening.” 

“I’m not telling you,” Ava says with a teasing hum as she strolls toward the armory, already scanning the gear selection menu. You trail after her, fuming. 

“I just told you my most embarrassing story, and you won’t even share yours? That’s not fair!” Steam practically pours from your ears. You’d laid bare your humiliating failure, and Ava–cool, composed Ava, refuses to give even a scrap in return. 

But instead of responding, she flashes a sly smile. “Because I got you something better.” She stops in front of a reinforced gear locker, a sleek metal container stacked with tactical essentials: bests, gloves, helmets. Everything you’d expect. But apparently, Ava has something different in mind. You pause, watching as she places her hand on the scanner. With a soft click and mechanical hiss, a hidden shelf slides out. 

It gleams. Brand new. Sleek like fresh sneakers out of the box.  tell you.” Ava hums before she accesses the armory, heading to the gear selection. 

“For when you’re trying not to sound like a herd of elephants,” she smirks, nodding to a pair of matte-black static boots. She leans casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised in silent amusement.

You blink at her, deadpan.

“Seriously?” 

“I mean, I can hear you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen–from my room,” Ava says, casually shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You blink. That’s new information.

“Wait… I’m just a loud walker?” She gives you a pointed look, and suddenly it all clicks. “That explains why Walker’s always giving me weird looks,” you mutter, half to yourself. “Guess my feet have a mind of their own.”

Ava snorts. “No, love–you just have really bad shoes.”

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> looks your way in deep silence. for how long you’ve known each other, you’re starting to believe tony chooses not to talk. he expresses much more with his actions, such as offering you extra bullets, or medical tape if things go south. tony is an experienced man with many talents, he’s able to copy and replicate his opponent’s moves. he’s done the same with teammates, with you when training, allowing you to point out the mistakes you hadn’t seen there before. sometimes you think he knows you better than yourself. 

“A weaponized gauntlet, huh?” you say, not even pretending to be surprised when Tony hands it to you, seemingly out of thin air. No trip to the armory, no formal request. Apparently, Tony knew you were going to ask him about this and waited for you to ask. 

You study the gauntlet closely, fingers tracing its sleek design. Every button, switch, and panel feels deliberate. Precise. You press one. Click! A retractable blade slides out with satisfying ease. Another press–a grappling line. Then a short-range stun charge. Then a blinding flash ejector. You can’t help it. A grin creeps across your face.

This was so him. 

Tony embodied versatility in his work. He didn’t rely on brute force–he struck with speed, precision, and timing. This gauntlet? This gauntlet was just like him: tactical, efficient, and sharp.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still a bit in awe as you reset the device to its default mode. Your eyes are locked on the gauntlet, taking in every detail. But Tony’s? His eyes haven’t let you once. 

If the circumstances were different, you might’ve mistaken this moment for something romantic.

“It’s pretty neat, has everything I need,” you say, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. You don’t mind the quiet, not really, but sometimes the stillness between you feels too heavy not to break. Tony doesn’t reply. Not verbally, at least. But you can tell his focus has shifted, drawn in closer. He’s leaning slightly toward you now, just enough for you to notice the space closing. 

You feel compelled to try the gauntlet on. As you unfasten the straps and slide it onto your wrist, it clamps down, not tightly, threatening. More like a perfectly fitted bracelet. Secure and purposeful. There’s a subtle hum as the device calibrates, adjusting to the shape of your hand. The pressure eases, and it begins to feel more like a part of you than an accessory. Almost like a second skin. 

Tiny scanners flicker along your fingertips, mapping them precisely–each digit now linked to a specific function, a silent promise of the power you had. You lift your pointer finger, and almost instantly, a blade slides out with fluid precision. 

“This feels like straight-up nanotech…” You murmur, raising your wrist toward the ceiling light, eyes wide with wonder. You probably look like a kid on Christmas morning. If a civilian saw you now, they might assume you’d completely lost it. 

“Where did you even get this?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity. Tony tilts his head, deliberate and unreadable. You already know he won’t answer, but that never stopped you from asking him pointless questions anyway. It’s become a quiet repetition between you. 

You lower your arm, bring the gauntlet down to chest level–just enough to create a sort of invisible line between you and him. A barrier, but a playful one. 

“If you ever need it,” you say, mimicking his earlier head tilt with a smile, “just ask.”

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> very excited. so excited you asked him! alexei is really a lovable guy— even though he often doesn’t use any weapons or gadgets, he thinks of his teammates whenever he goes out window shopping. he sees a new brand Glock 19 by the window? yelena would love it! an energy stabilizer on the dark web? bob’s gonna flip! but you? good old you get special treatment because he’ll personally get you whatever you want. 

“When I heard you needed a new weapon, I was so happy!” Alexei beams as the two of you make your way into the living room. His accent thickens with excitement as he waves a hand. “Not in a bad way, of course, but it’s good, da? Trying something new!” 

“You get me, Alexei,” you say, arms crossing instinctively. Apparently, you weren’t the only one picking up on your growing restlessness. Same weapons, same tactics, and same rhythm, it all started to feel stale. You figured switching things up might help you see things differently. 

Everyone on the team had their niche. Alexei, with his brute strength. Bucky, his guns, and that metal arm. Ava could phase through about anything. Everyone had their thing. And you? You’d been stuck in the same position for far too long. 

“That is why I was so excited when I found this,” he says, crouching to pull a box from under the couch with a mischievous grin. 

Your brows lift, your curiosity piques. “What’ve you got?”

“Close your eyes!” he orders, and you obey, hands outstretched like a kid waiting for a surprise. Behind your closed lids, you hear the ripple of tape, the crinkle of bubble wrap, and then clank... a solid metallic sound, followed by the stretch of fabric. Then something is gently placed into your palms. 

It’s lighter than you expect. Smooth and flexible, but as your fingers trace further, you find the contrast, the cold, hard metal beneath the fabric. 

“Open your eyes!” he announces, barely able to contain his excitement. 

You do. And you’re impressed.

Combat-enhanced gloves, sleek Kevlar-weave across the surface, making your hands feel impossibly light and agile. Carbon-titanium plates reinforce the knuckles and strike zones, and the inside? A smart gecko-grip polymer, designed to boost grip on any surface. 

You stared, stunned. Not just by the gloves, but by the fact that Alexei went through the trouble to find them. Valentina might have gotten you something, if she wasn’t constantly ranting about budget cuts. But this? This came from someone who genuinely wanted to help. 

“You really are the best,” you say, laughing softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, the gloves still clutched in your hands. He lets out a big, satisfied huff of a laugh, and when you pull back, his smile nearly outshines the room.

Who could hate him? You hadn’t known Alexei that long, but somehow he already understood you better than most. 

“I know you like your shooting and whatnot,” he says, mock innocent. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab to the shoulder. 

“But I also know,” he grins, “you really like punching things. So I thought–'Hey, you know who’d love combat gloves?’”

You can’t stop smiling. It actually hurts a little, but you don’t care. 

“Then I saw them, just sitting there in the market! I couldn’t believe it. Like the universe wanted me to buy them for you!”

“Universe said received,” you say, voice bubbling with gratitude and affection. You look down at the gloves, then back at Alexei. You’ll get him something too. Not because you owe him, but because it’s rare to be known like this. And his gift? 

It’s perfect.

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 3 <<prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader warnings: age gap (older man/younger woman), allusions to child abuse, suicide/drug overdose, canon-typical death a/n: Shit's about to get just a little✨messy✨. I've been legit floored by the response to this story so far. Thanks to everyone who's along for the ride with me on this. Pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! Not beta read.

Everyone knew. Heather wouldn’t tell anyone about your work crush on an attending, and you certainly hadn’t told anyone else. But somehow, everyone seemed to know. Not only about your incredibly embarrassing and continually growing feelings for your attending, but there was also something else. It felt like you were consistently on the outside of a joke everyone else was privy to.  

It started with a raised eyebrow from Perlah after a standard intubation. Dr. Abbot had poked his head in looking for Robby, but ended up sticking around until you’d stabilized the patient. 

“You know I always appreciate the assist, but you didn’t have to stay. I had it under control.” 

“You always do,” he mused, that small ‘proud teacher’ smile on his face morphing into one of apology. He started to step back toward the door. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“You didn’t!” you rushed to say, maybe a little too quickly. You took a breath before continuing, trying to recover some semblance of nonchalance. “But I know you were looking for Robby, so…” 

“Right, yeah, I should go, uh, find him for handoff. He wasn’t on the roof when I checked.” 

“I saw Gloria hovering earlier. Maybe check that surgical on-call room he thinks we don’t know he uses to hide in.” 

You both chucked, and he nodded in agreement. He hung in the doorway for an extra second, like maybe he wanted to say something else. But then his eyes darted to Perlah, who was extremely focused on the vent settings, and with a final tap to the door jam, he was gone. 

When you turned back to the patient to do a final vitals check before paging the ICU and moving on to the next case, Perlah was giving you a look. 

“What?” 

She shook her head, a grin plastered across her face. “Nothing.” She mumbled something in Tagalog under her breath on her way out of the room, and you made a mental note to ask Santos what the word ‘bobo’ meant. 

A few nights later, Myrna cornered you as you were leaving after your shift. 

“You’re not slick, sweet cheeks” 

“Excuse me?” you all but choked on the drink of water you’d just taken from your Hydroflask. 

“I saw you, checking out Dr. Abbot when he walked by earlier. You were checking out his ass!” Her voice was filled with mirth, but the volume made your eyes go wide. For the love of God, you hoped no one had heard her. 

“I was doing no such thing, Myrna!” 

“If you don’t climb that man like a tree, I will,” she warned. 

“You go ahead and try,” you laughed, giving her an encouraging thumbs up and taking backward steps away from her as quickly as possible to escape further interrogation. It’s a very good thing for everyone involved that Dana had cuffed her to her wheelchair that evening. 

Two weeks later, and it felt like all eyes were on you every time that you and Dr. Abbot were in the same vicinity. 

“There’s a pool,” Samira kindly informed you one morning, both of you looking at the board with thermoses in hand. You’d grumbled under your breath about people having a staring problem after noticing multiple sets of eyes glued to your brief and perfunctory hello exchanged with Dr. Abbot on his way out the door. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“There’s a betting pool on what’s going on between you and Dr. Abbot. I think just between the nurses right now — they’ve been trying to keep it from Collins since everyone knows you two are friends.” 

“That feels… wildly inappropriate,” you said eventually. 

Samira laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “It is. But you know how the gossip mill is around here. And Dr. Abbot’s been around more since you joined. Coming in a little earlier at night, doing handoff with Robby a few minutes later. It has people intrigued.” 

Her admission had the gears turning long after she’d excused herself before Robby could give her shit for staring at the board for too long. There were a million explanations for the supposed change in behavior. Maybe Robby asked him to start being around more to help during the transition of you settling after Langdon’s departure. Heather had said she’d been more worried about Robby since PittFest, maybe he felt the same and was around more to keep tabs on his friend. 

But there was a little voice in your head that hoped maybe it had something to do with you. 

It was all very disorienting. You were not this person — confused over whether some guy did or didn’t like you, reading into every casual touch and slightly-too-long-to-be-accidental stretch of eye contact, having inappropriate thoughts about a superior at work. 

You liked to keep work and your personal life in two very neat boxes. It keeps things from getting messy, and it helps you compartmentalize. That way, you don’t take out your frustrations with your mom or a rough night on your patients, and you don’t bring the bad days when you lose more patients than you save to Sunday brunch with your childhood best friend who just got engaged. 

Admittedly, The Pitt had already blurred those lines in more ways than one. Your close friendship with Heather, the girls' nights out with Samira, Santos and Garcia, the farmer’s market runs with Mel before baking with her and her sister.

But crossing a line into anything more than colleagues with Dr. Abbot felt infinitely more dangerous. Maybe the betting pool was wrong and it was just a coincidence that he was around a little bit more than before. Maybe they were right and he also felt whatever this was between them. 

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to happen. The lines were drawn, and you were happy to keep things exactly as they were.  

Of course, you should have known that as soon as you’d decided that, universe would find a way to flip you a middle finger. 

*** 

When Jack stopped by the nurse’s station before finding Robby for handoff, Dana gave him an indecipherable look. 

“It’s been a rough day.” 

“They always are,” he murmured, more to himself than Dana. He went to pick up a tablet, but one of Dana’s hands reached out and covered his own. 

She told him about the college student who’d been brought in after her friend found her lying next to an empty bottle of pills after a big fight with her dad. How you and Robby got her intubated, but the hypoxia had already caused irreversible brain damage. How the girl’s father had come in and started screaming at you until Robby had restrained him and Dana had called security on him. The way you’d reacted after.

“I’ve never seen her shut down like that, and this is far from the worst loss she’s seen. I’m worried about her. And you know how Robby is with drug overdoses these days.” 

Robby took the drug cases harder ever since finding out about Langdon. Jack thought it had something to do with guilt over not seeing the signs sooner, the knowledge that had Santos not reported him, he could have ended up as an OD in one of their trauma rooms. 

