#I know eight months feels like a long time but the fact you did all this in eight months by yourself?

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[holllandtrash]

now that we don't talk | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader part 2 to say don't go

so i pay the price of what i lost and what it cost now that we don't talk

word count: 5.6k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is sad, pato o'ward makes a guest appearance had to rewind a bit because because this is charles' pov during and after the relationship - i promise we'll find the ending eventually

Charles was late to the welcome party in Vegas and maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

He showed up a little after 11pm as he really wasn’t in any sort of rush to make an appearance. This week was going to be a long one already and with the obligations piling on top of each other, he tried to spend the minimum amount of time doing what was required of him.

So on that Wednesday evening, he showed up over three hours after the recommended time of 8pm. Alexandra was with him, Alex as she preferred to be called. The coordinated outfits were her idea and Charles didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t an outfit he would have chosen himself. 

But they showed up, hand in hand and Charles found a few members of his team - or rather, Mark found him. 

“Did you know Damon Hill and his family are here?” Mark didn’t even start with a greeting. He did smile at Alex, out of politeness, but his interest lied with Charles knowing that the Monegasque driver hadn’t spoken to you in a few months.

“The whole family?” Charles asked with a breath, feeling the tense glance from his girlfriend. 

Mark nodded, “Yeah. Yeah they’re all around here somewhere.”

Here being the very large venue dedicated to tonight, to the inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix. Members from each team, the drivers, invited guests and sponsors, everyone was here tonight. 

And apparently, so were you.

Mark was not the only person to mention to Charles that you were there, in fact Mark was the first of about eight people who felt the need to tell Charles that the girl he once spoke to was somewhere around.

Of course, no one could tell Charles exactly where you were, but it didn’t surprise him to hear you were leaving good impressions on everyone you had spoken to. You, someone who could part the red sea with ease, took a more delicate approach tonight. 

You were fully aware Charles was going to be there, but he was of no concern to you. You were polite to absolutely everyone you spoke to and if by chance someone mentioned that, ‘oh, Charles will be here eventually’ you simply smiled and nodded because you weren’t about to make any more waves in the motorsport industry. You preferred your name stayed out of the tabloids and what good would it be going around telling people how Charles broke your heart? 

There was speculation, of course. People knew you spent time together. Those online shared their opinions, right or wrong, thinking they could put the pieces together just based on the fact that he was seen in Paris with you one day and then in Monaco with Alex the next.

It didn’t help that you left England soon after, making only one more appearance in Formula 1 when you went to Spain. 

Charles still thought about that conversation, how calm you were throughout, not allowing him to take any piece of your dignity despite what he did, how he made you feel. 

Charles thought he was better off this way, with Alex. 

You were certainly better off. 

He didn’t like admitting it, in fact he probably never would, but he kept up to date with you, with your life. He saw on Instagram when you dyed your hair and then dyed it again and then chopped it to your shoulders. He saw when you spent time with the F1 Academy drivers, when you attended Nascar races, when you started spending more and more time with the Arrow McLaren team.

You had told him that you wanted to watch a few races, check out a few teams before deciding whether or not you wanted to pursue a career in the motorsports field.

And you had done just that. From the outside looking in, Charles couldn’t help but think that this was you just trying on different lives. Indecisive, certainly. But you looked happy, so who was he to have a say?

It shouldn’t have come as a shock when the news dropped of you being brought on as a Performance Engineer for the US based papaya team starting in 2024. The photo that accompanied the headline was you sitting at the pit wall in Portland, already with the orange headset on as you watched the race.

Charles was in Italy when he read the article. Just over three months after your relationship ended...but who's counting?

He had finished fourth that Sunday, not his worst race but his best one either. He was just on his way to his car, wanting to head to the airport when he came across the news on Instagram.

He wanted to congratulate you. He wanted to call you and tell you he was excited for this move, for this career you landed on. He wanted to joke that he could have gotten you a job at Ferrari if you had just asked. 

But you didn’t talk anymore so he couldn’t say anything. This was the cost of losing you. Charles couldn’t stay your friend, not after what he did, and in return, you were out of his life. 

It wasn't that he was looking for you that night in Vegas but he wasn't not looking for you. It was quite a large crowd that even he had trouble navigating his way around. Alex walked behind him, following Charles at a close distance. 

And truthfully, Charles tried not to compare you and Alex, but something about knowing you were in the vicinity had him thinking of what would be different if you had accompanied him tonight. 

You wouldn’t reach for his hand, but you would have lightly grabbed the back of his shirt if the crowd started getting a little suffocating. Just a slight tug on the material and Charles would turn around and assure you with a smile that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

The first time you did that, you were in Monaco. Those weeks he flew you out to spend time with him after only meeting once in the Ferrari garage. 

After leaving a nightclub, the crowd got a little rowdy- they all wanted a piece of him. You stood behind him as he walked to the car that was waiting but when people started moving closer you felt as though you were suffocating. Heart racing as anxiety crept up, a new feeling because you didn’t think you were claustrophobic but you had also never been in this situation before. 

You reached for the back of Charles’ shirt, hand brushing over the thin material before taking it between your forefinger and thumb. It was helpful for you, knowing that you could still touch him, feel him. It grounded you. A little bit of comfort amidst the chaos.

Charles turned when he felt the faint tug. He recognized the wide eyes, the fear that you tried to play off because this was normal for him. But it wasn’t normal for you so he raised his hand, sliding his fingers into yours to give you that gentle squeeze before finally making it to the car.

The anxiety faded the second Charles closed the door for you. He walked around to the drivers side and slid in, hand automatically finding your leg. 

He didn’t ask about it, the sudden panic. He knew you had been around large crowds a handful of times before. You weren’t in the public eye per say, but your father was and growing up you became used to it. 

But this was just different. Charles recognised it, and he knew moving forward he’d have to be mindful of it, of you, of how you were feeling. 

He wondered how you were doing tonight in Vegas, if there was someone else's shirt you were clinging onto this time. Or maybe that was something you saved just for Charles. He couldn’t ask, though. He wouldn’t know the answer to how you were feeling because you didn’t talk anymore.

He also had absolutely no idea where you were. 

Maybe you had left by now. It was getting late. If you showed up on time, which you probably did, you’d have been ready to call it a night thirty minutes ago. You’d have gone back to your hotel room and scrubbed your makeup off, changing into one of those matching jumper and sweats sets you always had. 

You craved comfort over anything else.

Charles remembered Paris. The first night. Not the night where everything fell apart right in front of him all because he couldn’t say those three little words back to you.

No, the first night was good. It was great, magical even. Charles had taken you out to dinner. The skin tight black dress you wore, the one with the low cut neckline - Charles still thought about it. He’d love to know if you still had it, if you wore it for anyone else but those were questions he kept to himself. 

He remembered at the end of the evening you were at your second wine bar, having come across this one completely by accident on your way back to your place. Charles remembered pulling you inside, suggesting that one more glass wouldn’t hurt anyone and you hesitated because it was getting late, but nevertheless, you followed. 

One glass turned into splitting an entire bottle at one of the high tables in the very back. This place was old-school chic with the decor and the 80’s records playing on low volume. It was nothing like the modern and elegant bar you had just spent the last hour in. No, this place was intimate, cozy and surprisingly you didn’t want to leave, even as the night went on. 

And that surprised Charles because you had joked at the beginning of the night that you wanted to be in bed by at least eleven. It was half 12 now and you showed no signs of trying to get back to your flat. 

“So do you or do you not like staying out late?” Charles asked, trying to get the proper read. His hand was resting on your leg, fingers daringly close to the hem of your dress. You were both way too overdressed for this establishment but no one seemed to mind. No one paid you two any attention.

You smiled and glanced around, wanting to bring light to the fact that no one had approached you since you stepped inside, but you didn’t want to jinx it.

“After a certain hour I like to be comfortable,” you answered. “There’s nothing comforting about a stuffy bar and loud music and people in your space who think they know you but they really don’t. And I like going out, I do, but I don’t like staying out longer than I need to.”

Charles nodded, understanding the point you were getting at. This wine bar was a hole in the wall, a hidden gem that provided you the comfort you desired. While you weren’t entirely alone, it certainly felt like it. You could laugh freely without worrying about being too loud or embarrassing. You could sit as close as you wanted to Charles without being cautious of who was nearby. It was just you and him. 

And you could have gone back home, but home would always be there. This moment, this bar, this was just as comforting and in the back of both of your minds, you knew it wouldn’t come again. 

You were right.

Charles would have rather been back in that corner of the wine bar with you now, back in Paris without the impending end of your relationship weighing over his shoulders. 

He wished he could relive that night over and over because for a moment, he thought that maybe, possibly, he could love you.

Charles blamed it on the wine. The way the dim light hit your delicate features was only accentuated because he was drunk. Your laughter was soothing, heartwarming even, but he reminded himself he had heard it hundreds of times before. You looked at him that night, a naive glow to you and it terrified Charles. 

He pushed that four letter word aside. He couldn’t love you. He couldn’t love anyone, he couldn’t have that commitment, not with his lifestyle- his career. If he loved you, you’d become a distraction. You’d want more from him and he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give you more.

So when you told him you loved him only a few days later, he ran.

He ran back to Alex because she would never tell him she loved him. She wouldn’t put that on his shoulders, she wouldn’t carelessly hand over her heart that way you had. Because that’s what you did. You gave Charles everything, all of you and he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t ready to give you everything in return.

He was left with a tainted memory of Paris.

So yes, he tried to think of that first night more than any other one. At least that memory was pure, wholesome. 

It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out you left this Vegas party already. Probably found the quietest bar on the outskirts of the strip. Or you might have even gone back to the hotel because what comfort could a bar bring you? 

Did you still think about that night in Paris too? Or had you tried to completely forget about your time together there? Again, Charles couldn’t just ask you that. You didn’t talk. 

But there were people here that you did talk to.

Charles spotted Pato O’Ward, the well adored driver in the IndyCar series. You may not have been hired as a performance engineer for his car, but you were going to be a crucial part of the Arrow McLaren team. Plus you had spent a handful of races with them already, sometimes in his pit lane box. 

They had met before, briefly but it was a long enough interaction that Charles didn’t feel uncomfortable approaching the Mexican driver. 

They chatted about the race happening this weekend, about Pato’s upcoming practice session he’ll be participating in in Abu Dhabi. Charles was friendly, he knew how to carry a conversation.

He also knew how to find out the information he couldn’t get first hand from you. Of course, waiting until Alex walked off to get another drink.

“I heard about Y/N joining the team,” Charles casually mentioned. “That’s exciting, she’ll be a good addition.”

“Oh for sure,” Pato nodded in agreement. He glanced around, as if trying to find you but he didn’t spend too long looking. “She’s a genius. We’re happy to have her. I’m surprised that she didn’t find a job in Formula 1, though. With her father and all and-”

Pato cut himself off, unsure if this was a line he wanted to cross.

But Charles chuckled, making light of the history he had with the new Arrow McLaren employee. The more at ease Pato felt, the more likely he’d be willing to talk about you.

“Honestly I could have gotten her a job at Ferrari if she showed interest,” Charles told him. He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but Pato wasn’t going to talk if Charles was quick to shut down the topic of you. So he continued, “But she always talked about IndyCar. She only ever spent time at Formula 1 because of the history, because of her dad but her interests lied with your series. I think it’s because she grew up with Formula 1, you know, there was no more fascination. IndyCar is almost like a challenge for her…she did always like to challenge herself. I hope this career is good for her- I think it will be, I think it’s what she needs. I mean, I guess I don't really know what she needs but I hope she finds it at Arrow McLaren.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Even Pato was a little taken aback. He didn’t show it on his face, but he certainly hadn’t expected Charles to say any of those words about you. There was a longing in Charles’ tone. He wasn’t just speaking highly of you, he was pulling from his heaviest memories, his cherished moments. He wasn’t just telling Pato everything that Pato probably already knew. Charles was reminding himself of the person you were, the person you still are. 

The person he didn’t know anymore.

Charles cleared his throat, “Do you talk to her? Or not so much in the off season?”

Pato moved on along with Charles, as best as he could, offering him a faint shrug, “I chatted with her earlier tonight. She’s in the middle of a move, actually.”

“To the states?” Charles asked.

“Bristol, I think,” Pato racked his memory but was confident with his answer. “She lived in Paris for a bit but is going to spend the next few months in Bristol before heading to the states at the end of February.”

Bristol did not come as a surprise to Charles. 

“If you could move anywhere, where would you go?” You had once asked him. Although, your timing was poor as you were both currently lounging on the front of his yacht in the French Riviera. Why would he want to move anywhere else when everything he needed, for the most part, was right here?

“I don’t want to move,” Charles gave you the answer you had expected. He turned his head to face you, arm resting on the back of the chair. He had sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose but he took them off his face and handed them to you when he realised you were squinting as you looked at him.

“I’d move to Bristol,” you told him, unprompted. His sunglasses were a little big for your face, but the gesture was sweet. 

“Bristol,” he repeated. “Why Bristol?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “Rich in history and culture. I’d live on the seaside. I’d spend my days in the market. There’s still a bit of a nightlife if I feel like going out. But It’s serene there. I’d be happy there.”

Charles sat up a bit, “Monaco has all that. Why don’t you just move here?”

You laughed. As if moving to Monaco was that easy. 

Regardless, Monaco was missing something you cherished.

“I enjoy the cold weather, Charles.” You said as if this wasn’t something he already knew. “Bristol’s like the perfect place. It doesn’t snow often but it still drops in temperature during the winter and if I wanted a white Christmas I could just drive a few hours inland. I can’t thrive in 365 days of heat. Sometimes I just want to make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a blanket.”

Charles admired a lot of things about you, but near the top of that list was how much you appreciated the little things in your life. You were raised in wealth, with a name that everyone was familiar with, but you were simple. You worked hard for what you wanted and you cherished what you had. You never asked for anything more and you were always content, never one to complain. You were probably the most down to earth person he’d ever met.

So no, it wasn’t shocking to hear that you had moved out of your flat in Paris to spend a few months in Bristol. To get that British winter one more time before moving for your career. 

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere if you-” Pato stopped mid sentence, his eyes landing on something, someone, behind Charles. 

Naturally, Charles turned over his shoulder to look.

There you were. 

Part of your hair was pinned back with a pearl hair clip. You opted out of a dress, going for a matching skirt and cropped blazer instead, pairing it with a pair of heels only a shade darker. You were chatting with someone that Charles didn’t recognise, a champagne glass held delicately between your fingers. You were so into your conversation that you had no idea that you had gained the attention of not just one driver, but two.

Charles wasn’t the only one who was dying to spend some time with you tonight. 

He turned back at Pato and Charles would be lying to himself if he said his blood didn’t boil over at the way Pato was looking at you. He was envious in this moment. He knew you were larger than life, but you were such a well kept secret, his secret, and you were the farthest thing from that now.

Pato muttered something about catching up with Charles later and all Charles could do was watch as the IndyCar driver made his way over to you. You greeted him with a warm smile. His hand found your lower back with ease, like he had placed it there before. You handed him the champagne glass in your hand and Pato took a sip, holding it onto it, like that was normal. Like you shared drinks with him before.

And Charles knew he didn’t have any sort of right to care, to question, to even wonder what you were doing now but god it pained him to think that you were possibly, probably, sleeping with Pato O’Ward.

When did that start? Before you signed your contract or after? Did that matter? No of course it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because Charles was with Alex. He made that choice, he let you go. He foolishly, stupidly, regrettably, let you go and now he had to watch from the sidelines as you lived your life without him. You found the career you wanted, not in Formula 1.

If you were with Pato, there was no doubt in Charles’ mind that Pato treated you better than he did. He was a stand up guy, he was charming, he leaned in and whispered something in your ear that had you blushing in seconds.

How Charles was feeling wasn’t fair and he knew it. He knew he was in the wrong. He knew he couldn’t be jealous seeing you with someone else. You had moved on, you had every right to move on. 

He knew that it shouldn’t have taken seeing you with Pato to realise he had made a mistake. This was a conclusion he should have come to a while ago, honestly he should have never even let you go in the first place. And maybe he did know it and just didn’t want to admit it until it was screaming at him, a brutal hit to the face over and over until he just couldn’t ignore the bruises anymore.

He shouldn’t have let you go. 

But he did and this was the price he had to pay. He watched from the outside, watched you change and grow through the stories he overheard and pictures you shared. He was a mere crumb in your life now compared to when you handed him your heart on a silver platter. 

Charles regretted everything. He regretted that he left you waiting for him to say ‘I love you’ and at the very least, hoping he would say ‘don’t go’ and instead gave you nothing. Now he couldn’t say any of those words. Now you didn’t talk. 

He left the party early. Alex didn’t say anything on the ride back to the hotel. Neither did he. What was there left to say anyway?

But the silence from her left less of a hole than the silence he got from you. 

He sat in the hotel bar while Alex packed up her suitcase and asked the front desk for a new room. She wasn’t going to leave. Not yet, at least. Just give Charles the space he needed and honestly, Charles knew she was waiting for him to return to her once he came to his senses, like he did last time.

Because Alex gave him what he wanted. Comfort, but she didn’t ask for it in return. Adoration, but didn’t expect the love to be reciprocated. She played the part of the girlfriend and she played it well, accompanying Charles wherever, whenever. Alex thought that if she played the long game, Charles would love her. Charles would see a future with her.

You, though, you didn’t have time to wait. You weren’t going to sit ideally and beg for him to love you back. You weren’t going to tell him that you’d wait for him, that you’d be there if things with Alex didn’t work out. 

You moved on. 

Charles tried to accept that, really. He tried to just focus on the last two races and not about what you were doing. If Bristol was everything you dreamt it was. If Pato and you were together. He tried not to think about anything that revolved around you. 

He thought he could at least make it to the New Year, and maybe he would have. He might have reconnected with Alex on the 31st if he successfully went the entire month of December without his mind trailing back to you.

But the second his friend who resided in London called him up and asked if he wanted to attend a fashion show he was part of...well, it was embarrassing how fast Charles agreed to go. Because London was certainly closer to Bristol than Monaco was. And if he was in London, it was hard to find a reason why he shouldn’t just…go to Bristol.