But he swallowed hard at the thought of you beating yourself up over the case. It clearly wasn’t your fault. He assumed you must have been terrified by the thought of the patient’s father potentially getting aggressive with you, and he knows how that fear can shut you down, though he’s a little shocked at the idea of anything scaring you. To him, you always seemed somewhat fearless within the walls of a trauma room. 

He thanked Dana for the heads up and went to find Robby, assuming he’d be on the roof. But when he opened the door, his heart twisted with pure terror at the sight of you sitting there on the railing, too close to the edge for comfort.

You didn’t turn to look at him, though he knew you had to have heard the door. He tried to make his steps loud enough for you to hear him coming closer, not wanting to startle you. You didn’t even look at him as he came to stand next to you, just blankly staring ahead. 

“Y’know, you’re sort of in my spot,” he said lamely, grasping for anything to break the silence. To pull your gaze to him instead of whatever fixed point you’d chosen on the skyline. 

You shrugged. “You and Robby always come up here after a rough day. Figured I’d see what the fuss was about.” 

“Be sure to leave a Google Review.” It was a stupid joke, but you huffed in what was almost a laugh. He took it as a good sign. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he promised as he gently wrapped a hand around your wrist where it sat next to you on the railing. “But can you do me a favor and come back to this side of the railing?” 

Your gaze shifted first to where your hands met, then to Jack’s face. He’d tried his best to sound casual, not let any of the worry seep into his voice, but the look you gave him confirmed he was unsuccessful. You nodded, easily swinging your legs around until your feet were back on what Jack considered safer territory. 

He let go of your wrist, but you reached out and grabbed onto his arm. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…needed some air. Needed to breathe without the smell of antiseptic. Be somewhere that wasn’t the ED.” 

The relief that flooded through him was instant and overwhelming. He didn’t want to think too hard about what it meant. 

“I get that. And I meant what I said — you don’t have to talk about it. But if you need someone to talk to, someone who gets it, I’m always around to listen.” He leaned his head down, making sure you met his eyes as he spoke. 

“I’m usually good at holding it together, compartmentalizing. But it’s been harder lately,��� you admitted, voice breaking at the end as you looked up at him, and fuck, Jack could see how hard you were fighting for control, trying to hold everything you were feeling at bay. He knew exactly what that felt like, and how destructive it could be when the dam finally broke. 

He couldn’t stop himself. “Come here,” he murmured softly, pulling you into his arms and holding you tight against his chest. “Let it out, sweetheart.” Your hands clutched onto the fabric of his scrubs, and he could feel the fight drain out of you as you let out a sob.

It occurred to him that this was something sacred, you trusting him like this. That when you’d needed comfort, you’d gone to the roof. His spot. Maybe it was subconscious on your part, but warmth filled him at the idea that you’d inadvertently gone searching for a piece of him.

You both stood there for God knows how long, him whispering into your hair as you fell apart. Assuring you it was alright, that he had you, that you were safe. 

Slowly, you came back to yourself. Your shoulders stopped shaking, your hands softened against his waist, your breathing returned to normal. He could have happily held you against him like that forever, protecting you from the world while you pieced yourself back together — patients and night shift handoff with Robby be damned. 

But eventually, you took one last deep breath and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” you mumbled sheepishly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“You might need a new scrub top,” you nodded toward his chest, which was now sporting a wet spot from your tears. He just shrugged; he could honestly care less. “And I’m sure I look a right mess right now,” you joked weakly, disentangling one of your arms to wipe your nose with the long-sleeved shirt you had on under your scrubs. 

He allowed himself a rare moment to fully take you in, from your red-rimmed and glassy eyes to your flushed skin to the strands of hair now stuck to your cheeks. 

“You still look beautiful to me,” he whispered before his brain could remind his mouth why he wasn’t supposed to admit things like that out loud. Your eyes widened in surprise, darting back and forth between his in search of something. 

He hadn’t meant to tell you that, but Jack had always been a stubborn man. He wouldn’t take the words back now that they’d escaped. Instead, he forced himself to continue meeting your gaze, letting you see just how much he meant it and preparing himself for you to pull away and let him down easy. 

Except you didn’t pull away. He watched enraptured as your decision clicked into place in that pretty, brilliant head of yours, and you leaned up to press your mouth against his. 

The kiss was soft, quick. Before he even had a chance to fully process what you’d done, you were pulling back and waiting to see what his reaction would be. For a split second, you both just blinked at each other. 

“Jack,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, the question in our voice, and his mouth crashed back into yours. 

This time, the kiss wasn’t soft or quick. It was messy, desperate. Months of pent up tension and swallowed feelings being let loose. One arm held you anchored against him while his other hand slid up your neck to angle your jaw just the way he wanted. “Say it again,” he demanded against your lips. 

You didn’t have to ask him what he meant. “Jack,” you gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip. Your fingers dove into the hair at his neck, pulling yourself flush against him.  

Kissing you was all-consuming. Nothing existed except the two of you and this warmth taking root in Jack’s chest that he hadn’t felt in so long. He wanted to drown in the taste of you. He wanted the world to stop spinning so he could stay on this roof, this god-forsaken roof that might now be one of his favorite places on earth, forever.

The door to the roof banged open, and you both broke apart at the sound. Robby was standing frozen in the doorway. 

You pulled away from him like you’d been burned. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.” 

Before Jack could fully process what was even happening, you’d slipped past Robby and disappeared back down the stairs without so much as a backwards glance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @brnesblogposts @nosebeers

[juicykvnture]

LOVEDRUG

JasonTodd x fem!Reader

tags: AFAB reader, established relationship, drug use, intox (dubcon), dirty talk, dumbification, nicknames (doll, baby) manhandling, spit, praise + degradation and not much plot I fear

a/n: IM NORMAL I SWEAR IM NORMAL! (i scream as they drag me away)

wc: 3.5k | masterlist

“That’s it?” Jason’s eyes narrow as he stares at you measuring out the sedative for your upcoming mission, his arms crossed over his chest watching as you crush it up. In true Jason Todd fashion, he always has to give you his two cents.

“Stay in your lane Jay, I know what I’m doing,” you roll your eyes, leaning over the counter to get your half-empty cup of tea, staring down into it and then back to the little heap of powder.

“That wouldn’t be enough to knock a fucking squirrel out.. let alone a grown man.”

He can’t afford this job going tits up, you need to knock tomorrow’s target out cold.

“What’s a half teaspoon gonna do? Make the bastard a little dizzy?”

“Only one way to find out,” you murmur under your breath, dumping a teaspoon of it into your tea, offering a noncommittal shrug to Jason’s utter dismay.

“Excuse me?”

“For science.” you clarify, tilting the cup in your hand to swirl the mixture around a little.

“Cheers,” you mumble before he can even stop you downing the mixture in one go with a grimace before he can reach over and pry the cup out of your hand.

You set it down, empty on the counter with a soft clink, rubbing a hand over your face.

This just has to take the cake for the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He’s actually fucking astounded at your level of impulsiveness, disregard for your own health and downright stupidity.

He has a lot of very colourful adjectives he wants to call you right now - he could fill a whole dictionary without even trying.

“Is there something fundamentally fucking wrong with you?”

His eyes are wide, his usual lazy drawl now full of concern, confusion.

With the kind of bullshit you pull, you’re bound to send him to an early grave (again)

“What?” You blink, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

“Worst case scenario I’ll pass out and you have to carry me to bed. I’ll live! You said it ain’t enough to even knock a squirrel out, right?”

That makes him sputter slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair. That’s unfair, you’re using his words against him.

“M’fine, Jason.” you’re trying to reassure him, stepping away from the counter with your hands raised as if in surrender.

But now that you think about it.. the room really is spinning.. just a little bit.

Okay, you aren’t fine.

Maybe don’t test out sedatives on yourself next time?

“Hey-” Jason caught you a little too easily when you face-planted into his chest, his arms tightening around your waist to keep you upright. He let out a low sigh, a mix of frustration and concern.

“You sure about that being fine?” He sighs, his voice a soft murmur as his eyes scan over you again. “You’re about as steady as a baby deer.”

That makes you giggle, your lips slowly curling upwards.

“..baby deers are cute.”

Seeing the grin on your face, despite your situation, was simultaneously endearing and frustrating.

“You’re implying I’m cute,” your words are starting your slur a little, less stable against him than you were moments ago.

Your grin and the flutter of your lashes cause his eyes to narrow slightly, a sense of dread starting to pool in his stomach. He knows that look, even through the haze of whatever you’re under.

He shakes his head, his hands moving down to your hips with a scowl, trying to keep you steady.

“Nope,” he muttered, his grip on you tightening. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, just—”

Before he could finish, your hand shot up and seized a weak fistful of his shirt, planting your face right into his neck with a dramatic sigh.

“Y’smell nice.”

Jason suppressed another eye roll as he felt your grin against his skin. You’re damn near delirious right now and this was what you chose to focus on?

The feeling of your teeth lightly scraping against his neck caught his attention, a flash of something crossing his eyes.

“Quit it,” he murmured, his fingers under your chin as he lifted your face to meet his gaze again. Your eyes were unfocused, clouded with the effects of the drug.

“M’not even doing anything!”

He doesn’t believe that for a second. It’s a miracle you haven’t tried to climb him yet.

You’re down bad enough for him when you’re in a normal state of mind, but loopy off of your ass? God help him.

“Sure you ain’t.” Jason huffs as he stares down at you, unable to hide the flicker of fondness that crosses his features.

You’re aimlessly mouthing at his neck now, mumbling on and on about how much you love him. He should probably throw you over his shoulder and put you to bed. You clearly need to lie down, you’re off of your head completely.

But he can’t bring himself to.

“You’re a mess,” he murmured, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern - maybe a tiny hint of amusement somewhere in there.

“Nuh-uh,”

Jason couldn’t help the exhale at the sight of you and your attempt at denying the truth. He’s chewing on the insides of his cheeks, trying to hold back the barest hint of a smirk.

Honestly? You do stupid shit all the time, if you feel sick or something.. maybe you’ll learn your lesson for once.

The little bit of drool at the corner of your lips, how you’re shaking a little, the way you’re already starting to look a bit too comfortable in his arms - it’s equal parts adorable and worrying.

But worst of all, it kinda turns him on.

“You really are a mess right now, though..” he leans you back against the counter, one hand staying on your waist to keep you steady. His other hand raised to touch your chin, thumb swiping away the drool at the corner of your mouth, lingering on your bottom lip for a little bit too long.

“Fuckin’ droolin’ all over yourself.”

“You’re mean..” You stare at him for what feels like an eternity in your compromised state, your lips twitching upward into a stupid, shaky grin, leaning further into his hand.

“I’m not mean. Look at you.” He sighs, resting his hand against your flushed cheek.

He feels almost guilty for a split second. He knows you should probably go and sleep this off.

“Try leaning on the counter, yeah?” He lets go of you for a moment, just to check how messed up you really are right now, his hands still hovering around your hips to catch you just in case.

“Right..” you slur under your breath, your knees a little shaky without Jason to hold you.

He tried to ignore the way his stomach coiled at your obedience, at the sight of you looking up at him with those half-lidded, cloudy eyes. You’re trying to prove to him that you’re totally fine - even when you know you’re far from it.

Jason leans closer so can examine your dazed expression, your pupils blown wide like saucers. The effect the drug was having on you even more pronounced now that you were so close. It was hard to ignore the raw desire that was pooling in his gut, the urge to fuck you right then and there.

God, he needs to rein himself in a little bit.

“You still think you’re just fine?” Jason’s mouth hovers over yours, hands finding your hips again, slotting his leg between your thighs.

You’re too out of it to tell if it’s out of concern or if he’s just downright mocking you at this point. All you can do is huff out a small laugh, lashes fluttering.

“M’doin’ great..” You blink slowly, pressed between his body and the cold marble counter, your fingers going to hook into the belt loops of his jeans, trying to grind yourself against his thigh a little harder.

That makes his pants feel tighter than they should, hand moving from your cheek to slide behind your neck, tilting your head around in his firm grip just to see if you’d stop him.

You don’t - you’re letting him just sway your head around with a slurred giggle.

“Dizzy, baby?”

“Uhuhh..” you manage, your head hitting his shoulder with a soft thump, a random giggle leaving you every few seconds until he gives your neck a small squeeze, making you look up at him again.

"Uhuh?" he echoes in a gruff mockery of your slurred words, his mouth a thin line. His hand pushed your skirt up, his fingers grazing over the edge of your panties.

He’s right in front of you but the sedative in your system makes it feel like he’s far away, his wobbly words echoing in your skull paired with the sound of your own heartbeat.

You feel him shift against you, pressing his hips against you firmly. You feel the heat and hardness of his bulge through your skirt hiked-up skirt, leaving no room for imagination as he presses his bulge against the wet patch in your underwear.

Another slurred giggle and your hands are fumbling with his belt, mouthing at his neck since you’re too dazed to tilt your head up and try to actually kiss his mouth.

"Easy there, doll," Jason murmurs as he grabs your wrist, though there was no mistaking the roughness in his voice now as you continued your barrage of messy kisses against his neck.

His fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs as he hoists you up - the action making you squeak slightly as he perches your ass atop the counter.

You seem to forget he’s fully capable of throwing you around sometimes. He makes sure to remind you every now and again.