Actually it was very easy to find dozens of reasons. Charles simply ignored all of them. 

He didn’t think this plan through at all, which was why he stood outside your door for nearly five minutes before knocking. What was he going to say?

For starters, he was really hoping you wouldn’t ask how he knew where you lived. Charles didn’t feel like explaining the hoops he had to jump through that may or may not have involved Joris at one point pretending to be your brother and calling your place of employment. 

It was fucked up. Charles could admit that. But if he could admit that, he could admit it wasn’t the only fucked up thing he did. Letting you walk away from him was at the top of that list.

When you opened the door, you weren’t upset to see him, but you weren’t happy either. Charles carried that vibe the entire time he was inside, starting from when you reluctantly let him in to the way you handed him his cup of tea without so much as a word. 

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked him. Charles could tell you were only trying to be polite. 

“Do you care?” He asked in return. 

No hesitation from you as you shook your head, “I do not.”

He always admired your honesty. He was still scared shitless at the way you could quite literally kill someone with kindness, but he also respected it. You were the only person he knew who’s gentle smile had the ability to send someone cowering. It was a skill, truly. 

“So let’s not talk about her,” he suggested and you nodded, but you also weren’t about to let the conversation carry on if it was pointless. 

“Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He had an entire drive to figure out how he wanted to word this. He had a whole plane ride to put together the perfect sentence, the perfect mix of apologies and admittance and instead his mind was blank. He didn’t know the words to say to you, not after going so long without saying anything. 

But he lifted his head and met your eyes. He thought about reaching for your hand only to decide against it because your hand wasn’t his to hold anymore. 

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said, voice low, breaking almost. He shook his head, repeating it. “I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have let you go. I don’t want to be someone who’s not in your life. I don’t want to be someone who means nothing to you anymore. I-”

I love you, he wanted to say. 

Because he did. 

At least, he thought he did. At one point, he knew he could. If he could then, he could now, right? He could still love you. If you took him back, if you found a way to still love him, Charles wanted to love you back in the same way.

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to love anyone else.

“Charles you don’t know how to love anyone,” you knew exactly what he was going to say. And at one point, you wanted to hear it. Now, though? This was the one time you were hoping he didn’t say it.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you stated, like you knew him better than he knew himself. Maybe you did. “You don’t want to love someone, you just want to be loved.”

“I want to be in love with you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” your words could have cut through him like glass if your tone wasn’t so soft. 

Charles shifted uncomfortably. This conversation hadn’t gone as planned, but what was he truly expecting? You’d take him back? You were better off without him. Anyone could see that.

“Listen, I had to get over you and you weren’t even mine, Charles. Do you know how twisted that is? The only person to blame for my broken heart was myself because I knew, all along, you weren’t mine. I knew it and I went along anyway and I’m not doing that again. I will not love you again. I don’t need another wave of self destruction and false hope and unrequited love. I am happy, okay? I didn’t need you to come here with some sort of declaration that you can’t even say with your chest. I don’t- I don’t need that. I don’t need you.”

He still tried, still attempted to win you back with the what if’s but you saw through it. You cut him off before he could finish his question. What if I do need you?

You shook your head, staying firm with your decision. “It’s over now, Charles. It was over then and it’s over now.”

Charles believed that. He repeated your words the entire way home. He could never give you the closure you needed so you gave it to yourself and you seemed adamant that your past with Charles was going to stay there, in the past. 

He didn’t get back together with Alex. He couldn’t. He ended things the second he returned to Monaco. She asked if you were the reason and Charles didn’t really have an answer. You weren’t dating, but you were still there. In the back of his mind, in his dreams, everywhere he looked he saw you.

He didn’t think he’d actually see you again. He knew you were moving in the New Year. That you had officially gone on with your life. 

So imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door on New Years Eve. 

Smudged mascara under your eyes, an unopened bottle of wine in your hands and a dress that left very little to the imagination. Charles had hundreds of questions, for you, for himself, like was he just imagining this? 

And then you stepped past him, sliding your heels off and immediately going to his cupboard to pull out two empty wine glasses. It was a screw top, the bottle in your hands, Charles wondered where you got it but he didn’t ask. He just let you pour a very healthy amount into each of the glasses. He didn’t say anything when you handed one to him, you both just took a sip in peace.

Charles wasn’t sure where he found his voice, but he somehow managed to. And he said the stupidest fucking thing ever.

“I thought we were over.”

“We are,” you stated, taking another sip. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind him and you tried to wipe your undereyes but the dry pads of your fingers did little to help.

Charles stepped into the bathroom to grab one of those white hand towels that he hung on the rack. He ran it under some warm water before making his way back to you. He was hesitant to step close, but you didn’t flinch away.

So he raised his hand to your cheek, holding you still as he wiped away the stains of mascara, the remains of whatever you were crying over. His touch was gentle. You could feel his breath hit your face and you couldn’t help but glance at his lips. You hadn’t been this close since Paris.

“Thank you,” you whispered when he dropped the cloth to the sink.

Charles didn’t back up after. He stayed with his hand on the side of your face, even sliding his fingers against your scalp to get tangled in your hair. Something he knew you loved. You hummed at the feeling, how normal this seemed, like you weren’t the one to end things that last time around.

Unlike last time, Charles was the one to ask, “Why are you here, Y/N?”

You shook your head, wishing he could just accept this for what it was. You didn’t want to have a conversation.

So you reached for the front of his shirt, dragging your hand up to the collar as you brought your lips closer to his. The little twitch in the corner of your mouth, that faint smirk, it ruined Charles. His hand found your waist, he was only human.

“Please, Charles,” you breathed out. Not a beg, a request if anything. “Now is not the time to talk.”

[rizsu]

wife on the low manjiro, sanzu.

sum. babysitter!reader. idk where i was going with this one

manjirō sano

tension. too much tension. it's not easy trying to focus on a happy baby when you have two eyes digging through your soul. his gaze is terrifying—whether it's just the way he's just there quietly or the fact that he's bonten's leader, you don't know. he's a scary man.

trying your best to ignore whatever he's doing, you focus on cheerful baby that's been slapping her hands continuously on the little container with water.

she's five months currently so you decided it's time for sensory playtime! starting off with water and slowly adding little sensory toys into the container as she plays.

“it's getting messy.”

“oh—should we stop?”

“no, continue. i'll clean up.”

mikey pushes himself off of the door's frame and wanders off to some room for a mop. he walks away with thoughts swimming in his head; delusional thoughts if you asked him.

he doesn't really know what is it that he's feeling. is it love? dunno. he never felt it in a long time. well, it's not like he remembers what love felt like—he didn't even love the mother of his daughter. hell he can't even remember what possessed him to have sex.

coming back into the playroom, he stills for a moment. cute, he thinks. you look fitting like that. something about the way you're giggling with his daughter while she babbles words only those of her kind understands really makes his heart swell.

“'m back,” he announces after a good few minutes of gawking.

moving the baby onto her crib, you pinch her cheek before going to help mikey.

so close, you think. his body's just above yours—close to the point where you can feel his sweater on your head. his hands moves on yours taking hold of the container.

you made the mistake of glancing at him,, now you're stuck gazing into his static eyes, looking for any hints of his current emotion.

five seconds turned into ten and he doesn't break the eye contact. rather, his right hand glides from the container and rests itself on your cheek.

does he know why he did that? no.

is he going to elaborate? also no.

a few more minutes in wondering silence until he breaks it.

“you're pretty.”

oh!

it takes a minute to process it; eyes opened but still looking into his. mikey drifts his gaze from your lips and back to your eyes. he shows no signs of taking back what he said.

“thank...you..?”

chuckling, he notes your confusion and decides to fuel it by saying: “you're welcome. be my girlfriend.”

sanzu haruchiyo

“pick a colour: blue or red.”

“how about no!” hoisting up his daughter on your hip, you circle around the table making your way to the kitchen as you ignore his attempts of getting you to pick the drug of the day.

sanzu raises his eyebrow at you. you sure have a lot of nerve in front of someone that can easily kill you but he won't. why would he kill you when he isn't sure if he, sober!sanzu, loves you or if he, high!sanzu, is just fucking around.

eh, it's not like he's worried. that's something for future him to worry about!!

“sanzu, her formula's about to end!” shouting from the kitchen as you violently shake her bottle, you faced your focus more on the quiet eight month old rather than the twenty-eight years old father.

“is that all?” sanzu moves on arm behind the couch as he looks back at you. she's a natural with kids—especially mine, he thinks. he's going to blame the drugs for that even though he's very much sober.

“yeah, is it okay if i use your card? i need to stock up on the groceries too.” you explained, dropping a few droplets of the milk on your forearm to check the temp.

“why're you askin' me? it's your card. i took it out for you.”

“because i don't wanna—oh???” you paused. sanzu, your boss, couldn't have possibly taken out another card for you right? certainly, right? god, it's so hard to focus after he said those words. you try to not think too much of it but it's just too difficult.

lost in thought, you didn't realize that he's already in front of you, holding up his mini to give her a nose kiss before looking back at you.

“looks like she's finished. let's go.” walking towards to door, sanzu grabs his keys from the holder along with his mask.

“huh—oh, right her stuff. just a minute!” you can't seem to think coherently, not when those words still linger fresh in your mind.

maybe it's the drugs,

maybe it's you,

maybe it's him,

maybe it's the way he holds your hand firmly while smiling whenever an elderly lady compliments your little “family”,

or maybe it's the way he guides you into his room at night after his daughter fell asleep, pulling you into a kiss that answers all questions.

[sunflower-lilac42]

✧ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞 || luke hughes ♔

summary: when she gets cold on the boat, luke gives her his hoodie and all the emotions come out.

warnings: reader feeling crappy about herself, negative thoughts

publish date: 03/31/24

notes: this is for my plus-sized girlies coming from a plus-sized girlie. i am here for you and i will give you as much content as you would like. this really healed my inner child fr, so i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i had writing it. i love you and give me three-eight business months for a next fic | add yourself to the taglist ➺ taglist!

nhl masterlist | main masterlist

A lot of the time it felt like that was the only feature people noticed about her. Not that she was funny, or smart, or insanely good at making a spreadsheet for anything and everything. It was the fact that she was fat, or excuse people’s language, curvy. It had been what labeled her for her whole life it seemed like. And no matter how hard she tried to stop it from happening, it never did. 

She heard the whispers every time she was in the hallways in high school, every time she sat down and the chair would creek even the slightest bit, every time she’d accidentally brush someone’s shoulder. It was horrible, something that would haunt her for years to come no matter what happened. 

When she went off to college, her voice was the only one that stayed with her. She met Luke through mutual friends and while she loved their relationship, she always thought it put a damper on her mind especially when she realized she liked him. Luke was Luke, he was tall, handsome, adorable, cute, charming, and all of the above. And on the inside, he was funny, smart, kind, nice, everything a girl could ever love. He made it impossible not to fall for him.

But why would Luke want her, when he could have anyone he ever wanted? This put a strain on their friendship during sophomore year especially. She would go to games, supporting the hell out of him because he asked her to be there. And always somewhere further down the row, in a different section, wherever, there was a group of girls who looked nothing like her. They were skinny, and pretty, they wore outfits that looked not only good on them but just good in general. 

They were standing there, looking like that, while she looked like this. Wearing leggings that were too tight to make her look thinner, they pressed too hard on her stomach. Wearing the largest sweatshirt in her closet to hide the way her hips bulge a little, to hide everything if she was honest. And while she knew it shouldn’t have bothered her, that she shouldn’t have been mad at them, she couldn’t help it.

However, when she was around him and it was just the two of them, she couldn’t help but notice the thoughts dissipate. There was something about him that made her forget what she was thinking, forget what she was feeling besides happiness. He made her feel beautiful even if he didn’t know it. 

But, when he went away to New Jersey, there was no one to block out those thoughts anymore. Every day she thought negative things about herself, and compared herself to her friends, to those she passed on the way to class, those in the dining hall, everyone. She was left feeling alone with her thoughts, which made her feel all the worse. 

In the weeks following her last day of class, she got a text from Luke. He had asked her to go to the lake house in Michigan. She wasn’t expecting it, to say the least. It meant that she would have to spend at least a week around Luke and his brothers and their friends in shorts and shirts. The things that made her uncomfortable when she was alone. 

She reluctantly agreed to his invitation and the only reason she did agree was because she knew Luke wouldn’t stop texting her and calling her until she said yes. She didn’t like summer, it meant that she couldn’t resort to her long sleeves and leggings due to the temperature. It was too hot for that. At least when she was at her own house, it wasn’t bad, she could do that and wouldn’t be hot due to her being able to set the house to a cooler temperature. 

But, Luke was Luke, and it was hard to ignore him. They hadn’t seen each other since he left for New Jersey, keeping up only through texts and FaceTime (which was not her favorite thing in the world). So, when that text came through that she had said yes to coming, he was bouncing off the walls for hours. He had run to tell Jack and Quinn, immediately, yelling at them to get a room set up for her and to make Trevor and Cole or whoever share one. 

It was rare that Luke got excited to see someone besides his brothers and his closest friends, so when Quinn and Jack heard him rambling a million miles an hour, they knew that this “friend” was special. Luke picked her up from the airport, having flown in from her home state. He was quick to bring her bags to the car for her, open up the passenger side door, and everything in between.

When he saw what she was wearing, he curled an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“W-what? No.”

“Y/n/n, you’re wearing a literal sheep right now and it’s like 80 degrees.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m quite comfy.”

“Whatever you say.” He muttered but he made sure to turn the AC on full blast so she wouldn’t overheat more than she already was.

Y/n was trying to prolong the time she would have to be around Luke, and his brothers and their friends, in shorts and t-shirts and tank tops. And while she knew it was going to have to happen soon, it didn’t mean that it had to happen now. She was beyond grateful that Luke turned the AC on, it was a blessing in disguise. 

When they pulled up to the house, he wasted no time in doing the same things he did at the airport; grabbing her luggage, opening her door, and leading her up the steps. He opened the door with his elbow and pushed it open with his back, or well more or less his butt. Y/n giggled at the action and stepped inside after him, looking around in disbelief, “Can’t believe you get to spend every summer here.”

“Yeah, kind of lucky to have two-”

“Heads up!”

The two turned to see Jack hurling a football in their direction and Luke dropped her things to catch it. Due to Luke’s reaction time, he spared his best friend from getting hit in the face, “Dude!”

Y/n stood in shock, blinking even as Luke’s hand was taken away from her face. Jack winced, “Sorry.”

Luke threw it back at him and hit him square in the head, “Well, that’s Jack, which means…”

As he trailed off two more voices and two pairs of footsteps came from the hallway, “Cole and Trevor aren’t too far behind him. Blonde one is Cole, the douchey looking one is Trevor.”

“Douchey?”

She stood there in the entranceway, raising a hand as if to say hi. Trevor and Cole walked in and took her bags for her, “M’lady.”

She giggled again as she watched the two bumble around the house like idiots, all while Luke’s face heated up in embarrassment. When she looked at him she threaded her arm around his waist, “Don’t worry. I have my bunch of idiots back home. They don’t compare honestly.”

Luke’s arm wrapped around her shoulders in habit, slightly tightening as a way to ground himself. He looked over at her to see her still watching the three 22-year-olds, who were now dancing around the living room playing Just Dance. His eyes were filled with fondness, he couldn’t remember the last time or if there was ever a time he felt like this about someone. 

“You must be y/n! I’m Quinn, Luke’s oldest brother.”

Y/n smiled at him and Luke swore he could’ve died right there, “Nice to meet you, Quinn. Oh! I saw your guys’ last few games of the season, you guys played well.”

Quinn’s cheeks flushed, “Oh, thanks. Well, listen, your room is right next to Luke’s if you need anything. Anything in the kitchen you are more than welcome to have, we do have some things that if you want to cook you can. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway and the campfire is out back. I won’t tell, but I’m fine if you drink, just don’t do it outside the property or when our parents get here.”

She nods, trying to keep up with all the information he is spitting at her. He walked away and let the two be on their own, going back to his room. Luke picked back up her things and led her into the hallway and to her room. He placed her bags on the foot of the bed and looked back at her, “Well, I’ll let you get settled. I think we’re going out on the boat tonight.”

She didn’t think it would be this soon that she would have to wear them. Luke could see the panic that showed in her eyes for a brief moment, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm just not a huge fan of the water.”

“Oh, that’s okay! You don’t have to go in it if you don’t want to.”

That sent some relief through her body, “Okay.”

“I’ll come back when we’re ready to go, okay?”

She nods and watches as he leaves, worried about what was to come.

✧༺✎༻∞

Two hours later, Luke came back into her room. He knocked before coming in, of course, looking down, “Hey we’re just about- holy shit.”

Y/n stood there in her ripped jean shorts that didn’t come down fully because she had gotten them last year, her oversized UMich hockey shirt that was beginning to fade from the number of times she’d put it through the wash. Her hair was in two braids with her UMich baseball hat on and her makeup was done in the slightest bit. She was wearing a pair of gym shoes, her trusted ones that she’s had since she started college. When she heard Luke’s voice and then it cut off, she shied away, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just look-”

Here it comes. The fat jokes, the “you should get clothes that actually fit you” monologue, the snide remarks about her working out, and everything in between. But what hurt more, was that it was going to come from Luke, her best friend, her crush, her seemingly everything. The one who made her forget about those things.

“Really pretty.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes opened wide, “I- what?”

Luke’s face flushed, “You look pretty. Um, we’re getting ready to go! You ready?”

“Oh, uh yeah.”

“Did he really just call me pretty?” Her thoughts ran a thousand miles an hour as she grabbed her bag from the bed and followed Luke. There was no way he said that, was she imagining things? What had she eaten for lunch? 

Luke helped her onto the boat, holding her hand as she stepped up. She sat down and immediately pulled out her computer, connecting it to her portable hotspot. The boys watched her both in confusion and in awe, but Jack was the only one to speak up, “Why are you on your laptop? Dude, you’re gonna get it wet.”

“I just have to do something quick.”

Jack watched from beside her as she pulled up her spreadsheets and started typing information in it, “Holy shit,”

That was the second one of the day, and both of them had been directed at her, “What now?”

“Dude, these are insane.”

He stole the laptop and started scrolling. Now she felt ten times more embarrassed than she was before, “It’s nothing.”

Luke was the next to steal the computer, sitting in awe at the payrolls among other stuff she created, “Damn girl. How much free time do you have?”

She toyed with the ends of her shorts, starting to fray, “A lot.”

She was glad once they moved on from the topic and she was able to shove her computer back in her bag after updating a few things. She watched as the boys went out on the water, Luke staying with her, claiming that he didn’t want to go in the water either. However, as time went on it got colder and colder, yet none of them wanted to go back.

It was now nighttime and y/n was cold from the drastic temperature change. Luke watched as she shivered and instantly took off his sweatshirt and handed it to her, “Here.”

Her eyes looked between him and his hoodie before shaking her head, “I’m okay.”

His eyes softened, growing increasingly worried and confused, “Y/n/n you have goosebumps all along your arms. You’re not ‘okay’.”

“No, I promise. I’m okay.”

“Please.”

She hesitantly took it and unfolded it to hold it up and look at the size. This had always been a worry for her, fitting into other people’s clothes especially when it came to boys. Sure they were ‘bigger’ than her, height was and all, but was that enough to counteract? She nervously put her arms through it, being careful not to stretch it out. She pulled it over her head and was pleasantly surprised when it fit a little baggy on her. 

However, her mind clouded with negative thoughts and it started yelling at her that she was the one that stretched it out, that that was the reason why it was baggy. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

She tugged slightly on the hoodie, feeling it start to cling to her impossibly tight. It wasn’t the hoodie, it was her mind making her think that it was smaller than it was. She tried to get out of Luke’s gaze but it was no use. She cursed to herself before looking out at the water, watching the boys splash each other like immature 10-year-olds, “I’ve never been the skinniest girl out there, Luke.”

Her words caused him to frown. ‘Is that seriously what she’s worried about?’ He brought his right hand up to her face, placing her chin in between his index finger and his thumb. He turned her head so her eyes had no choice but to look at him, “You listen to me. You are beautiful, okay? You are the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on.”

She moved her head away from his grasp and wrapped her arms in front of her stomach. Luke was determined to convince her that he wanted her. That she was the only one for him, so despite her worries and insecurities, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. She yelped in surprise and as soon as her butt touched his legs and squirmed, “Let me go, Luke.”

“No.” His voice was stern as he spoke. 

“Please, Lu.” 

“I’m sorry but I don’t think I can. Not when you are talking about yourself like this, out loud or in that beautiful head of yours. Listen, y/n/n, I know it’s hard, believe me. And while I might not know exactly what you’re going through, I have had my fair share of insecurities myself. You are gorgeous and I love every single part of you there is, okay? I cannot tell you one moment that I have seen you look ugly.”

Completely brushing over the fact that he said ‘I love’, she continued trying to prove him wrong, “What about that-”

“Nope! Doesn’t exist. And I’m going to tell you that if you do not come to at least one game of mine next season, wearing my jersey I might lose it.”

Luke’s words had her blushing in an instant but her mind did not want happiness to be a thing tonight. Her thoughts of this being a prank clouded the intense blissfulness she felt for a few seconds, “Why?”

“Why what, sweet girl?”

The nickname passed over her, “Me. Why me?”

“I’m going to tell you my favorite moment of you and then we’ll see if you know why,” He removed one of his arms from her waist to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and rub his thumb against her cheek before continuing, “Freshman year. First game you ever went to. I had just bought you a jersey and wrote on the back of it with a sharpie my name and my number. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, obviously because that’s you, but it made sure everyone knew you were supporting me. You wore it with those jeans that I like, the ones with the rhinestones bordering the pockets, and you wore these gym shoes, the ones you’re wearing right now. You had your hair in two ponytails and this hat,” He flicked the brim of it, “and you brought two of your other friends for whom the life of me I cannot remember.

“But you stood for the whole game with this little pompom thing in your hand, cheering every time someone got a goal and booing every time whoever we were playing got one. And then after the game I met you outside and then we went to go get ice cream and you got vanilla with sprinkles and we tasted each other’s because I kept looking over at yours and you finally gave in. And then I took you back to your dorm and you stole my beanie. Which you didn’t give back for another two weeks.”

Her eyes watered as she listened to him, “Y/n/n. Don’t cry, please.”

She shook her head, “I’m not, I promise.”

“No matter how long it takes, what it takes, I am going to prove to you that you are beautiful no matter what anyone says. And as long as you love yourself, that’s all that matters. But you’ll always have my love, okay?”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do! I know we’re in college, or well, you are, and we haven’t really dated, but when you know you know.”

She smiled at him and closed her eyes when his lips made contact with her forehead, and then her cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded and leaned in to meet him halfway. Once their lips connected they heard ‘whoops’ from the water. They pulled away, both red in the face. And as they drove back, y/n sat next to Luke with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting comfortably on her thigh.

𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑱𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝒀 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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[a-b-riddle]

A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter Two: Numbness & Pain

Daisy

I always used to think it was an exaggeration of how pregnancy is a constant state of exhaustion. But it was a lot of work growing a tiny human. Add in the fact that I'm still working 40 + hours a week and, of course, something is always causing some sort of discomfort or pain.

Swollen feet, back pain, nausea; I can't even find any solace in sleep. The 32 week mark felt so close, yet still so far. Another eight or so weeks of this seems like a drop in the bucket compared to how far along I am, but still. That still another two months. So far away when you want to be done, but still too short compared to everything I still have yet to do.

Another two months to set up a crib and wash her new clothes. Another two months to figure out a name and make decisions that I always envisioned making with a partner. Another two months of struggling to do things like picking up shit off the floor or staying on my feet long enough to make a decent meal.

But right now, I wasn't worried about the two months ahead of me and all the things I still have to do. Right now, I was looking forward to a three day undisturbed weekend. The pain in my feet and sciatica was becoming so bad, I had taken Friday off to see a doctor and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing, but sitting in my modest little house and watching mind rotting television. I might even indulge in some spicy reading. Heaven knows its been too long.

Or at least, it hasn't been since them. That day in the office, but... that really didn't count. I often wrestled with myself about it. That one time erased any feelings I had for any of them. But I felt a bit pathetic how it now tainted every good memory I had with them. Kyle bringing me something to snack on when he realized I hadn't gone to the mess hall. Price always having a cup of earl grey tea cooling for me first thing in the morning. Two packs of zero calorie sweetner and a bit of honey.

Sweet like you.

I couldn't stand the smell of it now. I blamed it on the hormones. A lot of things made me queasy, but something about the smell of the bergamot, made me sick in a completely different way. A feeling not of nausea, but of... fear. Like the same way a pentagram could summon demons, earl grey could summon mine. As if John Price was somehow there any time the scent lingered in the air.

But he wasn't. None of them were. Fuck. Why did my thoughts always go back to them at some point? No. This was going to be a relaxing weekend god dammit. Fuck them.

Almost angrily, I hit the garage key fob, shutting the door and engulfing me into darkness; a thin line of light leaking through the bottom of the garage door. When I had opened my door, I could at least see a path to my mudroom. I grabbed my purse, ready to go in, when I felt it.

Hundreds of needles. Stabbing and digging into my feet. Not just the soles, but the entire fucking foot the moment I bared any weight on them. I pulled off my flats and it was then I noticed how angry they looked. Red and swollen and all but screaming at me to sit my fat ass back down. I wiggled my toes, trying to get some blood flow. Fuck. Why didn't they hurt while I was driving?

I manage to get onto my feet, using the car door as support. Steading myself until I was ready to take the first step. By the time I had managed to all but crawl inside, ten minutes had passed since my initial arrival time. I got off at 5:00, but usually didn't log off until almost 6:00. Granted, I work from home, but I had run out of a few essentials. Essentials now that were in the boot of my car.

Fuck.

10 minutes won't hurt. Not like there is any thing frozen. Speaking of which, I forgot my ice cream... dammit. I really need to start keeping a list on the fridge. It's hard to remember when pregnancy brain (or stomach) takes over and I slam a container in a single sitting.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, I went to the kitchen. Which considering the town house, or terraced housing I suppose now, was perfect for a single and expecting Omega it was cozy. Not like the base where going from the common area to the chow hall was about a three minute stroll.

I get down and lay on my back. Carefully maneuvering so my ass rests against the cabinets before I hook the back of my heels unto the counter top so I could rest my feet a bit. Not the most sanitary, but it wasn't like I had guests. It was just me. For now.

It took a few moments to adjust. My back ached against the hardwood, but I could already feel the relief from my feet and legs. It wasn't all that shocking that I was having a hard time with them. I had gained a considerable amount of weight during my pregnancy. When I had brought it up to the OBGYN about possibly cutting back on food, her suggestion was to simply not weigh myself at home. Now when I went in for a visit they made me turn around before taking my weight.

It was hard. I've always had a problem with how I looked and now adding pregnancy then taking away the option to diet and exercise didn't exactly help.

I pulled out my phone and was preparing to open my kindle app when I saw a tiny red bar in the top right corner of my phone. Of course. I get nice and settled and my phone is on 2 fucking percent. Whatever. I tell Alexa to set an a timer for fifteen minutes and take a little nap. Maybe meditate.

A knock on the door quickly brings any possibility of relaxation to a pause. Margaret next door was dropping off Winnie off early to go to her book club. Margaret was a widow and a recent empty nester. She had spent her life as a mother and a homemaker. When I got custody of Winnie two months ago, she had quickly stepped up in helping me with everything from child rearing to managing my pregnancy.

"Hello, Maggie!" I greeted from the floor. "Hello, Winnie Darling." Winnie had the same sand colored hair as me and bright green eyes. Her face was a shade of red and I could smell her from the entryway. Someone would need a bath today. Fantastic.

"Oh, Dear!" Maggie fussed, setting Winnie down on her feet before coming over to me. "Are you alright?" Winnie didn't bother stopping to hug me like she normally would before making a beeline toward the potty. She usually was a creature of habit, but nature calls I suppose.

"Feet are a bit swollen." I waved off. "Just resting them a bit."

"I don't have to go tonight." She set her bag down. A deep green corduroy shoulder bag that always had just what you needed in it. A wet wipe, hand sanitizer, a spare tissue and even a stain pen when a spill happened at the most inconvenient time. "I'll stay and-"

"Maggie." I said, trying my best to sound at firm, but it was hard with her. No one told Maggie 'no'. "It's alright. Just a bit of water retention. Nothing to fret over." And it wasn't. I could already feel the pain from earlier subside.

"Really, it's no bother." She argued, bending over to unstrap one of her shoes. "It's a bloody stupid book anyway. I just go for the gossip really."

"Maggie." I tried again. "Really."  "It's getting close to the due date and I don't want to burn out on me just yet." It was a lie. Even with her greying hair, a deepened laugh line, Maggie didn't burn out. She was one of the few Omegas I had met in my life and she could run circles around any of them, myself included.

The sound of flushing sounded from the bathroom followed by the faucet. She huffed before slipping her shoe back on. "If you insist."

"I do." I encouraged. As much as I loved having Maggie's help, I hated feeling like a burden. She had raised her children. It was time for her to do things for herself. "Besides, we'll see you tomorrow after my appointment tomorrow." The bathroom door clicked open, revealing my little Win with the front of her smock covered in water. Fantastic.

"Hi, Mommy." Winnie finally greeted. Her freshly washed hands dripping water droplets onto the hardwood. "What are you doing?"

"My feet hurt so I'm just letting them rest." I explained, looking up at her. Winnie was rambunctious as most four-year-olds without a sense of self preservation are, but when I explained to her how careful she had to be now that I had her sister in my belly, her nature had become more gentle.

It worried me as much as it warmed my heart. 

"Why don't you sit on the couch?" She asked. Her head tilting to the side, face etched as if she were trying to figure out my reasoning.

"Because it helps when you lift your feet up high in the sky, Winnie Pooh." Maggie explained before looking back at me. "Well if you're sure-"

"I am. Go." I urged. "We'll see you tomorrow. Lunch around noon?" Spending time with Maggie didn't make me feel like such a parasite when I knew she enjoyed the company. Her children had all moved away, only one staying in the UK. She wasn't so alone, but neither was I.

"Wouldn't miss it." She gave a soft smile. The laugh lines around her face deepening. "See you tomorrow, Dearies." She said, retreating back outside. The soft sound of the door clicking behind her.

Winnie had laid down beside me. Yep. Definitely going to need a bath tonight. "How was school today?" Winnie went to a pre-school that was luckily covered under my insurance. Perks of being an Omega. I'll take it where and when I can.

She talked about going to the playground and painting. All the usual bits. Who she played with and new things she learned. Then came the question. A question she had asked before in passing. A subject I changed with ease before. 'Have you brushed your teeth? How about another episode of Bluey? Put on your trainers (because we can't just say tennis shoes anymore) and we'll go for a walk to the park. I had skirted around the question with ease. 

"Why don't you have a mate if you have a baby?" Winnie was too young to get the answers to a lot of life's difficult questions. Why did Tiffany not like us? Why didn't she get to see her daddy anymore? Why did that man look at you weird on the train, mommy?  I wish she would just stay this little. That she never needed or want to know the harsh truths about me, us.

"I..." I wracked my brain for an answer and just came up short. I couldn't think of a way to sugarcoat it. We almost had a mate. Mates. We almost had a pack that would have walked you to school on the mornings my feet were too sore or I was already running late. They would have loved you. "It... it's complicated, Darling." Is what I chose instead. The other worrisome fact is that Winnie was too young to understand the concept about mates. I had never broached the subject which only means she probably heard it from some little shithead at school. 

Wonderful.

"I'll explain it when you're older." I promise, closing my eyes and letting her snuggle into the crook of my arm. "Do you wanna rest your eyes with me?"

"Like when I'm five?" She asks putting one of her hands underneath my shirt onto my belly. It had become a thing she had started since I told her about the baby.

"Maybe six." I said, looking down at her. She gave a yawn before closing her eyes.

"I think five is better."

"Okay, Win." I said. "When you're five we'll talk about it." It was a promise I hoped she would forget. But I didn't want to negotiate with a four-year-old about something future me could deal with. I wanted just 15 minutes of this. I order Alexa to set a timer to make sure we haven't dozed too far off. Winnie still needed to shower and eat. I still needed to get the groceries out of the car. But I could spare another 15 minutes.

[maximoffwitch]

for the 1k celebration, could i please request from the smut list #126. "I'm sorry but, I don't think I can remain professional any longer." with natasha x fem(she/her) reader? 🥺

Keeping It Professional

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: 18+ !!! heavy sexual content, swearing, strap-on use (r receiving), fingering, reader has a praise kink, oral, mature content overall!!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: wow okay so this is like the smuttiest thing i have ever written i honestly don't know what i'm doing so pls be kind 🫣 also pls ignore the fact that this request is over a year old and from a celebration i never finished 😭 and as a reminder: this blog is 18+ !! (because this comes up in the story CEO is Chief Executive Officer and CFO is Chief Financial Officer :))

“You wanted to see, Ms. Romanoff?” You entered the large corner office, gently closing the door behind you.

“Yes, (Y/N),” the redhead didn’t even look up at you, her eyes still glued to whatever important documents she was reviewing. Natasha Romanoff was one of the most powerful CEOs in the city, if not the world, starting her own consulting firm at just 23. By the time she was twenty-eight, Widow Enterprises was the most successful firm in the entire country, making Natasha the first female executive and the youngest to lead an industry.

Oh, and she was also your boss. Working as Natasha Romanoff’s personal assistant was often a thankless job. The long hours and tedious tasks left little room for a social life, and your boss’s stoic perfectionism did little to ease your days.

“Please sit.” Natasha motioned to the two chairs in front of her desk, finally looking up and setting down her pen.

You obliged, taking a seat across from her. 

“Do you know why I called you into my office, (Y/N)?” The redhead leaned back into her chair, as she carefully observed you.

You frowned, quickly racking your brain for any reason why your boss could want to talk to you so out of the blue and, apparently, in such a serious manner.

“Did you want to discuss the upcoming board meeting?” You subconsciously crossed your legs and adjusted your slacks, a nervous habit you picked up in said board meetings—being one of two women in a room of men is nerve-racking, to say the least. “I prepared all the notes and slide decks, but did you want me to forward them to you to review?”

Natasha had stopped double-checking your work about six months into your tenure there, as you had proven yourself more than competent. But you would understand her hesitancy, seeing as this meeting was with corporate executives who, if you had to guess, possessed the majority of the world’s wealth.

“No, no,” Natasha nonchalantly waved her hand, “I trust you have that all under control.”

You let out a small sigh of relief before knitting your brows. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but then I can’t say I know why I am here.”

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the chair and made her way around the desk.

“I have a problem,” she revealed, as she sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her arms before lowering her voice, “with you.”

You nearly choked on your breath, your own anxiety choking you. 

Seeing you were at a loss for words, Natasha continued, “Now don’t get me wrong, your work speaks for itself. I have no issues with the way you do your job. In fact, you are the best personal assistant I have ever had.”

Your eyes widened at Natasha’s rare compliment. 

“Then what,” you cleared your throat in an attempt to rid the nerves from your voice, “what is the issue?”

“The issue is.” Natasha pushed herself off the desk and circled you as if you were her prey. When she hovered behind you, she bent down and whispered, “I don’t think I can remain professional any longer.”

You remained frozen, clenching your thighs together, as the feeling of your boss’s warm breath against your ear caused a tightness to coil in your lower abdomen.

Natasha smirked at your body’s reaction, before gently running her fingertips across your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their path.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” She brushed a loose strand of hair from your neck, exposing more of your skin. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

You should yell that this was outrageously inappropriate, that you really shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the work day, that this violated every single one of HR’s rules.

But you didn’t; you couldn’t. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you wanted her.

Craning your neck, you turned your head to meet Natasha’s salacious gaze and nodded.

Natasha raised her brow, amused. “Use your words, doll.”

“I want you,” you husked.

“Oh, I know you do.” She gave you a smug grin, firmly cupping your chin while running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me during meetings or the way you flaunt yourself around my office in those tight pant suits.

“Are you that desperate for attention, little one?”