“..not fair,” You writhe a little against him and he just chuckles at your squeak, his fingers grazing the fabric of your drenched panties. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the dampness staining the soft cotton.

"Not fair?" He taunted, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass for a moment. He pressed his crotch against you, grinding his denim-clad cock against your damp panties, your hips moving out of their own accord to try to press against him too.

What’s not fair is how you think it’s okay to tease him, shameless about it too.

“You’re making a mess of these,” he points out, his voice huskier than usual as he pulls the hem of your underwear taut, releasing it to let the elastic smack against your skin.

You’d normally scoff at that shit and try to get him back for messing with you.

But not right now, it makes your shaky knees fall open actually - teeth pressing into the plush of your bottom lip, drool at the corner of your mouth again.

He can tell you liked that.

Perhaps you’re too out of it to hide what you’re really thinking. You’re usually so composed.

“Slut.” Jason mumbles into your hair, voice deceptively soft.

“..huh?” you slur, managing to frame your head up slightly despite the fact it feels way heavier than it should, lips still in a dumb grin.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry bout it.” he sighs, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, pressing his fingers against your clothed pussy.

“Think you’re too dumb to understand right now, anyway.”

The fact you’re not even questioning what he’s saying, the fact you’re nodding along to everything he says just makes him want to push you a little further.

“M’not dumb..” you frown slightly, your face kinda falling into his hand before he catches your jaw once more.

“You will be.” He applies more pressure with his fingers, circling your clit through the thin fabric, still holding your neck up. You can feel his growing bulge pressing against your thigh, grinding against you hard.

“I mean, that shit you pulled was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” He grits out, still acting like he’s mad that you got yourself into this state with those drugs.

He isn’t.. not really.

“Little slut like you tellin’ me to stay in my fuckin’ lane.”

“M’sorry..” you slur, barely able to remember why.

He watches your lips curl into an unsure pout, he’s not sure if you’re even able to tell what he’s talking about.

“Sorry, are you?”

Your eyes are getting a little droopy now, grinding yourself against his fingers before the hand that was holding your head smacks your jaw with a small “tsk,” under his breath, the action making you choke out an unintentional whimper.

“Sure you are.” Jason's eyes flickered with a mix of satisfaction and dark desire as he felt your legs spread obediently. His fingers slipped under your panties, his thick fingers wasting no time as they plunge deep into your slick cunt, watching with an almost feral grin as you cry out.

He isn’t even on anything, but he feels just as fucked up as you are right now.

"Jesus," he murmured, his voice rough. "You’re fucking dripping all over my fingers," his thumb soon found your clit, stroking it in quick, rough circles. He’s relentless.

You choke out a small whine and nod barely, his words bouncing from one ear to the other before sinking into your empty skull.

You’re just nodding along to everything that comes out of his mouth. He could say absolutely anything to you right now and you’d take it - with a giggly nod, nonetheless.

Jason's fingers easily pushed past your wet folds, sliding into your tight heat with an ease that left no question of how badly you wanted this.

You can't even form a proper thought, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation.

He catches your jaw again before your face hits his shoulder, letting out a small “tsk,”

You’re not allowed to hide from him right now. No way in hell.

You whine under your breath as he pulls his hand out from under your panties, smirking to himself at how much of a mess you’ve made on his fingers.

Jason grins at your immediate pout, it’s like he’s mocking you silently, one hand still holding your face up, the other working to free his strained cock from the confines of his pants.

"You want this, doll?" He leans closer, lightly grinding his leaking top against your clit, his hooded eyes not leaving you for one second,

"You want me to fuck you dumber than you already are?"

“..yeah..” your eyes are glassy, your grin lopsided, hips stuttering to try and get him inside you already, you’re truly not in the state for his stupid teasing.

He’d normally take his time with you, but he can’t right now - entering you in one hard thrust, roughly pushing his thumb into your mouth at the same time.

Jason let out a groan as he felt your needy little pussy clenching around him, his thumb pressing down against your tongue - forcing you to meet his eyes since he knows you can’t even manage something as simple as that on your own.

He’s perfectly content to do all the work actually, he’s not gonna miss this opportunity for the whole fucking world.

"Fuuuck," he hissed, his head falling forward as he started to fill you up, almost going cross-eyed at how eager you are, even if you’re too dumbed down to realise it.

He’s borderline obsessed with how your thighs shake on either side of his hips, the fact he has to actually lift your legs to wrap them around his hips cause you’re just too fucked up to do it makes him almost cum on the spot.

“Jay-“ All you can do is whine around his thumb, drooling down his wrist, shiny in the dimly lit space.

You can’t think - you can’t tell left from right and you don’t even need to, your heels digging into his lower back when his large hand comes down in a firm slap against your ass - then another.

"You like being slapped around like a little bitch sometimes, don’t you?"

Each thrust is rougher, harder than the last, his mouth grazing against your neck as his hands explore your body. His grip on your hip is tight, his movements growing more urgent as the pleasure builds between you.

“Jasonnn..“ His name is the only thing that falls from your lips, a mix of plea and curse, moaned out in a desperate, mewling wail.

The sight of you looking up at him with that hazy, submissive expression made his hips jerk involuntarily, driving into you deeper.

Jason's hand moved down from your face, pulling his thumb from your mouth, finding your clit and started thumbing it in hard, rough circles.

"Look at that," he groaned, his movements growing rougher still, "cockdrunk and slurring your words. Is it the drug or did it always take this little to turn you into a needy slut?"

“..jus’ you-“ you manage to whine, your hips stuttering desperately against his.

“Just me, yeah?” Jason grins at your eager nod, his hold on your hip becoming almost painful. His pace quickened, his thrusts deep and hard, making you moan and writhe in his arms.

His strokes were deep and hard, each one punctuated by a sharp slap against your ass.

"You're just a little pain slut, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You love it when things get a bit rough, huh?"

“Jay-“ You whine and nod faintly, once more, and your forehead hits his shoulder. He’s having none of it, pulling at your hair so you look at him again.

The plea of his name makes him smile actually, almost feral as he pulls back before slamming his cock inside you again.

“You still know who’s fucking you then? Maybe there is something left in that skull of yours.”

“..my head hurts,” you’re panting, your thighs still trembling either side of his hips.

“Bet it does, need me to think for you, huh?” He’s almost cooing now, pressing his lips to yours to muffle your little whines.

All you can do is nod faintly, your mouth falling open against his. It’s like you’re trying to kiss him but just can’t seem to manage right now.

“You tryna kiss me, huh? Too dumb to even do that?” There’s that smile of his again, it’s kind of sinister - almost mocking as his thumb presses against your clit to watch your mouth fall open in a shaky plea.

He sees an opportunity and he takes it, his lips hovering over yours. But no, he makes no move to kiss you

“Huh-“ You don’t even realise what he’s at until you feel a glob of his spit land on your tongue, your back arching against him.

You swallow.

What’s worse is you can’t even hide the fact that you like it, not when he can feel your cunt squeezing him even tighter.

“Good girl,” his free hand moves to grab at your tits through your shirt his fingers digging into the soft flesh through the fabric as he finally kisses you.

"You're a mess, baby," he sneers against your lips, his words punctuated with each thrust of his hips, stretching you open on his leaking cock, rubbing at your clit even harder.

"Look at you, taking my dick so good, even when you can’t think, y’gonna cum for me doll?”

Trick question.

You’re not sure if it’s the spit or the way he’s talking or the way he’s slamming his hips but you know you’re going to cum, hard.

You’re barely able to verbalise it, your vision blacking out as you cling onto him, legs all shaky and twitchy when you feel him dripping down your leg, hiding your face in his neck with little sobs.

Your eyes flutter open upon regaining consciousness, the soft spray of the shower filling your ears, droplets clinging to your skin as large hands run up and down your back, working through the knots in your muscles.

“There’s my girl, look who’s back,” Jason murmurs into your neck, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

You offer a tired nod as you tilt your head back against him, one of his hands resting atop your hip to keep you steady - just in case.

You blink, the distinct smell of his body wash fills the small space between your bodies in the shower - clinging to your skin.

Well, that definitely isn’t your strawberry sundae shower foam, is it?

“I’m gonna smell like a man.” You yawn softly, your head falling forward a little, staring down at the soapy suds going down the drain.

Jason just huffs against the back of your neck, pressing a little kiss behind your ear.

“You were slurring on about how nice I smell earlier, shuddup.”

a/n: mama needs a cigarette after this one.. goodnight.

thank u for reading!!

[crystaltrainwrecks]

Thank you for the tag!! :D Ok let’s do this.

Last Song I Listened to: I’m honestly not sure 😅 I haven’t really been listening to much music on my own lately. But I think it was one of ‘Marina and the Diamonds’ songs?

Favorite Color: 90% of the time it’s Purple 💜, with the occasional splash of pink and ocean blue-green.

Currently Watching: I’d never seen any of the Mission Impossible movies before 🤔 Soooo with there being a new one on the way, and the majority of the movies now being on Hulu, me and my family decided to watch all of them! They aren’t really my thing so far, but the fourth one was a lot of fun!

Last Movie: Mission Impossible 4, and Rugrats Go Wild

Currently Reading: Way too many transformers fics send help

Sweet, Spicy, or Savory: 🧁Sweet🍭

Relationship: Single😭

Current Obsession: Transformers 👀✨

Last Googled: According to my search history, it was A03 😂.

Currently Working On: My fanfics! I keep bouncing between different works I have going on in my docs (I’ve started way too many of them oh my god what have I done ;-;) but the MAIN one I’m trying to focus on is my long fic ‘Virus of the Spark’!

I am way over thinking the tagging oh my god😭 There’s zero pressure to participate in any of this by the way! It’s just for fun 🩵

@fernisfreaky @fernisworm @eveyo9-official @thedragonflyao3 @kingghoost @shadthchan052-blog @mouseycometz @transingthoseformers @longgow @corvus-divum @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @tftessa

nine people I would like to get to know better

Thank you @sentowritesstuff for tagging me!! I actually really like doing little games like this even if it’s something small it makes me happy lol

last song I listened to: I Hate It Here by Taylor Swift

favorite color: probably a really dark blue

currently watching: daredevil, andor s2, agent Carter, cloak and dagger, and a couple more

last movie: Avengers Infinity War

currently reading: Family of Liars by E. Lockhart

sweet, spicy, or savory: all of them!! I cant choose a favorite!!

relationship: single☹️ My crush doesn’t like me back and I refuse to talk to him

current obsessions: agent Carter, captain america and stucky in general (as usual), Star Wars, the naturals series, six of crows again, baking carrot cakes, and writing poetry about my shitty family

last googled: where to watch into the spiderverse?

currently working on: a speech for school, a poem series, and a fanfic about stucky

I’m going to tag: @spidersinsalem @olicitylighthome @aurore-boreal1s @scarfacemarston @bufferingsummers @onyx-di-angelo @crazysandwich @bloodorange17 & @mentalmeles

no pressure though if you’ve already done it or don’t want to

[emilys-bangs]

go ahead, we can just call it conditioning | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, injured emily, established relationship, blood and bruises, knife wounds, angst, hurt/comfort, untreated injuries, neglect (as in emily neglects her health, as per usual), non sexual nudity, medical inaccuracies (please don't fact check this), use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: Emily comes home with an untreated injury and pretends it's no big deal. Requested here.

Word count: 2.2k

Emily comes back home heavily. That’s the only way you can describe it. Dragging her feet, listing from one side to the other, her words muffled into the roof of her mouth. She leans in to kiss your cheek and nearly stumbles into your chest, her balance shaky.

You’re immediately suspicious.

“Hey, are you okay?” You grip her arms and nudge her back, silently noticing the way her body follows without a fight. 

That’s not right.

“I’m fine,” Emily frowns. She doesn’t look particularly worrying, but she’s not entirely…right either. Her skin is paler than usual, her pupils wide and blown out, eyes more black than brown. You feel her cheek, finding it sticky with a cold sweat.

“Did you hit your head?” 

“What? No.” Emily rolls her eyes. She shakes your hands off, stepping away and to your bedroom. “I’m okay, stop going all medical on me.”

“You’re not right,” you insist, following after her. It’s not purely your honed instincts catching on. You know your girlfriend, and you know this isn’t typical post-case fatigue. She wobbles in her shoes, almost trips on your bedroom carpet. You instinctively grab her elbow.

Emily gently pulls it from your grip and gives you a thin smile. “Hon, I’m just tired. I need a shower and some sleep, that’s all.”

Your eyes narrow. You cross your arms and watch her move around sluggishly, none of her usual catlike grace as she kicks off her shoes and grabs a pair of pajamas, her head tilted firmly away. Emily’s stubborn, you know. Pushing isn’t always the answer. But now it is.

“Mind if I join you?”

Her expression turns sour. “I said I’m fine. I can shower on my own, I’m not a kid.” She snaps.

You don’t feel the sting of her tone, your attention caught on the way she sways. Alarm bells ring in your ears as you step closer and grab her by the waist, pulling her into you to keep her from toppling. The pajamas slip from her hands and tumble to the floor.

Something’s so very wrong.

“Emily, honey.” Your voice goes low, pleading. “You’re not okay, I know you’re not. Just tell me what—” She hisses suddenly, jerking away from your hand as it flattens on her torso. 