“Only yours,” you panted, need bleeding through your voice.

“Good.” Natasha clicked her tongue, pleased by your answer, before guiding you to stand. “Now turn around.”

You obeyed and turned your back to her, gasping when Natasha gripped your hips and pushed you against the desk, her front pressed against you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she growled as she pulled your hair, causing you to arch against her. 

“Every time I see you and your wide doe eyes, so eager to please, so eager to be fucked,” Natasha nipped your neck, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your mouth. At that moment, the redhead could not be more grateful for the soundproof walls of her office, “I want to bend you over my desk and give you what you want.”

"Yes, please,” you groaned, grinding your hips against her front, liquid arousal pooling in your stomach as you felt a bulge in Natasha’s slacks.

“Please what?” She kissed the corner of your mouth, as she nimbly worked her fingers to unbutton your pants, slowly sliding the waistband down.

“Fuck me,” you begged, “please.”

“So needy,” Natasha shoved her hand down the front of your black-laced panties, where she was instantly met with a desperate wetness.

“You are so wet, princess,” she teased, her fingers circling your clit slowly, “and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Before you could plead for more, Natasha plunged two digits into your heat, stifling your moan with a searing kiss.

Your tongues languidly danced together, fighting for dominance. Natasha quickly won that battle, simultaneously biting your bottom lip and curling her fingers deeper into your core.

“God, fuck,” you moaned as she pushed you down onto the desk so you were completely bent over at her will, your pants pooling at your ankles.

“Natasha is fine.” You could practically hear her smirk, but you were too far gone to say anything. All you could do was clench your walls around her fingers, silently asking for more.

Natasha added another finger as the heel of her palm rubbed your clit. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

“Be a good girl.” She leaned down and kissed the shell of your ear. “And come for me.”

“Natasha!” you cried out as you let the waves of pleasure crash over your body. Natasha kept her fingers in you, slowly pumping them in and out, as she gradually brought you down from your high.

As she finally slipped out of you, you whined at the loss. Natasha wrapped her arm around your chest, pulling you up and back against her.

“Taste.” She stuck her glistening fingers before your mouth, and you obeyed. Wrapping your lips around her digits, you stared directly into her eyes and swirled your tongue to taste your own pleasure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened at the action as you released her fingers from your mouth with a pop.

“You’re such an obedient assistant, aren’t you?” Natasha hummed, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. “I bet you’d do anything I asked, hm?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your shame long gone, as you submitted yourself completely to the other woman.

“Good.” She kissed the corner of your mouth before taking your hand in hers. “Now, come suck my strap.”

You stepped out of your pants, goosebumps rising up your legs as you were left only in your underwear and half-buttoned silk blouse. 

As Natasha sat down in her chair, she pulled her own slacks down her thighs, revealing a decently sized strap-on, and your mouth watered at the sight. You lustfully eyed Natasha, who scooted her hips to the edge of the seat.

“Get on your knees for me, pretty girl,” the redhead directed as she worked to unbutton her shirt.

You sank to your knees in between Natasha’s legs, ignoring the harsh vinyl floor beneath you. Softly rubbing your hands up her thighs, you stared up at her and took the tip of the plastic cock in your mouth.

Natasha watched you with an intense gaze, her eyes unable to leave the sight of her strap-on slowly disappearing deep into your throat. As you bobbed your head up and down, coating the dildo with spit, Natasha groaned, throwing her head back. 

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” She took a fistful of your hair in her hand, controlling your pace. “I bet your pussy is just aching to be filled by my strap.”

You wantonly moaned and increased the pace of your movements, causing Natasha to hiss, as the strap-on rubbed against her clit.

Natasha tightened her grasp on your hair and tugged at your scalp, sending a shock of pleasure through your body at the brief moment of pain.

“Are you gonna let me fuck your mouth, princess?” She looked down at you, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. Nodding slightly, you widened your mouth and relaxed your throat.

“Good girl,” Natasha cooed, as she brought her other hand to gently caress your cheek before firmly taking hold of the back of your head.

Natasha bucked her hips, hungrily chasing her own release. The squelching sound of the dildo plunging into your throat echoed around the office, as your eyes began to water. 

“So good,” Natasha threw her head back, still rutting into your mouth. “So close.”

Feeling herself right at the peak, she thrust her hips up and pushed your head down, causing you to choke and lose your breath momentarily.

“Fuck!” she cried, her body stilling as her orgasm washed over her. Gasping, you released the strap from your mouth. You looked up at Natasha, who was also catching her breath. 

“Come here.” Natasha softly hooked her finger under you chin. You stood from your kneeling position and moved in between her legs, leaning forward to meet her awaiting lips. 

This time, Natasha kissed you with less urgency and more passion, as if she had all the time in the world.

“You did so well, milaya,” she cooed, the praise along with the Russian term causing your walls to clench around nothing. Natasha grinned, as she saw your thighs involuntarily clench together. “You want to ride me?”

Though she posed it as a question, you could tell there was little room for debate. 

Nodding, you bit your lip and shrugged your shirt off your shoulders. You kept eye contact with Natasha as you slowly shimmied out of your ruined underwear.

The redhead followed your every move with blatant desire, gulping when she watched a string of wetness cling to the fabric as it fell down your legs.

Bracing yourself on the back of the chair, you straddled Natasha’s lap, hovering over the dildo.

“You are so perfect.” She kissed your exposed cleavage, biting your skin before soothing it with her tongue. “So perfect and so ready to be fucked.”

“Yes, Natasha,” you rested your forehead against hers as she teased your entrance with the strap-on, “please fuck me, take me, make me yours.”

“You’re mine,” Natasha growled, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed the tip into your heat.

“Yours,” you sank down, the toy stretching your walls perfectly, and the two of you moaned in unison. Neither of you moved, allowing you to adjust to the size.

Slowly, you started to move, pulling another cacophony of sounds from the woman beneath you.

“Faster, (Y/N),” Natasha gritted through her teeth as she gripped your hips. “Ride my cock.”

You followed her commands and bounced up and down on her strap. Natasha eagerly bucked her hips up, matching your rhythm.

“Fuck, Nat,” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as Natasha reached around you to unclasp your bra, allowing your breasts to bounce freely. 

“That’s right.” She pinched your nipples between her fingers, causing you to let out to a guttural moan. “You’re such a good girl, riding me like the slut you are.”

“Nat,” you pleaded, feeling the coil tightening in your abdomen. 

“Are you close, princess?” 

You nodded with a whimper, grinding your hips down onto Natasha’s.

“Chase your pleasure,” she whispered, as she brought your forehead to meet hers.

You stared deeply into her eyes as you relentlessly rode the toy. 

“I’m gonna come, Natasha,” you gasped, your breath hot against her lips.

“Not yet, darling,” she commanded, causing you to pout. Natasha slipped her hand between your bodies, her fingers ghosting over your clit. “I want us to come together.”

You let out a whine, your pace even more frantic than before, as Natasha began to rub tight circles against your bud.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” she grunted, her thrusts becoming sloppy. Pinching your clit, Natasha surged forward to kiss you, before mumbling against your lips, “Come with me, my good girl.”

You both cried out, pleasure overtaking your bodies at the same time. Melting into her embrace, you rested your head against her shoulder. The two of you basked in the post-coital silence, the toy still buried deep inside of you.

Remembering where you were, you lifted your head and tenderly smoothed Natasha’s disheveled hair. 

“How was that?” You gave her an amused smirk.

“Perfect.” She grinned blissfully. “You were absolutely perfect.”

“Better than you imagined?"

“So much better, my love.” Natasha gently kissed you, her way of thanking you for fulfilling her fantasy. Though she knew you got just as much pleasure out of it as she did.

“Good,” you separated, pecking her lips once more before demounting from her lap. 

“Where are you going?” she whined, removing the harness and tossing it aside as she watched you gather your clothes.

“James’s soccer practice is ending in twenty minutes, and I told him I would pick him up.” You fastened the buttons on your blouse before walking around the desk to where your pants were.

“Don’t we have a sitter for that?” Natasha joked, though you could tell she was still disappointed by your departure.

“We do.” You used the desk to balance yourself, as you slipped on your heels. “But I gave Kate the day off because I promised James I’d pick him up.”

“Fine,” Natasha stood up, pulling her own pants back up and buttoning up her shirt as she walked over to wrap her arms around your waist, “but I had other plans for us.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, straightening out her collar. “I was serious earlier about sending that slide deck over to you to review, if you want.”

“And I was also being serious earlier,” Natasha shot you a knowing wink, “I trust you have that all under control.”

“Good, because I do,” you smirked confidently.

“Best. CFO. Ever.” She emphasized each word with a kiss.

You preened at the praise, a slight blush tainting your cheeks. “Well, now I have to go be the best mom ever. Seriously, love, I have to go.”

“Alright,” Natasha relented, letting her hands fall from your hips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish what we started later,” you whispered, pecking the corner of her lips, as you slipped something in Natasha’s breast pocket. “I’ll see you at home, love.”

“Counting on it.”

You lightly patted her chest and winked, before making your way out of the office, making sure to close the door behind you.

After you left, Natasha cleaned up, ridding any evidence of your activities and reorganizing her desk. As she prepares to resume her work, powering on her desktop, Natasha feels something in her breast pocket.

Reaching into her pocket to retrieve whatever you put there earlier, she grinned at what she pulled out.

“Little minx,” Natasha chuckled, fiddling with your lacy black thong in her hand before tucking it back in her pocket.

Best. Wife. Ever.

[katszumi]

"but, isn't it a blessing to have someone care about you?" your voice was soft but your words weighed heavy on bakugou's heart.

it was nearly ten o'clock. due to your rampant text messages you sent to bakugou ten minutes ago, he stayed up past his normal bedtime in order to figure out what exactly was your issue tonight.

you were rested on the bench that was outside of u.a while bakugou was reclined on the bench, his legs sprawled out in front of him. there was a mere sprinkle that surrounded the area around them, a slight breeze also forcing you two to sit closer together to bask in each other's warmth.

bakugou was unsure what to reply with. where did your random outburst even come from. what did you really want him to say?

bakugou didn't particularly understand love and he damn sure didn't know how to express it. maybe that's why he was okay with it at first— you deserved to be with someone that could make you happy. he knew that he wouldn't be able to live up to your standards. he lacked all the aspects for a healthy relationship.

but when you got together with that stupid guy you met at a coffee shop eight months ago, he felt like an idiot for not pursing you. he noticed all of your tired eyes, insecure smiles, and passive behavior. it was only then when bakugou realized he could’ve done so much better than he thought.

you took his silence as an opportunity to continue. "someone who worries about your happiness and wants to always be by your side?"

yes. bakugou wanted to scream. yes, you fucking idiot. were the words that burned his throat. why couldn't it come out when he so desperately wanted it to?

did you decide to be blind of his feelings towards you? bakugou had thought he'd shown you that he'd go to hell and back for you, but still, you couldn't discern the fact that he was so infatuated with you? he was so in love with you that he would wait for you at the bottom no matter how long it took.

he hated this feeling. why did it have to be you that caught his eye? the only girl he was drawn to, no matter how many times he tried to escape your aura, the path always lead back to you.

he doesn't know why he would sit with you while you ranted about your relationship problems. maybe it was because he didn't want it to be anyone else other than him or because he cared about your well-being most of all. maybe it was both.

either way, he fucked hated it. why couldn't it be the other way around? why couldn't he be the one on the receiving end of your love? bakugou knew for sure he wouldn't do half of the shitty things that your lover would do. he hated that you stayed with worthless dick-face of a man you call your boyfriend. did you not know that with your personality and beauty that you could find someone that was worth millions?

"you know... i like to think someone cares for me that way." bakugou didn't have to look at you to tell there were tears prickling your eyes. water threatening to spill out. it was a usual thing whenever you'd ask him to lend a ear to your venting sessions. he wanted nothing more than to grab your face and kiss your tears away.

bakugou didn't understand love. not in the slightest. but bakugou understood regret. and his biggest regret came in the form of you. if only bakugou had enough courage to tell he that he loved you years ago when you two first met, then he would be the person on the receiving end. he would be the guy who would always be by your side. to be the guy who truly cares about you.

for however long you stayed with that asshole of a boyfriend, bakugou was aware his chance with you was as close to zero.

and he was fine with that.

because even though it pained him to hear you talk about another guy, bakugou would rather have some of you than none of you. he didn’t mind having to swallow his feelings that tugged at his heart if it meant you were happy.

he dryly laughed. "there is," his eyes suddenly finding comfort in the wet cement below them. "just someone who fuckin' sucks at showing it."

bakugou didn’t just not understand love. he hated it. he despised love because it always fell into the hands of the wrong person.

-

yes the quote is from fruits basket, i couldnt help it.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

You're Keeping Me Down

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her)

WC: ~5.8k

TW: mentions of trauma, mentions of Maeve, kissing, previous relationships, swearing, alcohol, so much crying, bad decisions, girlbossing

A/N: ayo....angsty teehee. I hope y'all like it! It's a sequel to Dedicated to New Lovers and was inspired mainly by Sara Bareilles's Gravity, some Harry Styles, and other sad songs. I hope y'all enjoy it!! I really do love reading all of your comments, and tags, and feedback because it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying the writing!! <3

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

Something always brought you back to Doctor Spencer Reid. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you fought it, something about the universe could not keep you away from him for too long. 

It was like the two of you were attached at opposite ends of a string, always pulling you towards one another, ignoring whatever you had been feeling beforehand. 

There was nothing you could do to escape him. You had tried traversing the globe, studying in Greece and Turkey, or taking vacations in the most remote villages of China; you had even done a two-week expedition traveling to Antarctica. But somehow, some way, Spencer Reid stayed in the back of your mind. 

Sometimes, it was like he was right next to you. You could still feel him next to you in your bed, or if you were alone in your car, your hand was absently reaching toward the passenger seat, only to feel the leather and not his leg. 

Maybe it was because all of those stupid little facts he had spouted to you were resting in the back of your mind, popping up when you’d come across anything he would have told you about. 

It was something you missed. He would just ramble on about anything to you, watching the joy on his face as he continued to speak, so grateful to have an audience, to have someone who cared. But you’d have to remind yourself that Spencer chose her as his audience instead of you. 

Her. 

The guilt of Maeve’s death followed you around more than Spencer did. At first, it was anything to do with therapists. The thought of choosing someone to speak to outside of your circle was a betrayal you had felt, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Then it was your distrust of your friends, watching as they became less and less frequent in your life. 

Work was all-consuming. You knew this fact well. Being one of the top profilers in the FBI meant that news of your transfer went fast, and the job offers came even quicker. But you decided to take some time off to rediscover the girl you once knew, someone outside her job. 

The BAU was simply your life for the past eight years. You worked at the BAU, you dated inside of the BAU, and your friends were all within the BAU–It was honestly a joke that it all had decided to come crumbling down once you felt secure in your life, in your job, in your relationship. 

You had filed the paperwork that allowed you to take two months of paid leave, not to leave the department. Your social media suddenly became filled with images of Ancient Greek monuments, Italian Vineyards, the French and Swiss Alps, and cities you once only visited in your wildest dreams. 

Escaping reality was the best way to rediscover who you are. And so you tried.

When you returned from your two months, you had walked into the BAU bullpen and straight to Hotch’s office. Your skin was tanner, and your hair was a bit lighter from all of the sun. You were suddenly this confident woman again, but you weren’t who you were before, making you nearly unrecognizable. 

“Y/N, please come in.” 

You smiled warmly at Hotch, giving him a quick hug. 

“You look good. How were your travels?” 

You smiled and leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit since that meant you would be here longer than you wanted. 

“It was everything I needed it to be, Hotch .” You nodded to the file on his desk with your name on it. “I take it Garcia ‘accidentally’ discovered my file and decided to drop it off?” 

Hotch sighed and opened the file, looking over at you. “Of course she did. I thought you were just transferring after your leave; I didn’t know you were leaving the Bureau entirely.” 

You nodded, a sad smile making its way onto your face. 

Hotch looked at you, replicating the same sad smile. 

“I wanted to tell you in person since I didn’t want you to find out via paperwork, but I should have known to come to your office first and then file it instead of filing it on my way to your office.” 

A soft chuckle passed through Hotch’s lips as he nodded. “We’re going to miss you more than before, Y/N.” 

“I won't be gone forever, Hotch. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“I know.” He rounded the desk, giving you a quick hug, arm on your shoulder. “You have my number.” 

You gave him a quick smile, nodding, “Don’t worry, Jack will still be getting weekly updates about my travels, and expect a box of goodies occasionally. I have to uphold my reigning title of the coolest aunt ever.” 

As you left Hotch’s office, you didn’t notice Spencer at the coffee station. You didn’t see as he watched you quickly drop a note off on Emily’s desk and another on Derek’s desk before stepping into the elevator for the last time for the next two years. 

You didn’t notice the heartbreak in his eyes, and you didn’t notice the fact that he had overheard as you told Hotch you weren’t coming back to the FBI at all. 

But somehow, you found yourself back in that same elevator, visitor badge clipped to the new dress you had received as a gift from a friend during your month-long stay in India last year. The fabric draped across your body, highlighting how beautiful your curves were, and the colors brought out this newfound radiance in your skin, your eyes, your smile...

Color was the newest development in your life. The BAU meant that everything was in professional shades of blue, black, white, or maybe a subdued purple or green if you felt risky. But suddenly, your wardrobe burst through the rainbow as you experimented with patterns and shades, basking in this newfound joy beyond the world of suits. 

Eighteen months of experimenting–with life, with colors, with places you called home, with love.

You had two brief “love affairs” as Garcia lovingly called them. One was only two weeks long, but the other was a few months. Yet both were missing something special and could barely converse with you. Maybe that was how Spencer felt. And the sex wasn’t all that great either.  

And yet, after Eighteen months, an award, four nominations, a cat, a mediocre short-term relationship, and one groundbreaking dissertation that led to a Ph.D. later, you found yourself back in that damned elevator. 

You inhaled sharply as you heard the tiny ding, doors opening up to a sight that made your stomach twist. It was truly bittersweet to be back, to visit the place that once carried everything in your life, and to have it be so foreign to you. 

But what was not so foreign was how one Derek Morgan looked up as the door opened and his eyes filled to the brim with light. 

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He dropped his file on his desk and met you in the middle of the side aisle of the bullpen, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “My woman.” He muttered into your hair, giving you an extra squeeze before pulling away slightly. 

“What’s up, sexy.” You laughed, thrilled to hear he hadn’t changed too much while you were away. 

“I’m sexy? Have you seen yourself recently?” He laughed, and you gave him a twirl, eager to show off one of your favorite dresses. “And where did you get this? Wait, wait, let me guess.” 

You pursed your lips, failing to hide the smile that was beaming across your face. 

“Was it your time in Taiwan? No no…Pakistan?” 

“So close. India. Maybe next time, champ.” You patted his arm, turning your head at the gasp behind me. 

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, world traveler extraordinaire?” 

“JJ, you saw me three days ago.” 

JJ pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, over Facetime,” she grumbled, not even trying to pretend she was upset at the sight of you in person. “You seriously have to stop sending Henry so much stuff.” 

“Some of it is for the other one, too.” You muttered to her, knowing she wasn’t fully public with her pregnancy at the BAU just yet. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise, I just have to say hi to Hotch first.” You placed your hands on their arms, turning towards Hotch’s office. As you went to knock on the door, it opened, leaving you face to face with the only person you weren’t ready to confront just yet. 

“Hi.” He breathed out.

And fuck you, he looked so good. 

“Hi, Spencer.” 

You watched as a wave of emotion rippled across his face. His name almost tasted weird in your mouth, not something you’ve often said in the two years apart. 

“I’ll, um..” He moved to step out of the way, letting you maneuver into Hotch’s office. 

But you had also tried to move, causing you and Spencer to almost collide, causing his hand to barely grace your waist. A spark flew through your skin at the thought of his touch, causing goosebumps up and down your body. 

You both muttered an apology, eyes not leaving the other until you quickly moved into Hotch’s office, causing him to move back, still watching as you closed the door in his face.

While you spoke to Hotch, catching up, Spencer was down in the bullpen at his desk, barely even trying to move them away from the windows. 

JJ and Derek stood around his desk, looking from the office to Spencer and back again. 

“She’s back.” He said simply when Kate approached them, wondering why they were all standing around, staring at Hotch’s office. 

“Who?” Kate crossed her arms, looking between the agents, hoping for an answer.

Spencer said your name for the first time in a very long time. And it was almost as if his brain whirred to life, like some part of him had been dormant for a long time. 

“Doctor.” 

Spencer gave Derek a weird look. “What?” 

“It’s Doctor Y/N Y/L/N now, Pretty Boy.” 

Spencer let his mouth fall into a small oh, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper into the pit of you. 

When you had originally left, Spencer decided to try and ignore you. It didn’t work, but he wouldn’t seek you out purposefully. He never looked up your name and tried to steer clear of the conversations involving you. But he wondered why you had never mentioned wanting to get a doctorate beforehand. He would have remembered something like that. He should have remembered something like that. ______________________________________________________________

The thought of Spencer’s fingers on your waist was the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day. Your skin hadn’t stopped tingling, and suddenly you wanted to drown in his touch, let his hands roam over your body and— “Stop it.” You said out loud as you put in your earrings. 

Your mind wasn’t playing far. 

“What did you say, sweetheart?” 

“Nothing, just talking to myself!” You called back, sighing as you smoothed out the front of the dress you had changed into. 

The team had decided to throw you a welcome-back party that night, generously hosted by David Rossi. And since they had all wanted an excuse to get dressed up, you gave them that much, meaning you had to dawn heels and a touch of makeup to accentuate the features you wanted. It also meant you got to pull out another stunning dress you had bought. 

Celebrating your doctorate, which you completed a year early, you had flown to Milan with Emily Prentiss and decided to go shopping, which is how you ended up with the current dress you were wearing. 

It fits you in all the right places, showing off just enough cleavage to be tasteful but maybe tempt something a bit more. You wondered if Spencer would like—

“God, I forgot how hot you look in that dress.” 

“Emily Prentiss, I could kiss you on the mouth.” 

Emily laughed and looped her arm through yours, staring at the two of you in the mirror. 

“Thank you for flying in on such short notice.” You whispered, unable to take your eyes off of the reflection staring back at you.

“We can call the whole thing off right now…”

You shook your head and smiled at her. “It’s for me. And I really want some of Rossi’s cooking right about now. Especially now that I can compare my worldly experiences with the Italian Masterchef himself.” You laughed, causing Emily to laugh with you. 

“Let's get going, yeah?” 

The ride to Rossi’s house on the outskirts of Washington D.C. made for a relaxing drive, filled with updates from your best friend about each other’s lives, even though it had only been a month since you had seen each other last. 

“I think you’re being perfectly reasonable, hun.” 

“You’re saying that because all I do is cry these days,” you grumbled, kissing the head of the black cat in your lap. 

Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine. “Or maybe I just know that you need a change of scenery. You’ve dedicated your entire life to the BAU and now you need to explore the entire rest of the world.” 

“I think you just want to go to Greece with me.” 

“You know how much I love Mamma Mia….”

You cracked a smile and picked up your glass. “Maybe Em, I’m not sure…I just…”

Emily watched as you looked up, trying to keep the tears from your eyes. 

“I know he’s not worth the tears,” you mumbled, but you exhaled slowly. “It’ll just hit me sometimes.” 

She stayed quiet, watching as you slowly worked through whatever was happening in your head. 

“It’s like he’s right next to me sometimes. I…It’s like sometimes my own head is against me for not talking to him. I heard a song the other day, and I immediately turned to tell him something about it and–It’s like he’s ruling over my mind—” You huffed angrily. “I feel like I’m not making any sense–god.” You downed your wine and placed the glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just meant to wallow and drink wine and be completely useless for the rest of my life…past my prime, past my worth. I was so—I was so fucking sure he was the one…Like there's this strong attachment to my chest and I’m connected to him for eternity, regardless of whether he loves me or not.” 

Emily pulled you into her arms while you cried, rubbing your back. 

“You are so much more than him, hun. You will go out in the world, figure out who you are again, and stand so tall, just how you’re supposed to.”

“So tall.” Emily looked at you as she parked the car in Rossi’s driveway. 

“Just the way I’m supposed to be.” You whispered, looking over at her, smiling.  ______________________________________________________________

You’ve been to Rossi’s more times than you could ever admit, but it managed to take your breath away every single time. After his first wife had passed away, he had put in a garden near the edge of his backyard, providing beautiful color for you to look at from the porch. 

Somehow, you always had a half-full glass, managing to have someone always get you a new drink when you seemed low. 

You managed to talk to Jack and Henry, telling them all about the wonders of the world you had seen, then being pulled away by Garcia to discuss that brief love affair you had in Argentina, which then led to telling Derek about your time in England, studying for your doctorate. 

Gratefully, you excused yourself when Rossi announced that dinner had been served, leading you to the tables set up in the backyard, filled to the brim with all your favorite foods. He had simply done too much. 

Dinner was filled with smiles, laughs, and chatter about the ‘good ol days’ and the newer memories being made. You had become acquainted with Kate Callahan, Emily’s replacement. She seemed nice enough, but you both were hesitant of one another. 

Spencer was sitting across the table from you. The two of you would catch glances at one another, passing moments where you couldn’t help but notice the way the wind ruffled his hair or the way the garden’s fairy lights reflected in his eyes. 

“So, what brings you back to Washington,” Hotch asks you the question every person at the table has been dying to hear the answer to. 

“Oh! Well…” You blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I was just offered a position at Georgetown as an adjunct professor. If I take it, I’ll teach classes for at least the next semester. That is if I like it more than King’s College in London..”

The table erupted into congratulations, ending with a toast from Rossi.

You all raised your glass in “Salut”, and took a sip from your drink, but you couldn't help but look at Spencer, who was already looking at you. 

Excusing yourself from the table, you went inside quickly, walking towards the kitchen sink. You ran your hands under the cool water before splashing it across your face. 

“Y/n…”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. The two of you were alone, no one else to buffer you, no one else to take your arm and drag you to the dance floor. 

“Spencer.” You turned around, your body leaning against the sink. God, you felt so small, so unable to watch yourself. 

“That’s a–that’s a beautiful dress.” 

“Milan.” You mused, fiddling with the ring on your pinky finger, unable to look away from the man before you. 

“Ah.” 

The silence hurt. Watching the two of you must have been painful because you could feel it. You once told this man everything about yourself; he once knew how your day went by one singular sigh. He could have told you what you were in the mood to eat for breakfast just by how you woke up. 

But now, you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Georgetown.” 

You nodded and looked down at your nails, seeming that they felt like a safer bet to look at. “Yeah, uh…should be fun. Can I–” You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer’s head nodded, and you pursed your lips, looking out the window and watching as your friends and family all laughed together and ate together. 

“When I was…um.” You cleared your throat, willing away the tears that had instantly sprung to your eyes. “When I was packing up all my stuff two years ago…I found the…W-Was it for her or…” You braced yourself for impact. Waiting for him to respond. 

Spencer’s eyes glassed over, and his mouth formed a small oh. He fiddled with his ring finger and looked out past you through the window. He couldn’t bear to watch the travesty he was about to cause. 

“You.” 

“Oh.” Fuck this. Fuck. You had sobbed over finding it for three hours while packing and then  sobbed again as you moved out. Somehow, hearing it out loud was worse. 

He was going to propose to you.

Spencer Reid had wanted to marry you. And god, that hurt. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and then he told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. 

You didn’t care if you were reserving a spot in hell for yourself by damning an already dead woman. Her death meant Spencer could feel an ounce of the grief you just dug up. A sliver of the pain. 

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your jaw, a thumb on your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. “I am so sorry.” He whispered. 

And that broke the damn. 

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him, surrounding yourself with Spencer. Letting the smell of his cologne wash over you, letting him squeeze you tightly like he used to so long ago. The feeling of his chest rising and falling gave you such comfort that your brain was screaming at you to run away from it. You had finally built all your walls back up; you felt as if you could finally exist, but here in his arms, the world was silent. 

In his arms, you felt fragile; you felt so small. All of the strength you had was gone. And it felt so fucking good to not have to be the strong one, the person with the brave face. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

His lips kissed your hair, arm running up and down your back, trying so desperately to bring back that sense of comfort he once could provide you. And it was fucking working. God, why was it working. Why did it feel good? Why couldn’t you pull away? 

“Spence…” You mumbled into his shirt, that had been stained by your tears. You shook your head. “I can’t…We can’t…”

He pulled away from you slightly, eyes saddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were rejecting him or because he still loved you just as much as you loved him. 

“I love you.” 

You pulled away from the kiss, hand on his chest, smiling brightly at him. “What?”

It was the most beautiful you had ever looked, Spencer decided. 

Your lips were puffy from how much the two of you were kissing, hair messy from his hands running through it, eyes wide with just as much love repeated in his own. 

“I love you.” He repeated, smiling beyond measure.

“Say it again.” You mumbled, yanking him back down to your lips, kissing him again and again. 

“I love you so much, y/n y/l/n.” 

You pulled away, laughter filling up the entire room. Pure joy echoed and bounced off of the walls. 

Spencer bit his lip, pulling away slightly. You hadn’t set it back. 

“Spence…” You cupped both cheeks with your hand, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I love you too.” 

Just saying it caused you to giggle, full of love and pure joy. 

Loving anyone else would have caused you to gag–it still does. 

But the memory makes you shudder, causing you to step out of his arms, quickly wiping away your tears or trying your best to. 

The thought of love made you want to rip your head off. It made you want to sink to the bottom of the ocean and never resurface. 

Spencer said your name, making you shake your head. 

“You don’t love me Spencer. You haven’t for a long time.” The admission caused a resurgence of tears, making him take a step towards you. “No, Spencer, no.” 

You shook your head again. “I-I can’t…you hurt me. You…you left me for someone you had never even met. She was–god.” 

“I never loved her the way I love you.” 

“No.” You whispered, chest heaving. “No, no. You can’t..fuck. Don’t say that shit–why would you say that shit to me.” 

“Because it's the truth.” He said softly, too calmly for you to just ignore it. 

“How can you stand there and say that to me? You don’t mean it—You can’t..” The past two year’s worth of therapy, of moving on, of becoming your own, came crumbling down because fuck, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. “How can you just…You don’t fucking mean it.” 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I–”

“Don’t believe you?” You laughed at that, tears mixing with the stabs in your chest, dropping past your mouth as it laughed and laughed and laughed. “Then why did you fucking leave me. Why–Why–Why did you tell me to move out and…God Spencer, why did you come here tonight.” 

You were almost hysterical at that point; all Spencer could do was watch. He couldn't touch you because every time he tried, you’d move away or lose some part of your mind even more. 

“What about me was so–so–so, so boring, so understimulating to you, so desperately ignorant that you told me you didn’t love me anymore, that you kicked me out of our home, that made you reconsider wanting to marry me. And you know, I get it, I do. You found someone on your level intellectually, I get it. But still, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life–what did she have that I didn’t, huh? What about her made her more appealing to talk to than me? ” 

“She…”

“She what, Spencer.”

“I wasn’t–”

“No.” You were leaning back against the counter, trying to gain some semblance of yourself back from the spiral you were on. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me some ‘unworthy’ thought process because maybe you’re fucking eidetic memory doesn’t remember all of the conversations we used to have, but I fucking do. I couldn’t cut them out of my skin if I tried, and god did I try.” 

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t function. All he could do was watch the pieces of you shatter all over, reliving the exact moments you were, but instead of being able to make it right, all he could watch as you closed yourself off more and more. 

“Y-you tried?” 

“God, Spencer, did you even look at me during those months.” 

“I…” He just looked at you, really looked at you. “I couldn’t.”

You scoffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and straightened out your dress. 

“The only fucking thing I know is that if I don’t walk away now, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life for letting you talk me back into loving you again. And the worst part is, I still do. I don’t think I could ever love anyone again because of how much love I have for you, after everything we had been through, but—”

He kissed you.

Or you kissed him. 

You weren’t sure. 

But all you knew was that his hands were on your waist, and your hands were on his cheeks, and his lips were touching yours, and everything felt so right within the world, and your body was against his and just–

“Fuck.” You quickly pulled away, both of you panting, staring at one another, unsure about what happened. 

You two just stared at one another for what felt like forever until you heard Emily call your name from the porch. You took another step away, back against the kitchen counter, smoothing your hair and crossing your arms. 

Emily walked in and eyed the two of you, misreading the tension as something more antagonistic from before than what had actually happened. 

“Uh, Rossi made you a cake…” She looked between the both of you, watching as you nodded at her, standing up fully. You followed behind her, sparing one last look at Spencer, who was just looking at where you were standing. 

______________________________________________________________

“Uh, hi, sorry, could you point me toward Agent Hotchner’s Office.” 

The person whose shoulder you tapped turned around and gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. 

“Well hello, gorg–”

“Derek. Don’t be rude.” The woman next to Derek had elbowed him in the ribs, preventing more HR training for the both of them. “Hi. You must be Y/n. I’m Penelope, and that’s Derek, don’t mind him.” She looped her arm through yours and started to lead you towards the little staircase on the side of the room. 

“Hotch’s office is right up here.” 

“I–Thank you, Penelope.” You smiled at her. 

“I’ve read your file.” She whispered, smiling back at you. “I’m really excited to work with you because you are one impressive woman, let me tell you.” 

You blushed slightly, about to respond, but Penelope had knocked on Hotch’s door, causing a voice to tell you to “come in.” 

“Welcome to the team.” She pulled away, leaving you to enter Aaron Hotchner’s office for the first of many times. 

You opened the door and smiled at the man at the desk. “Hi, I’m–”

“Y/n Y/l/n, You have a very impressive resume. Please, take a seat.” He stood to shake your hand, gesturing to the chair before his desk. You quickly scanned the photos along the walls, the books on his shelves. 

“Everyone knows who I am before I know who they are.” You laughed slightly, taking the seat. 

“Yes, well, We’re all very excited to have you join us here.” 

The memory of your first day hit you like a wave when Aaron pulled your seat out for you back at the table outside. You stalled for only a second, but it was long enough for any of the various profilers at the table to notice something was off. 

You smiled through the speeches, and you laughed at the jokes and cried at the sweetness of your friends, but you were somewhere far away, dreaming about the moments that led you up to where you were. 

“And that is why I am glad to have you back because clearly, the universe respects you enough to let us all come together to celebrate the return of our Y/n.” You raised your glass and cheer with Rossi, standing up to hug him. 

“Now.” You smiled at all of the faces that looked up at you. “Let us eat cake!!” 

The table erupted and while Rossi cut slices for each of you, you sat back down, listening to what Garcia was telling you, but your eyes kept darting to the person directly across from you. 

You could feel his eyes any time they were on you, and you knew they were fleeting glances, but it was just too much. 

“Want to take a walk with me through the rose garden?” 

You nodded, standing up and accepting Derek’s arm, letting him lead you towards the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sudden weight off of your shoulders. You couldn’t feel his gaze anymore but you knew he was still looking at you. 

“What’s next on your list of adventures.” Derek looked at you, watching the millions of emotions race across your face before settling on a smile and a shrug. 

“I’m not sure yet. You know about Georgetown, but I don’t know about D.C. anymore….”

Derek nodded and pulled out the chair at the small wire table. It sat under a trellis filled with gorgeously bloomed roses and baby’s breath. The smell was almost overwhelmingly fragrant. 

You gratefully took it and watched as he went and sat across from you. 

“You looked like you got a bit overwhelmed back there.” 

“What happened to not profiling me like I asked?” 

Derek chuckled, “It’s not profiling if it’s written on your sleeve.” 

You sighed and looked out at some of the flowers. “I don't…”

He let you work through it in your mind, just glad to keep you company while you figured your shit out. 

Eventually, you spoke up. “It’s weird.” 

Derek hummed in agreement. 

“I don’t know. Just. I felt like I was doing so well, and I was becoming my own person, figuring out who I was, and then I come back here, and suddenly I’m back to being that twenty-two-year-old kid who breezed her way through the academy. It’s like I did everything in my power to end up where I did, and then the universe told me I fucked up and should have done something else.” 