Her damp, sticky torso.

Your palm comes away red. Blood, you think dumbly. Her blood. 

She’s cursing as you lift the hem of her shirt. The fabric peels reluctantly from her skin, sticky and soaked as you bunch it up near her ribs and expose the bloody mess underneath.

“Jesus.” You gasp. 

You can make out a few gashes beneath the blood, cutting across the length of her abdomen and hiding under already darkening bruises. Long but shallow, your brain clocks with ease, blood flow stifled into the black cotton of her tank top. “What the fuck, Emily?” You gape, dropping the shirt. You pull her into the bathroom and make her sit on the closed toilet seat, half stiff with the shock of it as she takes her blazer off.

“It didn’t…it didn’t feel that bad.” She pants, letting it drop to the floor. Her chest heaves under her shirt, the sweat on her collarbone catching the light. You grab the hem of her tank top again; she winces as you help her take it off.

“How didn’t that feel bad? How did it—why didn’t you get checked out?” Your voice is calm for the way your heart spasms unevenly in its cage, your hands steady as you drop her shirt on the floor, jaw set against the violent mess painted across her alabaster skin.

Under the harsher bathroom light, it’s easier to assess the damage: a myriad of fresh bruises, littered all over her abdomen and deepening to blue at the edges; two cuts, dragged across her ribs, one slashed above the other in a crude angle. They’re shallow, and the bleeding has stopped, so that’s your biggest concern out of the way. Sterilizing now.

Repercussions later.

Emily wilts back against the seat, eyes half lidded as you turn the shower on. It drowns out the sound of her thready voice. “They were already taking care of JJ,” she mumbles. “She had—she got shot. This is nothing.”

“You’re not—” a flat laugh tumbles from your lips. “You’re not seriously calling this nothing. Look at you.” 

Emily wets her lips. Her hands tremble as she reaches behind her, mouth pulling in a grimace as she unhooks her bra. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She tosses it on the ground. “Really, I’ve—I’ve had worse.” She huffs out a laugh and pushes off the seat, immediately swaying when she stands.

You steady her, your mouth pressing in a thin line. “Sit.” 

She doesn’t fight you, looking dazed as you help her back down and kneel at the seat, reaching for her jeans. Your skin burns fever-hot. “I don’t know how much blood you’ve lost. It doesn’t look like like a lot, but I’ll bet you haven’t eaten a proper meal since breakfast, have you?” 

Emily gnaws on her lip, not meeting your eyes. Your head jerks sharply. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be feeling too fucking peachy if I were you right now.” 

You drag her jeans down her thighs, half expecting another quarter of her blood volume to taint her skin, but it’s umarred. The only point of damage seems to be her abdomen, her sluggishness and shaky balance no doubt accredited to the blood loss. It all probably looks worse than it is, you try to tell yourself. Getting her under the spray will make it better.

Just get her into the shower.

You don’t look at her as you help her out of the rest of her clothes, surprised to find tears blurring your eyes but unable to blink them away, your hands working fast and precise. Maybe this shouldn’t be so surprising, though. She always does this to you. Always lets herself shatter to the floor and leaves you to pick up the pieces.

As you’re straightening off the floor, you slip. Your eyes find hers through a film of tears. 

She immediately notices. Her fingers hook in your pants, bunching the material in her fist. “Hey, no. Don’t—please don’t do that.” She tugs, trying to get you to look at her, but you don’t budge. “I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re fine.” You say quietly. You swallow tightly and help her up. “Just get in the shower, Emily.”

It’s not fair to be upset with her, some part of you thinks. Not fair to let her bear the weight of your feelings when she’s already dealing with her own shit. 

But it’s not fair to you, either. She’s a vortex, pulling both of you under. Passively self-destructive, careless with her own life as if she’s got eight more tucked under her belt. It’s all you can think of as you quietly tell her to sit down and take the shower head from its post to position it over her. The water drenches her, soaking her hair, diluting her blood.

“Not joinin’ me?” Emily mumbles. She’s curled in on herself, hugging her knees, hiding the damage. How she bares the pain, you don’t know.

You shake your head. Your chest is too tight as the water runs red with her blood. It circles the drain in rusty loops, returning clear after a few runs and confirming that the cuts aren’t much to worry about beyond soap and bandages, but you’re still queasy. 

You hate that she makes you feel this way, stripping down years of defences you’ve built between yourself and the nature of your work. All the blood, the gore, the carnage, it doesn’t get to you.

But she does.

Between fast rivulets of water and your attention directed to cleaning her wounds, it takes a while for you to realize that she’s crying. Her bloodshot eyes give her away, red circling brown and lodging in your chest like a shard of glass.

“Hey, hey.” You kneel to the floor and grasp her jaw with a wet hand. “What hurts?”

Emily shakes her head. Her chin trembles, face crumpling into downturned lines. 

“Emily,” you murmur, desperation clawing under your skin. “Please, sweetheart.” 

She doesn’t look at you, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she fixes her gaze on your throat, tracking your dry swallow. It takes a careful nudging of her chin and several eternal seconds before her eyes meet yours. Even then her mouth stays sealed.

“Tell me.” You plead.

Emily’s breath hitches. “I don’t…I don’t want you to be mad at me.” She finally says, her hoarse voice nearly drowned out by the water. She seems unbearably small now, knees hugged to her chest like a child, her lips pressed against a tremble.

When you swallow, you taste her tears in the back of your throat. They gleam in her eyes, nearly invisible where they spill out and track their way down her cheeks.

Each one is like a punch to the gut.

It’s your turn to shake your head. “I’m not mad, Emily. I’m just—” you lick your lips, fingers curling around the back of her neck, “it hurts me that you feel this way. You’re worth everything.” 

She blinks her wet lashes and more tears roll down the apples of her cheeks, staining them pink. It’s disconcerting, the strangeness of it curling in your gut along with everything else; Emily is far from a crier, and the pool of tears glistening at you froths up a choking knot of emotions that settles under your larynx. 

You set down the shower head, grabbing her face in both hands and wiping the salty warmth from under her eyes. “You don’t have to be shot to deserve medical attention. You don’t have to have a fatal injury to let someone take care of you. You deserve that without anything, Emily.” 

“I’m sorry.” She sniffles. Her chin tilts down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” A sob bursts from her chest, uneven and stilted.

“Shh. You’re okay, baby.” You ignore the ache in your knees as you bring her head into your shoulder. Water soaks through your shirt, salty with her tears. “You’re okay. These’ll just need to be bandaged up. They’ll heal in no time.” You murmur into her soaked hair, feeling the tremble of her shoulders under your arm. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Not bad.” She rasps. “’M just tired. Dizzy.”

That’s an easy fix after you take care of her wounds. Your eyes stray to the tub, watching the water run clear and transparent down the drain. 

“Let’s get you out of here.” You say quietly.

___

Emily sags against the pillows, her eyes half lidded as you bandage up the cuts. She holds a towel wrapped ice pack to the bruises, wet hair splayed on her pillow, her face displaying no reaction as you sterilize the wounds and wrap them in gauze. Your hands are careful, gentler than they were; your anger similarly simmers down to the concern bundled up at its core, hot flames doused into something much more uncomfortable lining your skin.

You ask her what happened.

Her tongue drags over her bottom lip. “I had to…restrain our unsub. He had a knife,” she speaks slowly, slurring her words. “Knocked his elbow into me. Among other things.”

You’d noticed the swelling in her abdomen while you were cleaning up the cuts. Her skin was also sweaty, you remember, damp and cold. The dots connect as you’re snipping the gauze.

“There’s a chance you could be bleeding internally.” You say. “If he hit you hard enough. Did he?”

A frown pinches her brows. “Dunno. What counts as internally-bleeding-worthy?”

A humorless laugh puffs from your lips. You bite down on it, half chewing your words beneath your teeth. “It’s best if we go get you checked out. I can’t check for that here.” You place the gauze and scissors back into the first aid kit, meeting her red-rimmed eyes. She goes still but for the tightening of her fingers around the ice pack. “Please, Em. it’s probably nothing, but I just want to—”

“Okay.” She mumbles. Her nose is still red, voice rough around the edges even after she clears her throat. “Yeah, fine.”

You don’t allow yourself to wilt in relief just yet. Not until you get a shirt on her and help her pull on her shoes, your arm cautiously slung around her waist to keep her steady.

“It’s not that I…” she starts abruptly, then trails off. Her gaze flits away, her voice, if possible, lowering further. “I thought I could handle it on my own. Without all the fuss.”

“Why do you think you have to?” You whisper, though you don’t expect a response. “You can handle so many things, Emily. God knows you’re strong enough. But this isn’t something you can deal with alone. You have to let yourself be taken care of, love.” A tear spills down her cheek. You wipe it away, tracing its salty path with a kiss. “It won’t work otherwise.”

More tears drip off her chin. You dry them as they come, your hands firm on her cheeks, kissing away her apologies as they spill into your mouth. They’re ashy, bitter and potent on your tongue—the taste of destruction, coming from the lips of your love.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic @wlwoceaneyes

[delicatebarness]

You Need Me Now? | Chapter Five

Summary: There is one last stop Miss Stark must take before she leaves Washington, D.C.

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Implied Smut | Mentions of Greif | Mentions of Parent Death | Miss Stark's Survivor's Guilt

Word Count: 1838

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A/N: Cameo number two in progress. I've been waiting to write this one ♡ . Please leave feedback or let me know where and how you'd like the story to continue; this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

You Need Me Now: @carrotlove | @seenthroughmia | @stell404 | @imaginecrushes | @lilulo-12 | @sebbymybaby21 | @rattyfishrock | @danzer8705 | @troubledsoul-black | @sexyvixen7 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @athanasiascourtesy | @baw1066 | @gh0stdyn | @mrsnikstan |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

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Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

About twenty, maybe thirty minutes had passed. You both lay in silence, your body sprawled half atop him. Skin to skin. Chest to chest. Your chin rested against him so you could look up at him, fingers tracing over the numbers of his dog tags. 

His fingers gently circled patterns over your bare shoulder and back. Over and over again. It was the softest he’d ever been with you. Especially tonight. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, keeping your voice hushed, soft, and delicate. Like the sound could break something. 

He didn’t pause his hand movements. Trailing his fingers up your neck, stroking through your hair. “Anything.” 

You swallowed. “What did she want?” 

The muscle in Bucky’s jaw tightened before he spoke. “She sounded scared,” he said finally. “She asked if I could track her phone.” 

You nodded. “Do you think she could be trying to lead you to evidence?” 

“She’ll never testify.” His thumb brushed over the shell of your ear. “Even if she agrees. It’s like she’s trying to leave breadcrumbs, in case she gets cold feet.” 

You stared at him for a moment. 

Then, you leaned up onto your knees slightly. Your hand sprawled across his chest, and his hand fell to your hip. His eyes met yours. You stayed quiet for a beat before leaning forward. Your hand slid further over his chest, over his heart, pressing your forehead to his. 

“Go.” 

His breath hitched. “What?” 

Your fingers trailed over your skin, up his neck until you cupped his jaw. “Track her phone. Follow Gretel. If she’s handing you the weapon that will take Valentina down… take the shot.” 

The way Bucky looked at you, it was like you just handed him something sacred. A lost belonging from his childhood.

His throat bobbed. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “I’m not mad at you, Bucky. I’m mad at myself, and my insecurities,” you gestured toward yourself. “But I’m not about to sit here and let them be the reason you don’t get her.” 

His pupils dilated as he stared at you—searching your eyes, your face. One of his hands rested at the nape of your neck, the other gripping your hip, keeping you steady as he sat up. He leaned in, kissing you. Slow. Soft.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing against yours.

You place another gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back slightly, and smiling. “Go, Barnes. Before I change my mind.”

He smirked faintly, eyes flickering over your bare body before him. You grabbed the nearest pillow, whacking his arm with it. Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he stood, watching toward his wardrobe. 

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Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum—Washington, D.C.

The morning light filtered through the glass panes of the Smithsonian, long golden beams painting across polished floors and displays. You made it there just after opening—barely any tourists. There was only the quiet echo of gentle footsteps through the exhibit hall.

You stood in front of a familiar photograph mounted on the wall, in the center of the Captain America exhibit. Steve Rogers. Standing tall, his shield proudly raised to his chest like it didn’t carry the weight of multiple eras. That boyish grin was wide on his face.

You grew up with this photo—seeing it a hundred times used in news footage, history books, and Avengers files.

But now, it feels different. Standing there alone, in front of it, you couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of everything happening right now. How would he handle it?

You sighed a soft breath. 

Then, you felt it.

A presence behind you.

It wasn’t a tourist, simply admiring the same sharp jaw. Or, a tour guide. No, it was quiet and familiar. 

You scoffed and refused to turn. You didn’t need to.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, gaze still fixed on the photo of Steve.

A pause. 

“I heard you were in the city,” the warm, grounded voice said. “And I guessed you’d come at some point.” 

You turned, and he was there. Casual jacket over his shoulders, dark jeans with his hands tucked into the pockets. He looked at you the way someone would an old friend they hadn’t seen since childhood. 

It had been less than three months.