“I don’t think you fucked up in the slightest. Do you know how many people you saved?”

You went to brush off his comment, but Derek didn’t let you get a word in. 

“I know your entire world got completely fucked over, but you were meant to be in BAU. You were supposed to be there. I cannot think of my life without you, I know Garcia can’t, and I know Emily would tear you a new one if you even brought up to her the possibility that you being in her life was a mistake.” 

“Yeah, and now I’m thirty, with a doctorate and a cat, and no idea what to do with my life.” 

“But you also just spent the last two years seeing the world–how many countries did you go to…”

You pursued your lips, trying to count in your head. A blush spread across your face as you mumbled the number. 

“Sorry, wanna repeat that for me?” 

“At least fifty…” 

“That’s what I thought.” A very proud look crossed Derek's face, smiling at you. 

You looked down at your left hand, fiddling with your ring finger. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter how much you enjoyed his company and the way he was keeping your ego healthily inflated, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have been married–you could have been happy. 

“He told me when he bought it.” 

Your eyes snapped to Derek’s, and he looked at you with such soft eyes. 

That was something you had always loved about Derek. No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how gently he was being, he never treated you like a piece of glass.

“He, uh, I was the only one he told.” 

You nodded, waiting for him to continue. 

“When did you find it?” 

“When I was moving my things out of the apartment.” 

“Damn…” 

“Yeah.” You laughed. It was colder than usual but still antagonistic at the whole situation. “I…um. I found it on the last day when I was cleaning out my bedside table. He knew I never went into the bottom drawer because I literally never kept anything in there, but I checked because, you know, I was asked to leave, and…there it was. It was just…It’s ironic, really, how perfect it was, too. They say that if a guy can’t get the ring right, then he’s not the one for you, but no one preps you on if it’s the perfect ring, perfect size, but you had just broken up two days before you found it…” 

Derek nodded, letting you ramble. 

“I feel like I’m being weighed down by a million different things, yet they’re all him.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

"Sometimes good things fall apart, so that better things can fall together." ~ Marilyn Monroe

Part 3

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Tags: @lilrios-world @gubzgirl @mynameisnotokay @hereforfun22-blog @yoursarahg @mega-kittyglitter-1 @onlyspence

[churipu]

hiiii !!!! it feels so rare to see a blog dedicated to just fluff so i love ur works sm 🫶🫶

could you write abt reader who doesn't know how to ride a bike and the jjk chars teach them? specifically geto x reader pretty pls <33 thank you :} !

JJK MEN + TEACHING YOU BIKE RIDING

featuring. geto suguru, gojo satoru, itadori yuuji x reader

warnings. mentions of a little blood, scrapes, falling off a bike.

note. omg hii anon <33 thank you for giving love to my work, it means a lot to me. sorry this one took so long, i hope you like it, mwah mwah <33

GETO SUGURU. the first time you wanted to learn how to ride a bike was when geto took you bike riding during the weekends, and you were seated at the back while he was the one maneuvering the bike.

"suguru, teach me how to ride a bike."

and that was all it took for him to actually go 'teacher' mode on you, waking you up at eight in the morning to actually coach you from the basics to the most complex things on bike riding. geto is such a patient man, he coaxes you through your fears of falling — promising how he'd be there to catch you if you fall.

little progress is still progress in his eyes, he will ruffle your hair and call out praises to you. telling you that you did a great job and that he's pretty damn proud of your progress.

and believe it or not, he is a man of his words; every time he sees any signs of imbalance or the slightest bit of odd movements, he'd catch up to you by feet and stand by if you fall (which happens most of the time if he's already up there by your side).

for a couple of weeks, he was up early in the morning to teach you how to ride a bike. and hey, you could see the progress in those times, by the time you were able to steer the bike perfectly fine, geto was actually so proud he almost cried (he said he didn't, but he did, just a tiny bit).

"suguru, look!" just seeing the smile on your face as you pedal the bike made his stomach flutter, he is so happy.

after that, he'd always take you bike riding, same place, same time, this time with two bikes for each of you (although sometimes he prefers it if you sat behind him, hugging him tightly).

GOJO SATORU. i could see him being such a proud little shit when you told him that you couldn't ride a bike, it was embarrassing, but he told you he'd teach you how to. and well, he's not the best at teaching — or demonstrating how to ride a bike (despite him being a teacher and all).

since he could, and you couldn't. he ends up teaching you by actually riding the bike without explaining what to do, but hey— he's a dedicated man.

"so you just kind of...do this, and then that, and then yeah it just happens!" he grins and you looked at him in confusion, but said nothing anyways.

it made you reminisce the days back at school when the teacher would ask if you understood what they're saying, and you tell them yes just so you could move on and get it over with. yeah, that was what it looks like during the whole time gojo was teaching you.

it took you a good four months. four. months. because gojo, how do i even say this? during sessions, he would steal your bike and use it for himself— giving it back to you when he feels satisfied, and so it took longer for you to learn.

in fact, it felt like the male was rather a distraction rather than a teacher. but hey, at the end of the day he still succeeded in teaching you how to ride a bike.

"i'm never going to ask you to teach me again," you mutter out, braking in front of him.

gojo gasps out dramatically, "why not? i did it, didn't i?"

he's totally proud of you and he just has to let everyone know, posting pictures of you and he'd write a long caption telling the world about your journey of riding a bike. like a facebook mom.

ITADORI YUUJI. the first time he found out you couldn't ride a bike was when he asks you about bike-riding in the mountains, and you straight up told him you never learnt how to ride one. so, he made it his job to help you learn, and he's not really great at it.

"i don't understand what you mean by that, but yes, let's try it out anyways," yuuji was nervous the first time his grip left the bike's seat, and you were off.

he was trudging behind you, catching up to your slow pace — but still, when he realizes how imbalanced you are, it was too late. one second you were still pedaling the bike, and then the very next second you were kneeling on the ground with a bleeding and scraped knee.

at the very first second he saw you, he was quick to be by your side. he grabs you by your waist and picks you up, muttering out curses under his breath and then apologizing to you non-stop — he felt like it was his fault, he told you if he had been more cautious, you wouldn't be bleeding.

"shit, baby, i'm so sorry. i should've been more careful," he mutters out, wiping off the blood off your wound while blowing on it softly so the pain wouldn't sting as much.

"'s fine, yuuji. it doesn't hurt as much as i thought it would," you chuckle at him, but no matter how hard you try to convince him that it doesn't hurt and it was fine, yuuji still took the blame.

he tries asking you if you still wanted to learn the bike with him, and when you said yes, he's delighted. and more alert, not letting the same thing happen twice. he's such a cutie, he bought you a helmet, a pair of knee protectors, and elbow protectors.

better safe than sorry, even if he bought you those, he was the one catching you when you were about to fall.

for a couple of days, yuuji also tried looking up tutorials on how to ride a bike so that he could explain it to you well, and he was actually quite surprised when you got the hang of it in the first two weeks. proud is an understatement, he's overjoyed that he could take you bike-riding now.

of course he praises you about it, telling how fast of a learner you are and how proud he is. also, he still feels guilty about your fall— and he tries making it up to you by buying you food (which he didn't actually have to since you've forgotten about the fall anyways).

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[superhoeva]

oh now i wanna know how they started dating on carmys bday 😭😭😭

carmen did not expect to ask bunny when he did.

it happened after she’d treated him to an evening of whatever he wanted. they stopped at a hole in the wall syrian place owned by one of carmen’s friends, sat in the very back, and just talked. about everything—even the shit that happened to them in new york—over shawarma, tabbouleh, and a shit ton of kebabs.

carmen’s never talked to anyone this much for this long in his entire life. if feels odd and terrifying, but the way bunny seems to hang on every word kept him from shrinking back inside himself.

they continue talking after dinner, carmen taking more time to listen at this point in the night. especially when bunny gets to some heavy shit and carmen can tell she needs this. she needs to tell someone this and something inside him flutters at the fact that he’s the one she feels like she can do that with.

it’s almost ten. they’re still walking, carmen closest to the street, when an idea pops into his head. that’s how they end up at the store, looking for ingredients for homemade gelato.

“you wanna make gelato? right now? at nine fifty-eight on your birthday?”

carmen shrugs, eyes searching for his usual brand of whole milk. “you said you wanted gelato, so i’m makin’ gelato.”

“carmen, i said i wanted to try it. one day, not now. don’t want you to waste the rest of your birthday making this.”

“not a waste’a time. what flavors you thinkin’?”

around an hour later bunny is in carmen’s apartment. watching him glide around his kitchen from the small table she sits at. she’s asked if she can help at least three times, but the most carmen lets her do is taste test a few things.

it isn’t until he pours the last of the liquid into the container that his senses come back to him. shit. he whispers it to himself, nearly dropping the bowl in his hands onto the counter in embarrassment.

his machine is broken. stopped working a few months ago when he was trying some shit out with syd for marcus, and he hasn’t thought about it since then.

carmen sputters through a string of apologies when bunny asks him what’s wrong. she lets him get it out for a few seconds until he starts to blame him self.

“sorry. shit, i-i’m really sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t think about it be-before. fuckin’ stupid. i-i-i should’ve remembered that the thing to make this shit is broken if-if i’m makin’ the shit? right? now… now you don’t get any gelato because-cause i’m a fuckin’ dumb ass—”

“carmen?”

he stops at the feeling of her hand on his arm. she’s standing in front of him now, but carmen can’t look at her. he settles for a glare at the floor, mouth pinched as he bites the inside of his mouth.

“how ‘bout… we just put it in the freezer. save it for tomorrow—”

“but you wanted it tonight—”

“i can wait. i promise, i can wait ‘til morning to try it. we can even eat it together. i’ll come back over and we can have belated birthday bowls of gelato.”

it sounds nice. it sounds incredible, but he’s not over it yet.

“but you wanted it—”

bunny grabs carmen’s face, and looking straight into his eyes.

“all i want is for you to have a good birthday. that’s all i care about right now, carm, okay?”

carmen blinks, thinking.

“okay?”

he blinks one more time. “…okay. okay.”

“okay,” bunny nods one last time, thumbs rubbing across his cheeks as she continues. “good. now, why don’t you stick that in the freezer while i run over to my place and get your present.”

what?

“present? what present?”

bunny shrugs, dropping her hands. shy smile growing in her face.

“got you something… but now that i’m thinking about it, it might be kinda lame.”

carmen immediately shakes his head no.

“no it’s not. whatever it is, it’s not lame.”

“let’s wait until i give it to you to decide that.”

carmen cleans his leftover mess in silence while bunny is a few doors down, nervously eyeing the small gift bag in her hands. she stares and stares at it before gently setting it back down on her bed.

maybe another day. for now, she’ll give him the back-up. it’s easier. and safer.

“close your eyes.”

carmen huffs, but follows her instructions. he hears a shuffling and a light touch on his thigh.

“okay. open.”

he bites his lip at the sight of a cd case. it’s clear and decorated with bread stickers. popping it open, carmen reads the writing on the disc.

for cb :)

he huffs, glancing up at bunny whose on the edge of her seat on his couch.

“it’s uh… it’s a mixtape. all the songs on it are ones that remind me of you. or when we hang out.”

it’s quiet for a long moment after that. bunny’s stomach sinks.

“…you made me this?”

it hurts for bunny to nod, shame creeping up over her shoulder and forming her face into a frown.

“i’m sorry. i told you it was lame…”

carmen looks back down at the cd. “smiths?”

bunny sniffs. “yeah.”

“mac?”

“mmhm.”

“radiohead?”

bunny accidentally snickers.

“well it wouldn’t be a cb mix without the bends.”

carmen grins a wide smile. laughs at her words.

“wouldn’t be a cb mix without the bends,” he repeats, face heating. “definitely not lame.”

bunny’s eyes widen, the tons of weight sitting on her chest lifting a little.

“seriously?”

“no. not lame at all. not even close.”

blowing out a breath, bunny relaxes.

“i just… i went to so many places looking for something that i thought you would like, but all that shit didn’t really… it didn’t really have any value. like it had monetary value, yeah, but it just—it didn’t… mean enough.”

carmen keeps his gaze glued to bunny as she talks, watching the way her eyes flicks around while she tries to make her point. he hopes he hides the way his hands start shaking.

“well, i love it very much.”

carmen almost faints when bunny gives him a wide smile. the biggest he’s ever seen and he can’t help but grin along.

“yeah?”

“yeah. listen to it with me?”

the thought crosses his mind on song 8. high and dry by radiohead. it takes two more songs for him to finally say something. hope sandoval’s voice plays through the cd player he dug out of his closet.

i look to you to see the truth.

bunny’s head has found a place on carmen’s lap. his finger trails up and down her jaw, gaze placed on her way her lashes curl. bunny, on the other hand, can’t look his way. although she’s dying to know what he thinks of the songs, it’s too much for her to bear.

she’s compacted it all into a little disc. her entire heart pouring out her deepest thoughts and feelings through the words and melodies of others. ones which she can’t seem to convey out loud, too afraid of what could come after that.

i think it’s strange you never knew.

“sleep over?” carmen rumbles lowly, almost whispering. bunny nods silently, picking at the cloth of his shirt. his finger’s freeze, stopping on the side of her chin. “be my girlfriend?”

for a second, bunny stops breathing.

fade into you.

sitting up, bunny looks at carmen with big, watery eyes. he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sucks in a long one when she starts a nod.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“really?”

“yes, really carmen.”

“swear?”

bunny cackles. carmen belly laughs along with her.

“on my life, bear.”

the bunny and the bear au || bunny!reader and bear thoughts? <3

[strawberrysturniolo]

never grow up part eight

summary: after their break up, a drunken text from chris sends their friendship spiraling yet again

part 7 part nine

Chris’ POV

I got invited to a party tonight. It’s some celebration for a certain YouTuber I’ve never met before, but a party is a party when it comes to LA. It never really matters who they are, but getting invited is enough. 

I dressed in a black hoodie, dark pants, and a white beanie pulled over my head, concealing the long hair I have yet to cut. 

I haven’t talked to Sunny since the break up. It’s weird to even call it that considering our entire relationship was long distance. I don’t even know if I can count it as a real relationship, but I know she would, so I don’t want to be the asshole who doesn’t see things the same way. 

The worst part about all of this is the fact that there’s no one I want more than her. It’s always been that way, and it’s never going to change. It’s always been her, and the fact that we’re on opposite sides of the country makes this all so unfair.

The love we have for each other has always been so strong, and I thought we could handle anything. I thought distance wouldn’t be so bad. We would work hard, and our determination would show how much we love each other. We would have to fight for it and prove to the other person that we wanted it, and I know we both did.

So why did it have to go this way?

I want to reach out and ask her how she is. I started to, but she left me on read. Petty little actions from her side of things that made me think I would never be able to get through to her. 

I know she’s upset, and I can’t blame her, but my intentions were there. I knew it would only get harder, and I needed to end it before it would have made the breakup worse. I love her so much, she knows that. It’s like she’s trying to convince herself otherwise so she doesn’t come back to me.

Above all, I just want my best friend back.

We used to be able to talk about everything. Hell, I knew what fucking tampons she used because she would send me out to get them when we were in high school and she couldn’t leave the fetal position in her bed from her cramps hurting her so badly. 

I knew what time of the year was her least favorite and how to cheer her up so she didn’t struggle for months. I knew how she liked her food so I could make sure the order was perfect for her when we would go through a drive-thru.

This was all so unfair, but I need her to work with me, and she refuses. 

I followed my brothers to the Uber and sat silently in the backseat behind the driver with my phone tucked in my pocket. I felt like an idiot for checking the notification every time it vibrated. I hoped it would be her, but it never was. 

Like an absolute idiot, I text her again, surely making a fool of myself. 

Me: Can you let me know you’re okay?

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and pull it back out when I feel it vibrate again. 

Progress has been made, because she read it, and reacted to the message.

I have to remind myself that it’s something when I see the thumbs up tacked to the top of my message to her. While it’s not much, it’s something and I have to be grateful for that. 

I met up with some of my friends at the party, all of whom were waiting for me to arrive with shot glasses in their hands. I don’t bother asking what the drink of choice is before I throw it back, letting it burn my throat and make me choke on a cough. 

Without getting a chance to ask for a drink, a different cup is shoved in my hand. I take a sip and purse my lips in disgust at the shitty beer they bought for this party. Once again, I remind myself to be grateful, because at least something is going to be getting me drunk tonight. 

It doesn’t take much to get me drunk tonight. I woke up late as usual and hadn’t eaten until we arrived here, and the only food I’ve put in my body are small snack plates that are arranged on a large table. Crackers, cheese, and pieces of pepperoni. Basically a fucking lunchable pack scattered across a charcuterie board. 

The same girl keeps bringing me drinks. She wants to get me drunk, and I know why. She knows what she’s doing, and even though I do too, I don’t bother telling her to go away. I’m known for being a piece of shit at the last minute when I could’ve prevented all of this. That became obvious with me and Sunny, right? 

She has dark makeup covering her eyes, and the lighting only makes it harder to see her face. Not to mention I’m tipsy and my vision is starting to go out. She reaches for my hand, the one not holding an almost empty beer, and she places it on her shoulder. I play with the strap of her tight dress while she pulls herself closer to me. She wraps her arms around my own, holding herself at my side, making me wonder if I’ve said anything to invite this arrangement that I’ve already forgotten about. 

Once my friends walk away from us, she raises herself on her feet to whisper in my ear. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

I furrow my brows, sipping the rest of my drink. “Not really.”

She pouts her dark red lips at me. “Why not?”

I set my empty cup down and lean against a table. “I can’t even see straight right now. You could be a dude in a wig for all I know.”

She laughs a bit at me, but I’m not making jokes. She takes both my hands and traces the curves of her body with them. “Does that prove anything to you?”

A shiver goes up my arms as I feel her body. My head feels like a fucking bowling ball. My legs are frozen but somehow also feel like they’re about to give out. My eyes can’t stay open, I’m starting to wobble, but when I fall forward, she catches me. 

“I got you,” she whispers, holding me carefully. 

“Where are my brothers?” I ask quietly, unable to speak any louder without feeling like I’m going to projectile vomit. 