You offered him a small smile before turning back to the exhibit. “Nice guess, Flight Risk.” 

Sam stepped beside you, glancing at Steve’s photo. A silence settled between you for a beat.

“I miss him,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“Me too, kid.” 

You folded your arms across your chest, shifting your weight. “It’s weird. I always come here, and think… I don’t know. I think it’s going to bring me some sort of peace. But, it just makes it louder, heavier.”

“That was Steve,” Sam said. “He always knew how to make silence feel important.” 

You swallowed the lump that began to form in your throat. “He’d hate to see how things were now.” 

“Probably,” he nodded. “He’d still be out here, doing whatever he could—”

“Even if it broke him,” you continued. 

Soft ambient music piped through the museum, you let out a shaky breath, recognising the slow melody in an instant. Memories of the night before flashing in your mind. Until, the distant voice of a docent ushering a family down the hall broke your thought.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately,” Sam said, your head whipping up to look at him. “Not blood, Kid,” he clarified. “The kind the Avengers were, the kind you build.” 

You stared ahead, expression unreadable. “The Avengers weren’t a family. You were co-workers at best, Sam.” 

Sam furrowed his brow, raising a hand to his heart. “Ouch.” 

“It’s true,” you replied, a lack of sorrow in your voice, tone sharper than you intended. “Steve tried, my dad tried, and for a minute it worked. But it was never real. And then, everything came crashing down.” You inhaled sharply through your nose, closing your eyes. “When the dust began to settle, we didn’t show up for each other.” 

He let your words hang in the air. 

“Fewer people would've died if we-the Avengers-were actually what we claimed to be.” 

“Kid—” 

“She-She was my only f-friend, Sam,” you interrupted, your voice breaking the words. “She was grieving. And I did—I did nothing. I let her spiral. The world called her a monster, and I. Let. Them. I didn’t try—”

“You were grieving too, Kid,” Sam gently said, like he was being careful with his words. “You lost Vision, too. You lost Natasha, too. You lost your dad. And where was she?”

You didn’t answer. 

His voice lowered, turning to face you fully. “She made her choices. You made yours. Unfortunately, you both made awful ones—hers being to imprison a town full of civilians, and yours being crawling into bed with a hundred-year-old ex-assassin who murdered your grandparents.”  

Your jaw tightened. “Jesus, Sam—wait, you know?” 

He held up his hand. “Not judging. Grief makes us do crazy things—you just took that literally.” He paused, leaving room for a sarcastic Stark comment. It never came. “You don’t have to pretend like you didn’t break either.” 

You nodded, looking back up at Steve. “He wouldn’t even recognise me now.” 

Sam turned again, studying the photograph in front of you. “He’d recognise the parts that matter. The rest—your anger, the mistakes—he’d understand. So would Tony.”

You scoffed under your breath.

“He would. The number of times he broke something trying to fix something else?”

A beat passed.

Then, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket.

You blinked hard. One hand reached inside your pocket, the other wiping under your nose. 

Sam saw your expression shift as you glanced down, swiping a thumb across the screen. “What is it?” 

Your stomach dropped.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS: I need you now. 

You didn’t answer right away.

Just locked your screen and looked up at Sam.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice steadier now.

He didn’t stop you. Just gave you a nod. “You know where to find me.” 

“Thanks, Cap,” you said quietly.

You turned on your heel, boots echoing as you walked away. But you felt a pull. Turning back, you gave Steve one last glance. 

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Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Please leave feedback. ♡

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 3: falling down ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI smut in explicit dreams, domestic situations, attempts at writing sexual tension, reader gets clocked by logan, breaking the fourth wall, scent descriptions

AUTHOR'S NOTE: thinking of where the story would go after this chapter! might take a break and look at my inbox. please suggest story ideas if you have any <3 and thank you for reading + interacting with my work!!!

It’s Friday night. Laura will be over in an hour.

A look, and one would think you’re approaching this the way you do your job. There’s something about the way you weave yourself around the kitchen that is precise and methodical. What they wouldn’t know is that you view this as much more than just a professional responsibility.

Because Logan walks around with a hardened shell around him. Old, battered, and growing thorns with time. Witness to the difficult years he has been through, something to protect himself with lest—or is it to protect others from himself, you can’t decide. 

And that is exactly why when he asked if you could cook, you knew it was a request to be taken seriously.

He’s always been a quiet giver. So when the opportunity presents itself, you want to give back as much as you can. 

“You sure I can’t help?” Logan asks, looking almost like a dejected puppy as he watches you from his spot at the island.

You shake your head sternly. He said that as if he didn’t help at all. He went to the grocery store to get ingredients, washed and cut them up for you…

“You helped plenty,” you grit the words between your teeth, struggling with a stubborn jar of homemade barbecue sauce. Logan furrows his brows and approaches you, hand outstretched.

“Here, let me—”

You turn away from him, then twist. The lid opens with a loud, airy pop.

“Finally,” you sigh, grinning at him before continuing with your tasks.

You don’t see his frown deepen when he drops his hand.

Even as the sweet, slightly metallic scent of slow-cooked meat encourages his stomach to growl in anticipation, Logan can’t help but wonder if asking you to do this was not a good move after all.

Because he notices… things. About you. The initial guardedness when you were first introduced. Your outermost layer of professionalism, which he should have found repulsive, but instead was intrigued by. 

Constant kindness that hides a melancholy.

If anyone can clock a survival instinct from a mile away, it’s the man with a million of his own.

He was clued in by small, nearly negligible instances dotting the period of time you got to know each other. And now, that jar joins the rest of them as evidence, filed neatly in his head.

That is not to say you never accepted or asked for help. You actually reached out to him a few times today—more than he thought you would.

“Logan, I hate to bother, but could you pick up some onions? I forgot I needed them.” He was out the door and came back within fifteen minutes.

“If you wanna help, you can dice up the stuff for the guac?” Done. And he mixes them together for you after.

“I’m going to shower, could you keep an eye on the slow cooker?” Whatever you say, sweetheart, I’d do fucking sommersaults in the living room if you asked me to.

But with every assistance you receive, you shoot him a smile. Sweet and sheepish, like you feel bad for getting the extra hand. 

Survival instinct means you’re doing this out of self-preservation. From what, he doesn’t yet understand.

He watches as you hover over the slow cooker, fork in one hand. It’s too late to second-guess, because you’ve done it—you’ve cooked, and the kitchen smells amazing. He takes comfort in the small tasks you delegated to him earlier. If anyone understands how difficult it is to ask for help, it’s him. 

At least you asked. Had you insisted on handling everything yourself, he’d die. 

So when your eyes catch his, your hand beckoning him to come over, he’s by your side, three big steps traversing the little kitchen. You hold out the fork with some meat on it.

“Taste this for me?”

Without thinking, he leans down, capturing the utensil in his mouth. 

He nods. Hazel eyes widen just enough to see the light reflected in them. They snap to yours, and the moment freezes. Mere inches separate your face and his. Neither of you realized how close you are standing next to each other. 

“Good,” he rasps, “really good,” before pulling away to get some bowls from the top cabinet.

Laura arrives right on time with a big bag of tortilla chips and some salsa. 

“Nice place,” she says, looking around. “Smells great, too.”

“I hope you’ll like it,” you reply.

Logan emerges from the kitchen, a small smile on his face—the kind reserved just for her—before ushering her to the living room. There’s hushed conversation while you make one last adjustment to the fried rice and kill the flame on the stove. It has to be about AA. He went again on Wednesday, and out of the people who care for him, she’s undoubtedly the one who’s most proud.

You quietly approach the dining table, placing the skillet on a coaster. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Laura smiles, helping you with the pan. Logan stands up to get some plates and cutlery.

As the three of you eat, the low-hanging New York sun floods your apartment and the city beyond its windows with an orange hue.

If anyone even breathed ‘I’m proud of you’ one more time, Logan would respond with something along the lines of ‘shouldn’t have told you’. So you and Laura silently agree to not make this a big deal.

There is no fanfare—no streamers, party poppers, decoration—no need for it. Not when all of you are deeply aware of what the dinner is for, and not when the reason for the dinner is allergic to pomp.

The younger woman bites into some pulled pork, closing her eyes.

“You’re killing me here,” you complain good-naturedly, trying to study her reaction.

Laura nods, a small quirk of her lips the only other thing betraying her approval. Reminds you of her dad. “Wow. Good job.” 

“She made the sauce herself,” Logan adds quietly between bites. You didn’t expect him to chime in.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got some left over, if you want.”

“Sweet, thanks,” she smiles.

It’s just dinner.

But what a good one it is. There’s soft music below your easy conversation, the backdrop of the city in sunset out the slightly open window. You ask about her studies, and how she’s holding up with her job. She asks about yours and Logan’s, while the latter contributes mostly in short sentences and grunts. A light breeze blows from time to time, keeping the three of you cool as evening begins to blanket.   

After the bowl of pulled pork is swiped clean and everyone’s stuffed, you and Logan give Laura a short tour of the unit. It’s your first time entering Logan’s bedroom since you moved in—and vice versa, actually—and you try to rein in your curiosity. It’s almost Spartan. You wonder what he thinks of your bedroom. 

Dessert came in the form of store-bought ice cream, and before you know it, Laura has to leave. 

“You’re not sleeping over?” You ask, seeing her to the door with Logan.

“Sorry, building event tomorrow morning. Resident assistant.” She shrugs.

In the end you bartered food with her: your homemade sauce and some leftover fried rice for the tortilla chips and salsa.

Laura pulls you into a hug. “Thank you for the food, it was great.”

“Anytime.” You pull away, and then it’s Logan’s turn, patting her on the back a few times.

“See you, kid.”

You give her one last wave down the hallway, watching her disappear into the lift before closing the door. The sink is running. Logan. For a man so burly, he sure can be sneaky. 

He feels rather than sees the disapproving look you shoot from behind him as he washes a plate. He lets his lip quirk.

“Told you I was gonna clean up.”

You move to stand next to him. A touch too close, but it’s too late to pull away—not like you want to.

“And I told you that dinner was for you.”

He looks at you like he’d have his hands on his hips if they weren’t soaked.

“Just let me do this, sweetheart.”

The staring competition that ensued lasts for about three seconds before you purse your lips, looking away. The nickname played a part in melting your resolve, something you hope he didn’t pick up on, but your feet remain planted where they are.

“Fine. I’ll dry them.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you stand side by side just like that. Him washing the stuff in the sink and giving each piece to you to dry. You stay next to him, cloth in hand, dutifully placing each item on the mounted rack above.

It’s hard not to be entranced by his hands as they move. They’re much larger than yours. That bowl he’s washing? You’d have to stretch your fingers wide to hold it in one hand, yet he does it effortlessly.

More than once in your innocent passing of tableware, your fingers brush against his. Fleeting touches aren’t new, what with the two of you being in each other’s space more since moving in, but there’s still that light jolt of electricity zipping through your nerves. You try to school your own heartbeat to a regular pace.

The crock pot is the last thing to go up. It’s heavier than you expected. As you lift it up, you sway backwards slightly.

“Hey—”

It lands on the rack a little harder than it should, causing a brief clang as it knocks the lined up plates.

His hand is at your lower back. Firm, cool, and slightly damp on the exposed skin, thanks to your t-shirt riding up.

Your eyes meet his.

“—careful,” he murmurs, voice low.  

Your lips part. “Thanks.”

Logan pulls away after the split-second exchange, vanishing down the hallway.

You stay where you are. The ghost of his touch lingers, and you swear you feel the miniscule beads of moisture he left on your skin, the drag of his calloused fingertips when he lets go…  

A heat travels up your spine. 

You bite your lip, returning to your room.

A week passes by quickly, then two, and before he could register it, May has reached its tail end. He’s been your roommate for nearly a month now.

He’s attended four AA meetings since moving in, each one easier than the last. He has faces and names memorized. Their stories, too. Soon he’ll recite the preamble by heart.

Three dinners with you, him, and Wade, like the old days. Althea declined when you invited her the first time, grateful for the extra peace away from a certain motor mouth. “Can’t fuckin’ see how you’ve done up the place anyway,” she added. 

Wade is, well, Wade. 

“You look good living in a house with a woman’s touch, peanut,” he pounces the moment you close the door to the bathroom, a gleam in his eye. “I’m not even mad that I’m being left out of the damn plot progression, just so there’s more screen time for the two of you before you finally fu—”

He snarls.

Two pieces of furniture assembled with you. The big bookshelf in the living room is one of them—he scolded you when you started without him. 

“Could’ve gotten yourself hurt.”

You sounded a little surprised at his distress.

“Logan, it’s an IKEA shelf. I can handle it.”

“Not saying you can’t, sweetheart, but it’d be faster if we both do it,” he rumbles, gently taking the wooden plank out of your hands.  

You were quiet. A silent acquisition that he’s right. You gave him that look again as you said your thanks, and a part of him melted inside.

So far, only one movie night with you. And it’s happening right now. 

It’s not like the ones at Wade’s. Rambunctious, themed, sometimes a little too centered around his tastes. Tonight wasn’t even planned. You somehow found out that he hasn’t ever watched the 2005 Pride and Prejudice—or any of the other adaptations for that matter—and you really want him to watch it.