She looks around the hall we’re in. “Maybe they’re occupied too.”

I shake my head. “No. Take me to them. I have to find my brothers.”

She goes to argue with me, and yeah, she’s hot, but she’s not who I want. 

I push myself off of her and struggle to stand. I look like an idiot when I try to walk away. I’m falling into people and trying to open my eyes enough to see either of my siblings. I almost make it to Matt when my body collides into someone else’s. I would’ve been sent through the floor if they hadn’t caught me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nick curses at me through gritted teeth. “You look a fucking mess. You’re embarrassing all of us.”

I look up at him and can’t control the way my chin is shaking. I can’t do this right now in front of everyone. 

“She’s never going to talk to me again.”

Nick’s face softens. He wraps an arm around me and takes me to a door that leads us outside. He sits me on the ground and stands in front of me. “Yes, she will. She’s just upset right now.”

I shake my head, tears starting to pour out. “You don’t get it. She’s all I wanted. I fucked it up. I rushed into everything. I went too fast. We could’ve been perfect, Nick–”

“Okay!” he interrupts me. “And maybe you just weren’t. Maybe it wasn’t enough. I mean, fuck, Chris!” he runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry that you’re heartbroken, I really am, but you can’t keep burrowing your head under the dirt and moping about the same thing. If she’s not talking to you anymore, then that’s on her. You can’t make her want to come back to you. Just give her time, and she’ll come around if she really wants to. If she doesn’t, she’s not who you thought she was. Either way, you need to get your act together. You can mope in your room, but don’t get trashed here in front of everyone.” 

The words hit me like a fucking knife, cutting me open after every single one. I feel so hurt that I have to check to make sure I’m not actually bleeding out right now. 

I want to kill him for what he said, the way he talked about her, but I’m so weak right now I can’t even move, and by the time I have that strength back in my body, I won’t even remember this interaction.

He sits outside with me and forces me to drink a water, waiting until I’m composed enough to go back inside. 

I let that anger towards Sunny rip through me, because I’m tired of being sad. 

Me: No one is ever going to love you the way I did

Me: I love you more than anyone else and I always will

Sunny’s POV

Needless to say I thought I was going to throw up when I read that message. 

I had barely finished my shift at work, only just clocking out and walking to my car. My bag almost fell out of my hands when I read what he wrote for me.

Chris had been trying to reach out for some time now, but in all honesty, I just needed a break. I needed to get myself back on track and try to piece myself back together after he continued to rip me apart, sew me back together, and rip me apart again. It was exhausting. I was exhausted.

Above all, I love him no matter what our relationship is, so when he texted to make sure I was okay, I of course answered. It may have only been a thumbs up, but it was something, and that’s what he wanted.

No one is ever going to love you the way I did.

Maybe that’s true, but hopefully no one else destroys me like you did too.

I love you more than anyone else and I always will.

Then why did you throw us away?

I let the questions consume me on my drive home, and once I make it to my shower, everything unfolds. I’m a sobbing mess, embarrassed at the control he has over me. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him and never worry about him again.

But he’s the same guy who would ask me if I wanted a Barbie or a Spiderman tattoo when I scraped my knee riding our bikes.

The same guy who would clap my muddy shoes together after we played in the dirt.

The same guy who would wipe my tears when a stupid boy made me cry.

And now he’s that stupid boy, and no one can wipe my tears. 

The next morning I woke up angrier than ever. 

How dare he do this to me. This back and forth and push and shove, I love you, I can’t be with you, but no one will love you like I do bullshit. I’m tired of it. It’s not fair, and it’s damaging to our friendship, which should be what we’re trying to salvage above anything else. 

I’m barely thinking when I reach for my phone and call him. I know he’s probably sleeping, and part of me wants him to wake up and hear me rip him apart for a change, while the other part of me hopes he doesn’t answer so I can say I tried and then never do this shit again.

“Hello?” he groans, his voice a groggy mess. Just as I thought, he’s asleep.

I hate the way my entire body softens at the sound of his voice.

“We need to talk.”

“Right now? he asks. “It’s five in the morning Sun–”

“Do not call me that.”

He sighs. “I get not calling you baby, but now I can’t even call you your nickname?”

“No, Chris, you can’t.”

My tone is clear. I’m a pissed off, worked up mess. He knows that. It’s obvious. 

“What did you call me for then?” 

My throat tightens. Sharp stabs thrash at my flesh, and then I realize the knives I’m picturing at my neck don’t exist. 

My voice breaks slightly, but I cover it up enough. “What the fuck was that text last night?”

He sits up in his bed so fast I can hear the bed shift through the phone. “What text?”

“No one is ever going to love you the way I did, and I love you more than anyone else and I always will,” I enlighten him. “What? You don’t remember!”

He pauses. “Actually… no, I don’t remember.” Silence fills the call. “I was at a party last night. I got drunk, and I texted you. I was busy thinking about how you cut me off entirely after I tried to keep things normal between us, and then while I was drunk I must have had a breakdown and texted you.”

At this point, I’m furious. The words spew out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. 

“Did you have fun fucking another girl while you were thinking about me?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, clearly thinking about if he should throw a comment back at me, or if he should be the mature one for a change. 

“No, Sunny. I didn’t. I was busy sitting outside with Nick drunk off my shit, not thinking straight, trying not to throw up, while I cried over the fact that I thought you hated me and I lost you for good. Was a girl trying to come home with me? Yes. Did I get the fuck away from her because she wasn’t you and no girl will ever fucking be you? Yes, I fucking did.”

Guilt treads through my bloodstream. The snap at him only felt good for a second until he broke the dam that held him together and told me everything he felt about me and him.

“Then why did you break up with me, Chris?” I finally let go and let the tears fall. “Why didn’t you fight for us–”

“I was fighting for you every fucking day, Sunny! Every day! I had to get up every morning and not know when I was going to see my girlfriend. What’s the fun in that?! You and I both know this was the right decision for right now, and if you want to hate me for what I decided to do, then you must not want to be with me in the future, because if I said that I fucking promise that we’ll be together someday, just not now, then that should be enough,” he fires off.

“I’m sorry.”

He inhales deeply, gathering himself again. “Work with me here. I’m promising you that we’re going to make it out of this alright if you just fucking work with me. No more of this back and forth fighting shit. No more of us not hearing the other person out. I want you in my life no matter what it fucking is. Now can you say that you understand and you love me too and that you trust me that this is the right decision so I can go back to bed? I have a hangover, Sunny. Please.”

Someday.

That’s better than never in a million years. 

“I love you,” I mumble, even though I’m trying to scream it. “And I trust you.”

tag list: @luv4kozume @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @st7rnioioss @flowerxbunnie @gamermattsgf @christinarowie332 @nicksbf @n6ptunova @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mattitties @mangoposts @sturniololol @sturnswift @sturniololoverr @sturniolo @sturnioloos @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @hearts4chris

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part four)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one | part two | part three | part four (4k words) | part five | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

Natalia Romanova has lived her whole life in maybes.

When she was five years old and first banished to an orphanage in a far vast snowy corner of Russia, she thought to herself, okay. Maybe this will be the place that I find my forever family. Surely no place can be worse than that which I have come from. But the other girls she lived with were taller and crueler, and almost a year passed before a certain scraggly blonde rascal stumbled into sharing a room with her. Without hesitation she began causing havoc for every single resident. Natalia liked her immediately. It was not long before the two would share a bed at night and call one another sister.

Maybe I was right, Natalia would think to herself sleepily, as she and tiny Yelena huddled together beneath a duvet to survive the cold winter nights. Maybe this is my forever family.

It only took one day for that to fall apart for her, though. It hadn’t even occurred to her that someone might adopt Yelena without her too, or vice versa. And when that happened, and Yelena was torn away, she was at a loss.

“Не волнуйся,” Yelena reassured her as she sped around their tiny bedroom, gathering her many trinkets and treasures into a bag. “It’s okay. My mama and papa, they are very lovely, they promise they will come back for you. We will be a family together, in America. A new start. Together.” She held out a pinky earnestly.

“Together,” Natalia repeated, sealing the deal.

But two years after Yelena’s departure, she began to wonder if maybe her sister had been wrong.

She still can’t remember much of the day that they finally, finally came back for her. She was eight, and you and Yelena were both seven. Of course, she didn’t know you even existed at first — not until the long journey back, gazing down at the motherland below them as they left it behind, when Yelena babbled endlessly about her new best friend she’d made in Ohio. She doesn’t remember much of that, either — the whole day felt too perfect to be real. It’s all a blur. But still to this day, proudly framed by Alexi and hung above the fireplace, are the photos he took the day she came home.

Only a week into her life in Ohio did she ask her mother if she could change her name. Natalia Romanova was too difficult for Americans to pronounce, and it didn’t feel American. It felt as though it were just another of countless things that screamed I don’t belong. Maybe it would help her feel more acclimated to her new home. And when she worded it like that, who was Melina to deny her? So Natalia Romanova became Natasha Romanoff. You barely even batted an eyelid when the news reached you, and she’d often catch herself smiling when you went out of your way to use her full name in any situation you could.

Although it feels as though she’s loved you forever, it’s true that she was wary of you at first. That fateful moment she first met you, you came tearing into her new home to spend time with her sister and she was scared you’d take her away — but you didn’t. You shared her. And as time went on you began to share parts of yourself with Nat, too.

She’ll remember the day you won her over until her dying breath. December 3 — almost six months since she first moved to Ohio, and her first birthday there. You’d stayed over the night before, as you often did even then, and in the morning you approached her with wide adoring eyes and something clasped carefully in your hands.

“Natasha,” you began, with a slight tremor in your voice, “um, it is your birthday, obviously,” you glanced over at the gaudy banners Alexi had strung proudly around the house in declaration of this fact, “and, uhm, I know we haven’t known each other super long, or anything, but, yeah,” you finished lamely, and held out your hands to her, opening them up. “I found this super cool rock. Alexi helped me clean it. It’s pink.”

It was super cool, Natasha decided. Pink had become her favourite colour as of late — ever since she’d learnt that in America it’s for girls. She looked from the sparkly rock to your earnest, hopeful face and back again, and decided then and there that she loved you. (And maybe you even loved her back.)

The nature of said love did not make itself known to her for a good few years; even before it did, she made her best efforts to dismiss it, though. She very quickly learnt just how American girls were supposed to be — which did not include bright blue hair, or a desire to kiss other girls. Within just a few days of starting public school Natasha had bleached the dye from her hair, quashed down any potential interest in Daphne from Scooby Doo, and at night would carefully practise the American way of pronouncing words in the mirror — without her gentle Russian tinge. She tacked up posters of male pop stars in her room, and began to strategically pick which boys in her class she’d be crushing on next. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept all of this up then she’d be able to fit into her surroundings the way she was somehow never able to in the orphanage.

And for the most part, she did. She found herself becoming one of the most popular girls in class. She’d discovered that actually she was very good at fitting in, as long as she paid enough attention to everyone else. And she felt good about herself — as long as she didn’t pay attention to you and Yelena, who were entirely unbothered by the social norms she adhered so much to, and seemed a whole lot better off for it. It was entirely uncool to be so close with your sister. Her annoying little sister, and her quiet lovely best friend. Yes, as long as she avoided the two of you wherever she could, she’d be fine.

That’s how the years passed, for a long time. Natasha eventually outgrew her desire to distance herself from Yelena, and she returned to the protective tendencies she had harboured for the blonde when they were so young and alone, but what she didn’t outgrow was her need to fit in. That followed her way into high school. By sophomore year she was cheer captain and everyone in school knew her name. (She wasn’t mean, though, she always made sure of that. And she made it known that if anyone were to mess with Yelena — or you, by extension, as by this point people had started referring to you as the twins — there would be consequences.) She had friends, she had boyfriends, she had invites to parties. And as long as Natasha pretended she didn’t have a massive interest in you or a mental list of your likes and dislikes, she would be fine. Probably.

When she was sixteen she realised with startling clarity that the massive interest she acted as though she didn’t have in you was love. She and two of her good friends, Sharon and Maria, were animatedly discussing whether Sharon really loved her boyfriend or not. And the way love was described, romantic love, was identical to what she felt for you (and what any idiot could tell you felt for her, as much as everyone seemed to have agreed to pretend that you didn’t). An inexplicable attraction drawing her to you, an interest in anything you were interested in (see that time she was ten and stayed up all night researching your favourite cartoon just so she could discuss it with you over breakfast the next morning), a desire to just be with you forever. That was love. She loved you.

Oh, shit.

“You’re awful quiet, Nat,” Maria commented. Natasha cleared her throat and took a sip of juice. “Anything on your mind?”

“Just that Sharon needs to dump her shitbag of a boyfriend,” she replied shortly. Maria clapped her hands together in triumph, while Sharon let out a huff of annoyance.

“That’s what I keep saying,” Maria told her proudly, as Sharon spluttered in protest. The discussion resumed and the matter was forgotten. Natasha shoved her discovery to the back of her mind, hoping and praying she could un-discover it. Maybe if she did, things would stay okay.

Try as she might, she couldn’t, but she has tried; more determined than ever to be the perfect American girl. Over dinners she pretends to be annoyed at the teasing, saying that her accent’s gone, she’s no Russian, the American agenda has got her, that she’s almost as American as you.

“Our token Yankees,” Alexi often says merrily, to this day, clapping both you and her on the back with force that makes you wince and her giggle. She’ll whine and wrinkle her nose at him (while you just sit and blush), but secretly revel in the praise that her efforts have been so fruitful.

Barely any time into this school year, her senior year, she realised that she hadn’t had a boyfriend for a suspiciously long time.

“You and James would be cute,” offered Sharon, pointing with her fork at where her good friend and fellow Slav sat across the cafeteria, laughing about something.

“Yes,” came Natasha’s thoughtful reply, “we would, wouldn’t we?”

Every single aspect of her life was coldly calculated, unfeeling, sterile. Natasha Romanoff knew what she wanted and she would obtain it. Her pursuit of Bucky Barnes was no different. He was politely reciprocal at first, and the two entered what Nat’s friends called a situationship over the coming months. It wasn’t until a Stark house party that he turned her down.

“Natasha,” he said gently, and the word was so loud despite the music that blared only a few rooms away. He only had to say that and she knew. She sighed, and sat down on the bed in defeat, only to look up in surprise at his next words.

“I don’t… I like Steve.”

Not even Natasha could understand why she started crying. But Buck was so kind, so patient, and he held her until her tears dried. When she could speak evenly again she opened her mouth and everything came flooding out. The way she felt for you and her deep, innate fear of being different.

Bucky was quiet for a few moments in contemplation. Then he said, “I’m scared, too. Me and Steve are like you and Y/N, we known each other all our lives, and it’s like, what if whatever I do or say or feel ruins that? But you gotta… it’s…” He scratched at the back of his head. “You gotta trust it’ll work out. If you love each other proper, then even if she don’t like you back, you’ll still have her. In your life. It’ll be okay, you know. You just gotta have faith.”

Of course, Natasha knew without a shadow of a doubt how hopelessly head over heels you were for her. Rejection wasn’t what she feared. But she wasn’t sure how to word that to Bucky without sounding entirely conceited, so she just nodded. After that night, though, the two were a whole lot closer, and in no time at all they established a kind of beard situation — they’d act ambiguously involved in public so that in private they could affiliate with the ones their hearts truly desired. It wasn’t as though there weren’t queer people within their school, because of course there were, but both feared for the loss of their social standing so intensely that they saw no other option.

It was Bucky who pushed Nat to kiss you at the New Year’s party.

“If it goes wrong, come find me and we’ll drink,” he shouted over the blaring music. Both of them knew it wouldn’t go wrong, though.

But she drank anyway — for luck, she told herself, downing an impressive amount in one. She was Russian, even when she pretended she was not. A perk of that was being able to handle her liquor.

The New Year’s kiss famously went swimmingly, and Nat felt so giddy the next morning that she marvelled she hadn’t done this sooner. The two of you began to sneak around, which pleased her greatly, but she felt the words you didn’t say during the silence that would sometimes descend on the two of you. Your slight twitchiness, the way you would work yourself up to say something only to dismiss it at the last second. You didn’t want to ask what are we? for fear of the probable answer — and Natasha didn’t have an answer for you, anyway. She liked the way things were now; she had a pretty girl wrapped around her finger who she could sneak around with in private, and she could simultaneously maintain the social status she’d always had in public. She was certain that if you were ever to make her pick between the two she would spiral. Eventually you seemed to take the hint, and the hopeful silences stopped.

It never really occurred to her that she wasn’t treating you well until quite a few months into your relationship — around June, after Stark’s spring break party, once Yelena had started teasing you about a mystery girl. Every time it was mentioned in front of her she would tense, but you handled it with surprising and admirable nonchalance, and her sister seemed to have no suspicion it was her that was spoken of.

Natasha came back late one night from a hangout with friends. She’d forgotten her key and, assuming everyone was asleep, decided to let herself in through the garage rather than disturb anyone. But you and Yelena were still up and enjoying a quiet night in, as the two of you often did, huddled together under blankets on the sofa in a way that would make Natasha reminisce on the way she and Yelena used to do that in the orphanage — except they had done that to survive the bitter cold, whilst the two of you did so merely to enjoy reality TV reruns. It warmed Natasha to see her baby sister happy, at least.

The noise of one Kardashian fighting another (Natasha always got them mixed up) drowned out her quiet arrival, and the two of you were mid-conversation. She made for the stairs, not really wanting nor caring to intrude, but froze as she tuned into Yelena’s next words.

“You never really mention your mystery girl anymore, anyway,” the blonde was saying. “Did something happen? I can hurt someone.”

Natasha craned her neck to catch your next words.

“Nothing happened,” you said quietly. Defeatedly. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t think she likes me as much as I like her.”

“Ah, конечно нет, impossible,” drawled Yelena. “You are adorable, утенок. Everyone likes you.”

You murmured something unintelligible, and Yelena scoffed, but Natasha didn’t need to hear any more. She crawled up the stairs as if the world were about to slip away from beneath her feet. Suddenly everything around her was so overwhelmingly real, and she realised with sickening clarity that you were real, too. She spent the rest of that night lying in her bed, unsleeping, unmoving, counting the paint strokes on the ceiling and wondering if she could’ve gone her whole life without knowing that she’s a bad person. Maybe she has. 