Deciding it’s only fair that he makes you watch something too, he submits Casablanca as tribute. You accepted with a level of amusement, teased him a bit for the choice. 

“Didn’t peg you to be the romantic type.”

“Wait till you see it.”

A simple coin toss determined that the two of you will watch Casablanca first.

Which is the reason why he’s pouring popcorn into a bowl. The brand you bought for the usual movie nights is quickly becoming his favorite.

He hears you exit the bathroom with a content sigh, evidently just finished with your shower. You’re in your usual t-shirt and shorts, smelling like the greatest temptation known to man. 

Almost thirty days into this living arrangement with you, he’s thankful that the two of you have a semblance of life outside the shared apartment. Both you and him work overtime occasionally. He has AA and Laura, you like to take walks and meet friends.

If he spent more time at home, there would be no way he could keep himself in check.

His wits are still intact, albeit barely.

That scent. He thought he’ll get used to it. Even read the back of the bottle to familiarize himself with what lingers after each shower. Knowing will make the novelty wear off faster, right?

Wrong. Instead, he’s cursed to learn the exact ingredients perfuming your skin. They’re basically the same fucking stuff pastries are made of.

Warm vanilla. As if he doesn’t already struggle with the urge to eat you up.

“Is it on?” you ask about the television, carding your fingers through slightly damp hair as you walk towards the couch. Shit, don’t even get him started on your shampoo. 

“Should be,” he says, not meeting your eye, “just press play.”

You wait for him to sit next to you before pushing the button on the remote, a bowl of popcorn between your thigh and his. A pathetic barrier preventing your bare thigh from brushing against his sweats, as easy to discard as his ever eroding restraint.

As the old-timey Warner Brothers logo comes on, he recalls the conversation you had with him about the movie. You seem to be thinking about the same thing.

“You said you watched this in theaters?”

“Had to. This girl I was seein’ dragged me,” he answers, popping a kernel in his mouth. 

“And you liked it enough to recommend it to me?” you reply playfully. He smirks, eyes glued to the screen.

“More that I liked her, yeah.”

You let out a surprised laugh.

“Brutal.”

He’s telling the truth, though, because as the TV screen flashed montages of the opening sequence, he can’t for the life of him remember anything about the girl he went out with. Not her hair color, not her body, not her voice. Another shadow lost in a long past. 

The only girl he can think about is the one sitting next to him.

It’s warm. You stir under the sheets.

There’s a comfort that clings onto you, melting you deeper into the mattress. A soothing scent. Breaths on the back of your neck. That’s when you know the heat isn’t from the weather.

It’s him.

You hum as your body temperature begins to hike up, the aftereffect of phantom caresses on your bare arms, moving to your waist, up your shirt. You welcome it. Limbs wrapping around your torso, pulling you into a strong chest. Parted lips pressed on your neck, light brushes of a beard, a low baritone rumble.  

The warmth feels good—not like the cloying humidity of June, but coaxing. Inviting.  

Shifting, you feel the presence kissing your ear, making you loll your head to the side. A hand slips between your knees. You let out a soft sigh, recognizing the touch.

As heat blooms in your core, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, murmuring against sweat-misted skin. You know this sensation. Have wanted this for so long, buried it under the guise of decency. But it comes back with a vengeance and there’s no escape.

So you let it. 

Fingers comb through your hair as if trying to soothe you, but you don’t need to be lulled more.

It feels so good, the haze in your mind whispers. He feels so good. 

Your breath hitches when his mouth slots against yours, deep kisses leaving you dizzier than you already are. Hands clasp onto his biceps, and as if replying, the fingers in your hair tug, exposing more of your neck to him. 

Then teeth, dragging languidly down the expanse of your throat before digging in just a little…

A sound escapes you, something between a whimper and a mewl. The sensation in your core blooms brighter, his fingers toying with you, brushing against your folds. You feel a smile on your skin.

He slowly, excruciatingly feeds his digits inside you. You cry out. There’s a pleased hum in your ear while you writhe underneath him, desire flooding your veins.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

When you open your eyes, you look straight into hazel ones.

Logan.

Your alarm blares, and you wake up sweating under the sheets, eyes wide. The erratic pounding of your heart against your ribcage makes your chest heave like you’d run a mile in your sleep, the sound of blood pumping loud in your ears. Ignoring your alarm, you touch your neck.

You can still feel him.

Swallowing, you sense the slick between your legs, warm and uncomfortable. Arousal, as real as the morning sun rising outside. 

Scenes replay in your head, more sensory than visual. The way his hand buries itself in your hair, arms snaked around your torso, mouth against your ear...

Look at me, sweetheart—    

You exhale shakily, reaching out to finally turn off the alarm, a hand over your flushed face.

You just dreamed of Logan.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx

[aventurineswife]

Sampo, Gepard, Phainon and Mr Reca react that reader has a chaotic little sister like Klee from genshin impact

Chaos is a Ladder

Tags: Sampo x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Mr. Reca x Reader, Klee based Little Sister, Chaos, Sibling Dynamics, Mischief, Humor, Fluff, Lighthearted, Action/Adventure, Sibling Care.

Warnings: Minor Destruction/Explosions, Implied Danger, Mild Language/Swearing, Light Violence, Over-the-top Humor.

Sampo leans against a wall, his trademark grin widening as he watches your little sister’s antics. She’s busy blowing things up with her homemade firecrackers, and the resulting chaos is causing a small stampede of frightened people. You look at him helplessly, knowing exactly what’s going through his mind.

“Well, well,” Sampo muses, his tone smooth as ever. “It seems your little sister is quite the bundle of excitement. Reminds me of the old days when my schemes didn’t just get me into trouble… but make me a fortune.”

You groan, dashing forward to stop her before things escalate further. But Sampo, ever the opportunist, flashes a wink. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone. I’ll make sure nobody gets too hurt.”

The moment you turn away to manage the mess she’s caused, Sampo’s already starting to haggle with some of the bystanders who were unlucky enough to witness the explosion, offering "discounts" on goods to ease their 'frustration'.

“Ah, the power of chaos,” he says. “Quite profitable if you know how to work it."

Gepard stands at attention as he watches your little sister, a tiny ball of chaos wreaking havoc in the middle of a perfectly serene courtyard. His eyes narrow, but it’s not with anger. No, it’s a sense of duty.

“Is this how she spends her free time?” he asks, his voice calm but betraying a slight hint of disbelief.

“She’s just—well, she’s energetic," you try to explain, chasing after her as she ducks and dodges your attempts to get her under control. A little fountain of water has erupted from one of her contraptions, and it's now quickly flooding a nearby garden.

Gepard crosses his arms, his gaze remaining composed even as your sister’s antics go from bad to worse. “I understand the need for adventure, but I cannot allow disorder like this. She is… certainly a handful.”

When your little sister playfully tosses a flower at his face, he pauses, blinking at the gesture. His gaze softens slightly. “You know,” he mutters, “perhaps a little chaos can be a good thing. Keeps us vigilant, reminds us to expect the unexpected.”

Despite his stern demeanor, there’s a warmth in his eyes as he observes her mischievous grin. After all, what’s life without a little unpredictability?

Phainon, ever the composed warrior, watches your younger sister with a mix of bewilderment and fascination. She’s jumping around, firing off small bursts of energy from a toy gun and accidentally knocking over a stack of supplies.

His hand moves to the hilt of his weapon instinctively as a loud explosion echoes from her direction, but it’s just a small pop from a confetti bomb she set off.

“Is she always like this?” Phainon asks, trying to keep a straight face, though it’s evident he’s struggling not to laugh.

“I’m afraid so,” you reply sheepishly, stepping forward to try and corral her before things get too chaotic.

Phainon watches your attempt, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She has… much energy.” He pauses. “It is both admirable and terrifying.”

When your sister starts running circles around him, Phainon takes a deep breath, preparing for whatever might come next. But then, to your surprise, he kneels down to her level. “You know,” he says with a soft chuckle, “I think I would enjoy a race. But only if you promise not to set anything on fire.”

Your little sister giggles in response, and suddenly the warrior finds himself caught up in a race he didn’t expect to be a part of. Phainon’s composure remains, but there’s a twinkle of enjoyment in his eyes as your sister leads him around, full of chaotic energy.

Mr. Reca sits back in his chair, watching your little sister with a critical eye. She’s throwing something—he’s not even sure what—into the air, and the resulting explosion leaves a trail of smoke and a few startled citizens behind.

“Another act of meaningless chaos…” he mutters, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “I could’ve filmed that, but it lacks substance. No depth.”

You rush to calm her down, your face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “She’s just… being herself.”

Reca glances over, his normally cynical expression softening as he watches the mischief unfold. “I suppose she does have a certain… authenticity to her,” he concedes. “But let’s see if she can manage something with more depth than mere explosions.”

Before you can respond, your sister sets off another round of firecrackers, and this time, Reca rises, walking toward her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “If you’re going to make a mess, at least make it one that has a story. I don’t want to see just destruction. Show me the meaning behind it.”

As your sister throws another wild concoction into the air, he tilts his head, almost impressed. “Perhaps you do have a spark of potential.”

You can only sigh, knowing that this time, your little sister's chaotic nature might just inspire something worthwhile for Reca—though whether it’s the film he’s hoping for or just another headache remains to be seen.

[allthatjazz416]

Haikyuu HC Fluff!

Scene: haikyuu captains as girl dads. We all love a girl dad. characters: daichi, kuroo, bokuto, ushijima, futakuchi, kita, oikawa

Tags: (Attempt on) gender neutral reader! Fluff!

Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language. Also, opened on taking request!

─────────────୨ৎ──────────────

❀ - Daichi

Daichi Sawamura is the gold standard of girl dads. He’s got a system—color-coded chore charts, emergency hair ties in the car, band-aids with little bears on them in his wallet at all times. He reads bedtime stories with full voice acting and different accents for every character. His daughter has him so whipped—if she so much as sniffles, he’s halfway to the store for a new stuffed animal or gameboy. But he’s also the protective and a strict dad who gives them lectures like, "We use kind words, D/N. Do you know what 'respect' means?" He also tears up every time she calls him "daddy" in a soft voice. Every. Time.

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Kuroo

Kuroo Tetsuro’s daughter is a tiny agent of chaos and he lives for it. He’s that dad who hypes her up at sports day like it’s the Olympics. "THAT’S MY KID. LOOK AT THAT FORM." He teaches her science experiments that end with baking soda volcanoes all over the kitchen, and he laughs when his partner threatens to ban them both. He lets her draw on his arms with markers and calls it "body art," then forgets and shows up to a work meeting with a rainbow kitten on his forearm. The two of them make sarcastic jokes like they’re a comedy duo—he taught her the phrase "get wrecked" and now she uses it on everyone. Once he joked that he would give her to the butchers in the market, and started pushing towards the cart there. She screamed "NOOO" so loud, you could hear them all the way from the other side of the market.

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Bokuto

Bokuto Koutarou is, no surprise, the most dramatic girl dad to exist. He sobbed when his daughter lost her first tooth. "SHE'S GROWING UP SO FASTT". If shes into dress up, she has him playing dress-up every weekend, and not like "fun participation"—no. He commits. Full fairy wings, sparkly lipstick, and a wand. He takes her to the park and teaches her how to climb trees and cartwheel, and yells "SHE’S A NATURAL ATHLETE!!!" like a coach discovering a prodigy. She always wants to play tag and he always lets her win. They call each other “Captain Bo” and “Lieutenant Starlight.” He gives her piggyback rides through the grocery store and she’s the loudest kid in the place, laughing like a gremlin, and he’s proud of it. He would give the world for his little girl.

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Ushijima (MY MAN)

Ushijima Wakatoshi is deeply, profoundly serious about being a good father. He treats everything his daughter says with deep contemplation, even when it’s, "Daddy, I think clouds are cotton candy and the moon is a marshmallow." He nods. "Interesting theory." He waters plants with her in the morning and packs her lunch with perfect nutritional balance. When she asked for a unicorn sandwich cutter, he researched the best one and bought three. He’s also quietly terrifying at parent-teacher conferences. The teacher says, "She talks a little too much during quiet time," and Ushijima just blinks and says, "Is that a problem?" She rides on his shoulders during walks and tells people, "My dad is the strongest man in the world!" And he never corrects her.

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Futakuchi

Futakuchi Kenji is the "I’m not like other dads, I’m a cool dad" dad. He wears sneakers with paint on them and lets his daughter wear mismatched socks if she wants to. He gets in trouble constantly for “bad influence” behavior like teaching her how to roll her eyes or helping her prank her mom/dad. He swears he’s not sentimental, but he keeps all her drawings in a shoebox under his bed. PTA moms are scared of him. His daughter thinks he’s the coolest human alive and tells all her friends he can skateboard (he cannot. he fell once and limped for a week).

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Kita

Kita Shinsuke is calm. So calm. He raises the most well-mannered, peaceful little girl you’ve ever met. They make rice balls together and she says things like, “Thank you for this blessing, Daddy.” She’s five. But Kita is also so soft with her—he braids her hair every morning and carries her favorite plush fox around like it’s a sacred artifact. She brings him tiny flowers from the garden and he presses them in books. Rocks with drawn on faces? It's by his bedside table. When she has nightmares, he walks around the room gently explaining how the shadows are just reflections and tells her, “You are always safe with me.” She believes him. We all believe him.

──────────────୨ৎ─────────────

❀ - Oikawa

Oikawa Tooru is the girl dad who lives for father-daughter selfies. He has a clear phone case with their selfie behind it. He calls her "his universe" and she calls him "Papa" so soft, in a way that makes you want to cry. They have matching outfits for holidays. Matching pajamas for sleepovers. He dances for school events, those daddy-daughter dances. But he’s also the kind of dad who stays up making flashcards for her spelling tests, leaves love notes in her lunchbox, and tucks her in with forehead kisses every night. She owns his heart completely—and he’s not even trying to hide it.

───────────Done ୨ৎ ───────────

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Your eyes rove over the lords and ladies as they dance. You teeter in your shoes and glance over at the figure next to you, watching just as patiently. There is no hint of longing in him. He is enviably content with all around him, and himself.

"Saw, fawgive me, I faw I've taken much of yaw time," you lower your chin. "I should depawt and seek my... escawt."

"Mm, but it seems he seeks you," Lord Heimdall rebuffs and lifts his brows. You follow the tilt of his chin.

You see a head of dark hair just above those around it. By his gait alone, stiff and uptight, you recognise your betrothed. He slips past the dancers on either side of him, his eyes narrowed as he focuses on his goal. It isn't you, but the man at your side.

"Ah, Lord Laufeyson, come to find what you've lost?" Lord Heimdall greets.

"Lost? Hm, no, I'm afraid it isn't what I lost," Laufeyson returns and sends you a sharp glance. He returns his focus to the man before him. "It's been some time since I met you at one of these affairs. I thought you didn't have the stomach for joy."

Heimdall chuckles, "oh? Well, I think the one thing we share is our disillusionment for these events. Oh, but I err. That and this lovely lady. How wonderful a spirit she is. She's kept me much amused. She has great charm. You are a fortunate man."

"Hm, she does have... her peculiarities," Laufeyson slithers. "Is not the purpose to socialize? Beyond my betrothed?"

"Perhaps you might give me some good advice on how to do so. You seem to have found your stride this night. How is Lady Sif, as it were?" Lord Heimdall asks. Laufeyson fidgets.

"Well enough."

"And her husband?"

"He is kept by business. Unfortunately." Laufeyson sets his shoulders rigidly. "Perhaps you might ask her yourself of these matters?"

"Well, I did not wish to interrupt but now I see you've detached, I shall heed your advice and... socialize." Heimdall turns to you. "My lady, it has been the utmost pleasure."

He bows his head and you do the same, "thank you, saw. It has."

He turns sharply and raises his chin high. He steps around Laufeyson who watches him with derision until he is amidst the guests. Your betrothed returns his attention to you.

"Proud of yourself?"

"Pwoud?"

His brow twitches. "Don't presume it is you who concerns me. Rather, I must mind my reputation. As you should, as well. I am contracted to marry a lady of high repute."

You bristle. "I was polite. It is etiq-wet."

He rolls his eyes. He puffs in irritation, his nostrils flaring as he peers around once more.

"You needn't mind me. You awe only both-awed that any might be kind to me. You huwwied away from me. I cannot be blamed faw that." You turn your head and stare at the sparkle of champagne glasses along the table.

He snorts. "Aren't you becoming a little upstart? Well, darling," he leans in, looming over you. "If you are to be avowed to me, you better start preparing. There is that certain part about obedience. Well, I tell you now, you will be mindful of that mouth."

Your eyes flick to him hotly. You swallow. Edith was never cruel. Not to any. But she could be fierce. You must be like her. She always stood up for you.

"My lawd, I have been in constant dwead of that inevitable day," you sniff. "I will keep my vows and nothing maw than that."

He hisses and turns sharply. To your surprise, he stands next to you, perusing the room with a sigh. He clasps his hands behind him and stands as tall as he can.

"Don't expect more than that from me, my lady," he growls.

You don't react. It's better to leave it at that. This will be a marriage of convenience for your families, not yourselves.

🦢

The night ends much as it began. Tension radiates between you and your future husband as his parents sit unaffected on the carriage bench across from you. Either they cannot sense it or refuse to show that they do. You suppose for them, it hardly matters if you have any sort of affection. They only need the marriage sworn at the altar.

You retire to your rooms. You undress and sit at the vanity. You hold Edith's brooch in your hands and bow your head. You close your eyes, exhausted, yet you know you will not sleep peacefully.

"Edith," you whisper as if she might hear you. You rub the embroidered face of the pin. "Tonight was... well... I met a man. I met many people but... he was nice. Kind. He helped me." You exhale and is rattles your nerves. "Lord Heimdall. That's him. You would like him. I think he'd like you too."

You put your hands together around the brooch and lean them on the table. You bend forward as if in prayer.

"Not him though. Not... I'm happy you won't marry him. You don't desawve that. You don't desawve... to be gone." You hold back a sob. "And the west of them... they do as evewyone else does. They pity me. They make fun."

You nod and sit up, pushing down your grief. You'll miss that the most. The way she listened without judging. She clung to each word as if they were honey and she was a glutton. You dab your nose gently with your knuckles.

You look around the chamber. Only a single lamp lights the space. You rise and drift through like a wraith. You blow out the flame and shuffle to bed. You'll miss most the nights Edith would hop into bed and keep you up with her little japes and her singing.

🦢

The morning comes and with it, obligation. You cannot hide from the sun or your circumstance. You must persist. If only because it is what Edith would like you to do.

You break your fast with Lord Odin and Lady Frigga. The lord of the manor sends his groom to declare his absence on the basis of business. You are not disheartened by the news, though his parents share a look of disappointment.

You excuse yourself. You're not of the mind to be around others. You're still trying to figure out how you'll live this life. With Laufeyson. Without Edith.

You find a place in the garden where the birds peck at the ground. You watch them scrabble over twigs and seeds. You listen to those in the tree whistling. It's painfully serene. It will end. It will have to.

The sun rises to apex. It burns down on you. She liked sunny days. You liked spending them with her. Those were when you got in the most trouble. Your father would yell about muddy skirts and faces and your mother would echo him a moment later.

As the sweat seeps into your bodice, you get to your feet. A pair of doves flutter away at your movement. You clutch your skirts and drag the hems toward the house.

You enter the house to a sonourous echo of silence. Your footsteps tap like a clock as you make your advance across the wooden parquet. You climb the stairs, listening to the eerie still of the space. You don't think that will change. You will forever be alone in this place.

You reach the top and peer down toward your rooms. You notice the door open on its hinges. You frown. Did it not catch that morning when you departed?

You proceed to it and peek around the closed door that mirrors the open one. Your chest pits and your spine goes straight. You step into the doorway and watch Lord Laufeyson's shoulders as he sifts around your vanity.

He examines the top of it, then the mirror, and he reaches to take the brooch you left pinned to the scarf hung from one side of the frame. He unhooks it as you take a step inside. You clear your throat.

"My lawd," you say as sternly as you can muster.

His cheeks dimple and he clucks. He closes his fist around the pin. He turns his head but keeps his body aimed at the vanity.

"My lawd," you approach him. "That is my pin."

"It is old and fading," he muses as he keeps his hand closed. "It is not fitting one of your status."

"It is mine." You insist.

He snorts and turns his body. He raises himself up to his full height. His dark lashes flick over his green irises. He tilts his chin.

"By rights, everything that is yours is mine," he sneers. "And so, no, it isn't."

You bite your cheeks.

"We awe not mawwied yet--"

"But we shall be. No matter what I say or do. I must suffer you," he snaps. "So you will suffer me."

"It is only a pin," you insist.

"Oh, is it?" He opens his hand and you wince. "Then it should be purged out with the rubbish."

"No," you try to snatch it and he curls his fingers around it. He snickers.

"Seems more than only a pin."

"Please," you let your concern break through. "Please, Lawd Laufeyson, it was my sista's. It is daw to me. Please, I beg of you."

"Oh, do beg. It would be a good start to our union." He taunts and tucks the pin into his pocket, tapping his jacket as his grin grows. "How about I will think on its value and come to a decision?"

He sidesteps you but you move with him. You block him and put your hands on his jacket. He quickly swats you away. You recoil.

"Do not touch me," he grits.

"No, that is mine. You cannot take it fwom me--" A swell surges from your stomach into your chest.

"You will not tell me what to do. Now clear my path--"

"Give it back!" You demand.

"You!" He grabs you by your sleeves and jerks you. "Hear me now. You will not touch me unless I say and you certainly will not speak to me so churlishly." He sneers down at you. "And you will heed my every order." He shakes you again so you bite your tongue. "I see more and more how much of a tragedy it is that your sister left this world. It did curse me with the lesser of the two."

He shoves you aside and you stagger. You hit the wall and turn to press your back to it. You turn to watch him go. He stops as a servant appears in the doorway.

"My lord. For the lady." she nearly stumbles back. She holds out a folded sheet of paper. He sniffs and snatches it from her.

"Go," he demands. She abides. He turns and breaks the seal. You stand straight.

"My lawd, that is for me--"

"You persist," he flicks his fingers at you and focuses on the page. His head tilts as he reads and scoffs. He lets the paper folds and tosses it at your feet. "Oh, boo, how sad."

He spins and strides out of the room. You rush after him and stop at the threshold. He has the pin. He has your soul in his pocket. You snarl and shake your head.

You back up and look down at the letter. You lift it and see your family's seal. Shakily, you unfold it to read your mother's scrawl.

'Daughter,

We regret to inform you that we will not be fit to travel for your nuptials. These halls are shadowed in grief as are our hearts. Your father and I send our good tidings for you and your husband. You dowry will be delivered as agreed.

Your Mother'

You stare at the message. The letters are slanted. The lines are short and quickly scribbled. That's all the care they have for you. You're certain they mourn for Edith but what of you? Are they not bidding farewell to both daughters?

You crumple it up. What do you care? They would not make the day any better? Nor your fate any lighter. Would that your father had the whim to do so, he might be proud to see you take his advice at last. You will do what needs done and you will not gripe as you do.

[thewolvesof1998]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by @bekkachaos thank you 😘

Wow I actually have something to share!!???? I’ve actually started a lot of fics recently but not gotten far in many of them but I keep coming back to this idea:

Golden Retriever Werewolf Buck aka the best laid plans which is turning into an absolute crack fic in which Buck reveals to Eddie that he’s a werewolf, Eddie takes it surprisingly well and starts doing things that Buck’s wolf mistakes as courting and he unintentionally starts courting Eddie back:

All things considered, Eddie takes it really well that Buck’s a werewolf. He looks at Buck like he’s lost his mind for a few minutes, however, after Buck strips off his shirt and reaches for his belt buckle he seems to come around and insist Buck does not need to strip and show him like fucking Jacob in twilight.

And yes, Eddie has seen the movies, once with his sisters when they were teenagers apparently and recently with Buck, which had been part 3 of 14 of Buck’s ‘Revealing that werewolves exist and your best friend is one of them’ plan. Stripping off to show him had been part 14b, and Buck truly believes his detailed plan is to thank for how easily Eddie accepts it, accepts him - and Chim had thought the whole thing was ridiculous! See Chim, the best laid plans always go right.

Buck might have also made a joke about how Eddie is already Charlie Swan .2 with that moustache which might have ended up with his face being squished into Eddie armpit while he messes up Buck’s hair with a noogie. Buck was definitely not mad at that at all.

A few weeks later Buck had the thought that his plan might have gone too right. He wasn’t complaining about Eddie accepting him too much, in fact, he’s loving it, but maybe that was the problem since Eddie’s just being a supportive friend and Buck’s wolf is now singing sonnets to the moon about Eddie and contemplating whether a rabbit or raccoon in a more appropriate present for Eddie.

It had started out small, with Eddie offering his clothes to Buck, which isn’t new for them, but what is new is he starts offering a hoodie or two that he’s worn once or twice, so it smells like him. He shrugs like it means nothing and says, “I read somewhere that wolves like smelling like other members of the pack.”

Buck hadn’t mentioned how the 118 had become his pack over the years, how Eddie had become such a core part of it, but Eddie just knew, and so Buck had taken the hoodies, eyes slightly watery and croaked out a thank you and just barely resisted shoving his face in the soft fabric and huffing Eddie’s scent like a crazy person. If he did that when he got home and the promptly had to take a cold shower that was between him and god.

I don’t even think it still Tuesday any where in the world now but I’m still going to tag some people who might be interested:

@exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @oureddie @wildlife4life @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @diazheartsbuckley @drmellking @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @idealuk

Sorry I know this isn’t my whole tag list but it who I can think of the top of my head at 10pm at night 😅

[zerocoded]

summary: what is like to date gamer!heeseung while being a college student.

authors note: so yeah, they have one of the best discographys on kpop in my opinion and have the most lethal face card as well. what am i gonna do about it? WRITE! bc hell yeah i think about them regularly. heeseung is a baddie too, so what i'm daydreaming about having a normal dating life with my idol boyfie?

warnings and tags: sfw content • pure fluff • heeseung x reader • heeseung calls us baby • this is loser and hot hee all the way • slice-of-life! • not much planned • gamer!heeseung x collegestudent!reader.

word count: 0.9k

the dorm is quiet when heeseung opens the door, hoodie half-zipped and hair pushed back like he’s been running his hands through it all day. he smiles as soon as he sees you, that lazy, boyish grin that always makes your chest ache a little.

“you’re late,” he says, stepping aside so you can come in. “i almost died of boredom.”

“you were playing league five minutes ago,” you say, slipping off your shoes. “don’t act like you were suffering.”

he squints at you as you walk past him. “babe… you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“you’re literally still in the discord call.” you point at the headset hanging from his chair. “i heard someone yell mid diff when i knocked.”

he groans and grabs a pillow off the couch, tossing it at you as you giggle and duck. “rude. i was gonna give you a kiss but now i’m reconsidering.”

“liar,” you grin, flopping down onto the couch and patting the seat beside you. “you’re obsessed with me.”

he drops down next to you with a dramatic sigh, pulling a blanket over both of your laps. “...okay, maybe a little.”

“a little?” you gasp, putting a hand over your chest. “wow. i’m hurt.”

heeseung laughs, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. “don’t be dramatic, baby.”

you make a face. “says the one who just fake-died over me being five minutes late.”

“i missed you,” he insists, lips brushing your jaw now. “it’s not a crime.”

you roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, fingers reaching to play with the strings of his hoodie. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

heeseung beams like you handed him a trophy. “i know.”

you both settle in, the tv humming softly in the background as the game loads up. his dorm is warm and dimly lit, one small lamp by the desk casting everything in gold. your knees bump under the blanket, and his foot hooks around your ankle like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep touching you.

“ready to lose?” you ask, picking up your controller and flashing him a smug look.

heeseung scoffs. “baby, you only win when i’m distracted by how pretty you are.”

you blink. “wow. you’re pulling the ‘i let you win’ card and flirting? impressive.”

he leans closer with a mock-serious expression. “that’s what you signed up for when you agreed to date me.”

“hmm.” you pretend to consider it. “can i return you?”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you just shot him. “betrayal.”

you’re laughing when the match starts, and heeseung is already leaning toward you again, lips brushing the corner of your smile. “you’re gonna pay for that, baby.”

“bring it on.”

dating lee heeseung consisted in being impressed how that weird boy is a sensation on stage and shy in his bedroom.

like how he can walk out of an arena to thousands of fans screaming his name, drenched in sweat and confidence, only to come home and nervously ask if you want to split a convenience store sandwich with him in bed.

“it’s the last one,” heeseung mumbles now, holding up the sad triangle-shaped snack with a tiny frown. “i mean, i can go get another if you’re really hungry, baby.”

you blink at him from your spot against the headboard, wearing one of his oversized tees and holding his plushie hostage in your arms. “heeseung, just split it. we’re not rich in time or kimbap.”

he smiles like he’s just been forgiven for something serious. “you’re so good to me.”

“you’re dramatic.”

“you’re hot.”

you throw a pillow at his chest.

he splits the sandwich.

after that, it’s back to your usual rhythm — a half-played game on the screen, your laptop open with tabs of school assignments blinking at you, and heeseung’s head slowly drooping onto your lap as if your thighs are the only pillows left in the world.

you thread your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, scrolling through your notes. he hums in approval.

“you’re not asleep, are you?” you ask.

“no,” he mutters into your hoodie. “just charging. like… emotionally.”

you glance down. “you’re emotionally charging… on my thighs?”

“yeah,” he sighs. “they’re warm. and you smell nice. and also, i’m obsessed with you.”

you pretend to be unfazed, but your ears warm up anyway. “you always get weirdly clingy when you’re tired.”

heeseung turns his face just enough to peer up at you with wide, sleepy eyes. “baby, that’s not clingy. that’s called being in love.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “you’re such a softie.”

“only for you.” he yawns and rolls over onto his back so he can keep staring at you, eyes tracing your profile while you try to concentrate on your screen.

“what class is that?” he mumbles.

“social psych.”

“oh, the one with the professor you hate?”

“yeah.”

he grins. “wanna drop out?”

“desperately.”

heeseung reaches for your hand lazily and links his fingers with yours. “cool. let’s run away. you, me, a beach, no more group projects.”

you squeeze his hand gently. “tempting.”

“we can sell bracelets on the shore,” he says, already making up the fantasy. “i’ll sing for coins. you’ll study marine biology and adopt a turtle. we’ll name it minnie.”

“minnie?” you raise an eyebrow. “that’s the turtle name you go with?”

“it’s gender neutral. very inclusive.”

you roll your eyes, laughing. “you’re such an idiot.”

“but i’m your idiot.”

“gross.”

“say it back.”

you look down at him, hair messy on your lap, eyes soft with that boyish light that never seems to dim when he looks at you.

“you’re my idiot.”

heeseung grins like he just won something.

author's note: just had this urge to write boyfie!hee while preparing my sunghoon vamp fic. send me a request • my masterpost

[magicalqueennightmare]

Echo-Part 1

John Walker x Reader (nicknamed Echo)

You and John come face to face after years apart

Warnings: mention of death, imprisonment, injury

“Do you want to know who leaked the intel on your team?” The woman who approached you had been vague at best but she’d come onto the base, into secure areas. She had to have some form of clearance didn’t she?

“With all due respect ma’am I am tired of hearing theories and a whole bunch of what everyone thinks happened” you turned to face her, straightening your shoulders. The scars that littered your body didn’t bother you, hell you carried marks but your unit was dead. The guilt was what was eating you alive. The fact that you were alive and they weren’t.

You were on the opposite side of the world from home. You’d been in and out of hospitals. They were trying to cover up what happened, cover up that your team's location and mission had gotten leaked. They were trying to spin it as a mission just gone south. You were being medically discharged. You were out of the army. 

“How about a flash drive with actual proof?” She offered and you froze, turning to face her “What?” She smiled “I’ve done my homework on you Y/N or should I call you Echo?” Your mouth ran dry at that nickname. You hadn’t heard it since John told you he’d taken the mantle and Lemar was joining him. That was all on the eve of his deployment. All you knew was Lemar was dead and John was off the rails, that was all you could dig up. 

“How do you know that name?” You asked as she held out the flash drive “Like I said, I did my homework” you turned the drive over in your hand “What’s the catch? Nothing is free” she nodded “I’ll see you around” and walked away.

Sometimes you get answers and wish you never got them. You read through everything on the flash drive, spent hours upon hours pouring over it. It seemed legit. It seemed in order. 

John. John had betrayed you. John had gotten your unit killed, gotten you captured and kept for weeks. He was one of your best friends. You, him and Lemar were the crew. You three got sent into hell together. You’d survived hell together. Now Lemar was dead and John had turned his back on everything he’d ever known.

He wouldn’t get away with it. You would make sure of it.

You had contacts, people you probably shouldn’t know but you did. People that owed you favors. People that could get their hands on what you needed to take on a rogue super soldier and put him down. You didn’t even rightly care if you survived it, you just wanted to take him down with you.

You bought a new identity and headed back to the states. First things first, you had to track him down.

New team, new start, new chance. Not that he deserved any of it. He’d let so many people down. Every moment John closed his eyes he could see their faces. Olivia, his son….Lemar…you

You haunted his dreams here lately, like a ghost. Next to Lemar you’d been his best friend. He could remember the day he told you he was taking the mantle

He was sitting with Lemar when you came into the locker room. You had your hair in a braid like you always wore it, your dog tags hanging loose and were dressed like you were halfway to the airport.

You looked from him to Lemar “So is it John, Walker or Cap?” He laughed and stood to pull you into a hug “Always John for you Echo”  you looked up at him and smiled before patting his chest “Just remember, don't try to be Steve. Be you”

You pulled away from him and tugged Lemar into a hug “Be safe and keep an eye on this lug” Lemar laughed “Will do. You stay safe too sweetheart” John hadn’t know until then that you were redeploying.

You laughed at the look he gave you “Oh come on, did you really think I’d what? Slip the suit on Natasha used to wear? For one I doubt I would fit it and for two i may be a woman but I’m a soldier. What I was made for. You two go be America’s heroes. I’ll go be one of it’s grunts”

Not long after Lemar’s death the report came in about your unit. No survivors remained.

You tracked him to New York. The bastard was part of a new avengers team. He got Lemar killed, set you up and was living it up. 

They’d kill you as soon as you put him down. More than likely. It would be worth it. For Waldorf, Jones, McAdams, Henderson, Pennant, Corson and Lemar. It would be worth it. You spent days watching the tower, getting used to the comings and goings and getting a rundown of his team.

Two super soldiers, one former assassin, an enhanced individual and the other one you couldn’t find much on. You had to be careful or you’d never make it to John before you would be forced to engage one of them. You had no problem with them. Even the former red room associates. You knew they helped end that horrid place.

It took nearly two weeks before you found an opening. You had one shot at John and you were fucking taking it.

Everyone had just walked back into the tower from a mission. They started to head towards their individual floors but Bucky stopped everyone with a hand up “Wait” he was staring at the security camera. “We’ve had a breach, there’s someone in the tower”

“What the hell do you mean Barnes?” John asked him and he rolled his eyes “I mean Santa came early, for god’s sake Walker. Someone got around the security protocol and is inside. Spread out, stay alert and stay in contact. Now”

Everyone headed their separate ways, Bob chose to go with Yelena just in case. 

____________________

You could hear them moving just above you and smiled to yourself. They always checked the damn roof. No one ever thought to check the floors. You shimmied along to the next opening and slid out. You needed to find which floor John had taken. You didn’t want either of the rest of the team. You wanted him. 

You made your way down one long hallway and could hear his voice bounce off the walls “This level is clear Bucky” you smirked slightly. Just as cocky as ever you see. You slid into the shadows and waited until he was nearly to you and just as you started to pounce you spotted Bucky stepping out of the stairwell. Dammit, you did not want to fight that man. You had respect for him. Everything he’d gone through and come out on the other side of.

You’d rather take on Bucky than the entire team however and you’d heard how much issue Bucky had with John. Maybe it wouldn’t be that much of a fight? You pulled one of the knives from your side and aimed for John’s shoulder but just as you let it fly the woman Ava Starr phased through a wall and it knocked your blade off by half an inch. 

All three sets of eyes flew to your hiding spot. “Come on out and maybe you can make it out of here alive” Bucky offered. 

_____________________

John turned as the figure stepped out of the shadows and was sure his heart stopped beating. It couldn’t be. You were dead. There were no survivors in your unit. Yet there you stood. You had a black tact suit on, your hair in that damn braid even if it was shorter and a different shade. Your eyes no longer held the softness they once had for him. No that blade had been meant for him. “Echo?” he spoke softly and everyone looked between you and him “You know her?” Bucky asked.

___________________

Your eyes never left John, even as you spoke to Bucky “Sergeant Barnes, with all due respect I have no problem with you or your team. I just want him dead” Bucky raised an eyebrow “He’s an asshole but I need a better reason than that” 

“My entire unit was killed because of him. I was captured and held prisoner for weeks. I barely made it out alive. He leaked the intel” your hand twitched towards the gun on your side and Bucky shook his head “Please don’t” 

John took a step towards you “Echo, I didn’t do that…you have to know that” you moved without thinking. You pulled a knife free and threw it. It embedded itself into John’s right shoulder, Bucky moved towards you, Ava pulled her mask down but you’d already pulled the flash grenade from your side and tossed it between you and them. 

__________________

John held the blade where it was in his shoulder, a grunt of pain leaving him as his vision and hearing slowly returned. Bucky was calling his name. He pushed himself up the wall, staring at the spot where you’d been standing. If it wasn’t for the knife in his shoulder he wouldn’t be certain that had just happened. He’d think this was a dream.

“No offense but your girlfriend is a bitch” Ava groaned,holding her head. John shook his head “I thought she was dead. She was my best friend, it was always me, her and Lemar”

Bucky crossed his arms, staring him down “Then what the hell did she mean but you leaking the intel on her unit?”

John shook his head “I honestly don’t know. I would never have betrayed Echo” “She damn sure believes you did” Bucky replied waving towards the knife. “Yeah, no shit”

Part 2

@desimarie12

[flowersforthemachines]

wip wednesday

thank you @rsenak for tagging me <3

#wip: social call

More Caterina and Ghilasara :') Their weird dynamic has Grown on me.

“So,” Rook tries, “is there any particular reason you wished to see me? Or am I here just for a chat?” Or an interrogation? “It’s been a while since you visited.” The trap snaps. Rook feels something like a set of ghostly teeth close around her neck. “I was wondering why.” Caterina must know; it’s certainly not that hard to figure out. Does she want to hear me say it? Is that what this is about? “Lucanis and I… had certain disagreements,” Rook says, elusively. There is no need to recite the minutiae. “But it’s our business. Private business.” “Is it, now?” “I’m quite sure.” “Perhaps I wouldn’t begrudge your attempt to keep it private had some of your dealings not been so public.” Oh, for Maker’s sake. So, that’s a reprimand. An interrogation would be welcome in its stead.

Not tagging anyone since I think everyone has pretty much done this already, but consider yourself tagged if you'd like to do this etc