That was probably the beginning of the end. When she looked you the next morning it was as though she was seeing you for the first time — you were quiet, you were pale, there were dark circles under your eyes. You were smaller somehow, as though something had defeated you completely. And Nat knew in that moment that she was too much of a coward to give herself to you, so the kindest thing she could do was let you go. If she was lucky then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t lose you completely if she set you free now.

Right now it’s prom night. Seeing you dancing with Sam was one of the most gut-wrenching sights she’s ever endured, but he at least seems to make you happier than she ever did. It didn’t make her very happy to look at, though, so she convinced Buck to drop her home on his way back to Steve’s. (Prom was their first official date and, as Buck informed her with a proud grin as she left the car, it went fantastic.) Melina and Alexi are out — every other Friday is their date night, and while Yelena groans and gags at how ridiculously in love their parents are, Natasha just finds it sweet and hopes she’ll have something like that someday. But you’re the closest it’s ever come to that for her, and she’s fucked that one. Royally.

“Hi, Liho,” she opens the front door and mumbles to the cat, who is sat in the hall expectantly. His haunches rise defensively, and Nat just sighs. He is very much your cat, not hers, and in recent times he seems to have been picking up on the turmoil she’s been putting you through. “Look, man, she’s out being happy, without me. Isn’t that enough?”

Liho hisses, and stalks with his head held high out of the front door.

“Yeah, whatever, leave then,” Nat grumbles, and kicks the door shut behind him. Even through the thick oakwood she can hear the noises of annoyance he makes back at her.

She kicks off her heels and throws herself onto the sofa, and lays there for a long time. It would be nice, she thinks to herself, if she could just stay here forever, and never have to face the world again. And she does for a while, but eventually the front door slams, bringing in cold air and with it the announcement that you and Yelena are home. Nat tenses as she recognises the sounds of your crying, and leaps to her feet, sliding across the smooth wooden floors in her stockinged feet towards you.

“What’s going on?” she pants, taking in the scene. You’re cradling something dark and vaguely furry to your chest, and Yelena is fussing over it worriedly. She realises like a punch to the gut that it’s Liho you’re holding. “Holy shit, what —”

She freezes as she realises she’s the one who let him outside. Is he supposed to outside? She doesn’t know anything about this goddamn cat, he’s not hers. Shit. 

“Call Alexi,” you choke out. Natasha stands still frozen in shock, so Yelena lets out a mutter of “бесполезный” and charges towards the landline herself.

“Are you— okay?” Nat tries uncertainly. “What —”

“Piss off, Nat,” you cry. Ouch. Okay, she probably deserves that.

“Sorry,” she says quietly, and steps back from you. You stand in silence for a few moments until Yelena comes skidding back out into the hall.

“He’s nearly home anyway,” she pants. “He says don’t call the vet, not until Ma has looked him, we should just stop the bleeding. It was definitely a car, probably a hit and run so he said to check the doorbell camera thingy. What is their name?”

“That is the scientific term, yes,” Natasha nods, and you make a noise that’s both a laugh and a sob. “Um, I think Dad has the app on his iPad.” Not that he knows how to use it. He’s such a comedically giant man that seeing him trying to navigate the tiny device offers her a steady stream of entertainment. (“Глупый кусок жести. Делай как я говорю!”)

“On it,” Yelena nods, and sprints off to where she last saw the device.

“I’m sorry,” Nat offers again, once her sister’s out of earshot.

“Not now, Nat,” you sigh tiredly, and you sound so broken that she just wants to scoop you up and protect you from all the evil in the world. But she’s subjected you to that evil, whether she meant to or not, and now she has to deal with the consequences.

Yelena is gone and oddly quiet for a suspiciously long time.

“You okay?” you call, cupping the cat desperately to your chest as you pad off in search of her. Unsure of what else to do, Natasha follows you, hanging behind awkwardly and making sure to give you enough space.

Yelena is stood still as anything in the kitchen, staring at the iPad propped up on the counter, rewatching one clip over and over on the security camera app. Nat can’t tell what it’s of, at first, but the exact moment you realise you let out a squeak, and squeeze Liho even closer to your chest. Only a moment later does Natasha understand what it is.

It’s from quite a while ago — the timestamp says sometime late at night in March. In the clip Nat’s car pulls up onto the driveway, with her at the wheel and you in the passenger’s seat. Once the car stops, Nat leans over and she kisses you. And you kiss back. On camera.

Liho lets out a noise of pain at how tightly you’re gripping him to you. Yelena stares blankly at the screen as the video plays over and over again.

“Lena?” you ask quietly, and when the blonde turns round her eyes are glossy. “I don’t —”

The next thing Natasha knows is a sharp pain shooting through her nose, and she steps back in shock, because there’s no way Yelena’s just hit her.

“What the fuck,” Yelena says, and there’s that scratchy sound to her voice that’s only ever there when she’s trying not to cry. “The one person who is off limits and you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Lena,” you cry out in alarm as the blonde raises her fist again. “Don’t, it wasn’t — it was an accident —”

“Oh, what,” she’s rounding on you now, “so you just slipped and fell into my sister’s —”

“No,” you plead desperately, “it wasn’t like that.”

“You were the mystery girl all along,” Yelena shouts, and presses her lips together with her eyes screwed tightly shut. “All the time you were right there. You lied to me.” She raises her fist again, but Nat is prepared this time and catches it neatly in her own.

“Don’t,” she says evenly, but she isn’t prepared for the hatred that burns in the green eyes that meet hers.

“How many months were you sneaking around behind my back?” Yelena hisses. Nat still holds her wrist tightly, so she merely turns her head to address you next. “Ты - лжец, how long have you been using me for her?”

“I wasn’t,” you plead, and whatever is shouted after that is indiscernible. After a few moments of noise the front door opens again, and Melina and Alexi stumble in, with a sense of urgency about them.

“Oh goodness, what is all this shouting, girls?” Melina asks loudly, and at the sound of her raised voice you all instinctively fall quiet. “In fact, this is not important. Where is this poor cat?”

You hold out the bundle of bandages and fur to her, face shiny with tears, and she scoops him up gently. “Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know,” she says shortly. “I will get him to the vet. I’ll call you.” She kisses your forehead, then Yelena’s, then Natasha’s on the way out and the front door slams behind her.

Yelena turns on you again with no less venom than before.

“You,” she says, “are not my family. And neither are you,” she adds to Natasha. “Do not speak to me.” She storms out of the room, and you, Nat and Alexi watch her leave, stunned.

“Well,” says Alexi with a jovial chuckle, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, “she seems a little upset, да?”

[keyotos]

disgusting

summary ⎯ after a long day, all you want to do is relax with your boyfriend.

tags ⎯ gn!reader. tooth-rotting fluff. ONE minor innuendo. basically alhaitham is in love.

tana's words ⎯ hi guys sorry for the mini hiatus but i'm bored and i am going to write this very quick and very simple drabble just bc

"why do they always have to run?" you complain as you settle onto the couch that alhaitham was quietly reading on. "i mean, it's never gonna do anything. like, we are the matra. we can catch up to you at any second, but noooo, running will most definitely allow you to evade us," sarcasm dripped from your voice.

alhaitham puts down his book and turns his attention towards you. earlier that night, when you arrived home, you barely even greeted him. now, alhaitham is not one to get clingy due to the fact that you didn't greet him with as much affection as usual, but he was missing you quite a bit (not that he'd ever let you know that), so he was concerned.

the affection you had given him prior tonight was a chaste kiss on the lips. it wasn't much, but it still meant a lot to him, whether he showed it or not. tonight, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. ridiculous, alhaitham is well aware, but it still raised some concern within him. your actions meant you probably had a stressful day, which made alhaitham want to know more.

when did he start finding himself enthralled with your very essence? there was no switch to define when his feels for you developed to more than just friends. only a heavy beating in his heart when he was around you. only a feeling of airiness in his chest when he spoke to you.

"what happened today?" alhaitham asked calmly, being the complete opposite to your frazzled antics while describing your hectic day. to help you relax, he began to rub his hands up and down your thigh. you melted into his touch instantly, letting out a deep breath.

"oh you know. the usual research fraud. wasn't even that bad actually. he was probably going to get like, what, two months of suspension and eight months of community service? better fate than most. but instead of surrendering, he chose to run all the way from sumeru city to gandharva ville!" you ranted, throwing your hands in the air to indicate your frustrations. "and he even tried to hide. from the matra. from me! like, you're cornered like a deer here, might as well surrender and make it easier for everyone else."

you rubbed the thigh that didn't occupy alhaitham's hand, "also, i'm sore as hell. all that running from sumeru city to gandharva ville and then all the way back has me spent. i feel like i'm not gonna be able to walk for days."

alhaitham lightly scoffed in response. you were tough, one of the matra's best at that. alhaitham could also think of instances where you couldn't walk, yet pulled through for the next day (ignoring his advice to stay home). however, he wasn't going to comment about that at the moment.

his gaze never left you the entire time. alhaitham was so incredibly focused on your face, studying you and focusing on you like a researcher would, hoping to never let something as brilliant as you go. his eyes traced the movement of your mouth every time you groaned; the way you squeezed your eyes shut when you raved about another frustration; the way your hands moved sporadically through the air.

again, when did go from simply observing you to essentially admiring your every move? and why is it so easy to do so?

"hey," you dragged out the word and poked his cheek. "were you even listening to me? or were you just gawking at me?"

alhaitham is snapped out of his daze, refocusing back on your words. well, he was always focused on your words. just not at this moment. "of course i was listening," alhaitham rolls his eyes teasingly, "if he ran all the way to gandharva ville, maybe he had more to hide. why else would he go through all the trouble? or maybe your face scared him so much he felt he had to run far, far away."

you rolled your eyes, "very funny, acting grand sage. are you trying to get involved in matra business now?"

"quite the contrary," alhaitham countered, "just wanted to get involved in my partner's life. is that a crime?"

"yes," you replied instantaneously. "you'll be arrested now. hope you know that you're getting the life sentence," you grinned, grabbing his wrists and placing them by your hips. you were caged underneath him, smiling wide as ever.

alhaitham finds it hard to not smile back at your antics. most of the time, he tried to keep a stoic composure to keep people away and hide his intentions. but with you, he finds that it all melts away, leaving it only you and him and nothing but bliss.

you were the first to break the silence, "so... were you actually listening to me or were you just making inferences based on what i was saying earlier?" your voice was nothing above a whisper, letting it be known that it was only you and him in the house.

"'course i was listening to you," his voice matched your soft tone, words filled with sincerity and admiration, "how could i not with a voice as sweet as yours?"

and that's when you lose it. you lose it for two reasons: alhaitham was teasing you and you knew that during your entire rant you sounded anything but sweet. malice and exasperation flowed through you as you spoke about today's events. alhaitham was simply pulling your leg, the bastard.

but, that did prove that he was listening. only he would be able to distinct the way your words moved through the air, tainting it with annoyance and irritation. only he would know.

you shoved alhaitham off of you, sending him back to the other side of the couch. "you're disgusting!" you giggled and shoved his shoulder, "i've had enough of you. i'm going to bed," you grabbed a pillow from the couch and shoved your face in it, hoping that alhaitham wouldn't be able to see your blush.

but of course, alhaitham sees through you yet again. "okay. i'll see you soon," he picked up his book and continued to read, knowing that you'd be next to him in a matter of seconds. if you weren't in the matra, you would have had a fulfilling career as a researcher with your curiosity.

"what are you reading?" you rest your head on his shoulder, peering at the pages. you let the pillow that you were holding go, now discarded to the side as you moved towards your boyfriend.

alhaitham closed the book to show you the title, which you read out loud, "remarkably bright creatures. taking a break from nonfiction?" you turned your head to look at him. that feeling alhaitham had in the beginning of your relationship came back, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. no matter how many years you two have been together, alhaitham thinks that he will never be able to shake off the feeling of being in love with you.

"needed to replenish my pallet," he shrugged simply. his vagueness made you even more curiouser, alhaitham's goal in the first place. you could chalk this up to him trying to engage your interests again, but really, alhaitham just wanted your affection. as stupid as it sounds, alhaitham is a man who (at the end of the day) just wants his partner's touch.

you let out a hum and move closer towards him. you had your knees raised up to your chest, reading the words alongside him. your arms were touching, your head almost leaned onto his shoulder.

once you found yourself fascinated enough with the novel, alhaitham took this as his chance to get you closer. he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, now so close that he could feel the air exhale from your nose. you, too distracted from the words in front of you, didn't seem to pay any mind.

"'as a general rule, i like holes,'" alhaitham began to read from the book, causing you to subvert your gaze towards his face, "'a hole at the top of my tank gives me freedom. but i do not like the hole in her heart. she only has one, not three, like me. tova’s heart. i will do everything i can to help her fill it.'”

"you know," your fingers dance along the bicep that you've curled under, "this octopus reminds me of a certain someone. impassive on the outside, yet he cares about others on the inside."

"comparing me to a sea animal now? i'm surprised you've hit a new low," alhaitham teases you. he accepts your compliment by kissing you on your jaw.

"shut up!" you swat at the same bicep you were just relaxed under, "if i was really comparing you to a sea creature, you'd be a sea lion. cute on the outside, but horrible on the inside," you exaggerated.

alhaitham smirks, "you think i'm cute?"

you immediately notice where you've went wrong. you can't hide your flustered expression from alhaitham this time. you wouldn't be surprised if the bastard planned this. "i also said you were horrible."

"but you also said i was cute," he retorted as if he was boasting.

"emphasis on was. maybe not anymore," you couldn't help but smile at your response.

alhaitham pressed a kiss to your temple, "really? not at all?" he raised an eyebrow as he looked down into your eyes. they say eyes are the window to the soul, and alhaitham is one to think that it is true. he didn't really believe it before he met you, but now, everytime alhaitham looks at you it's as if he can understand everything you're trying to say based on one gaze.

alhaitham was already leaning forward when you decided to kiss him, like he knew that it was coming. cocky, you wanted to think. but you know that's not the truth.

alhaitham knows you so well that it's disgustingly endearing.

hi guys!! sorry i've been away for so long. my writer's block has been so bad and it also doesn't help that i've began my six-week volunteer program as well as other work. i'll try to regulate updates to be asap, but i still dk bc of my crazy schedule. hopefully i'll be able to update more often, but until then!

[justarandompersononthehellsite]

So... @muffinlance wrote a really awesome story. I read a post from a point in time, though I truly do not remember when since it seems like I've been working on this project forever, saying that she gives blanket permission for people to print and bind the story into a book (I think there was an also addendum saying that they do not give permission to be sold, since selling fic is illegal). This fic has had total control over my whole brain since it was sent to me (@creatorofthemind I believe it was you, so thank you forever for tuning me into it) back during the days of like chapter six or seven.

So here I am now, sharing this amazing journey of my first ever bookbinding adventure. Further reading below.

So to give you an idea of what's going on, this is a fanfiction about Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender) (animated show version, the LA show did not exist yet and we do not speak of the movie) being adopted by Hakoda, Father of Katara and Zuko. (This might have also been what kicked off the Give Zuko A Parent craze, but don't fact check me.)

Overall, the characters from the show stick very well to the cannon versions, but where MuffinLance really shines is in the rich backstories and fleshed out feeling of all the non cannon elements. Especially the background characters. I would argue that the writing in this peice of fanwork could easily rival the cannon show at many points of comparison.

Now that you have context, we can get into the actual process.

To start, I used this guide to figure out where to even begin, and fount the included resource list to also be quite helpful. I cannot for the LIFE OF ME figure out where I found the template I used for the front matter and such, but it must be somewhere and I will link to it when I inevitably come across it again.

Then I began to typeset. This step took... a long time. I worked in chunks from about September of 2022 to late March of 2024. I would get a big section done, sometimes even the entire thing, but then find I hated the way I had done it and give up for months at a time. Such is the life of ADHD and flitting interest in projects I suppose.

And then finally, step one was done, and I was left with pages on a word document that look like this. (And do please let me know if you want the link to the document. It was so much work, and I would love to not be the only one to use it.)

Next step was printing out this beast. Ended up being about eight pages of front matter, and about 630 pages of body text.

That I printed wrong.

Twice.

Before finally getting it right. And then not getting a picture of it, because I finished at 4 am and had work at 7, and am also an idiot.

Then I simply stitched along, putting everything together into a beautiful text block.

And came up with a design for the cover.

Yes the glue did end up lumpy. Ignore it.

Yes I did have to sketch out the design onto a scraped page several times before I figured out what I was doing. Ignore that too.

The cover design does wrap around the entire cover. No I did not get a picture before I glued the thing down. See again: I'm an idiot. And just... massively impatient.

Finally, we get to the stage of gluing. Behold, my bookpress.

Of course, topped with Madam MuffinLances own actual professional-people book, Fox's Tounge and Kirin's Bone. It is Excelent. Here is the LINK so you can go and support this amazing author with the real-monies as well as the internet-kudos.

Then, once everything is glued together, one must give the book its "gilt" edges.

[tteokdoroki]

actor!au with bakugou where you’re on the press tour for your up and coming princess movie or something.

of course he’s the romantic interest to your character, the lead, so you’re paired together for the entire junket — seated with one another for interviews across the globe. the whole experience is filled with laughter, smiles, and sharing little facts about one another behind the scenes.

you’re always the first person bakugou searches for on the red carpet at each premier — he reaches for your hand during photos and sneakily slips one around your waist to subconsciously pull you closer towards him.

the fans all think that you’re in love from the way katsuki hangs into your every word when the two of you are stopped for questions. the way he whole heartedly laughs, with his whole body, at a joke you’ve told that’s probably not even that funny.

it’s probably not true. you’re just coworkers who spent months getting to know one another. coworkers who’ve kissed more times than you can count with one hand and who’ve shared secret snacks on set because the days were long and hot but totally worth it for the smiles little girls and boys give you when their princess and her prince bend down to give them a squeeze.

you know that you’ll miss bakugou when this is all over and the movie is out and you’re not showing up to red carpets trying to guess if the PR team will have coordinated your outfits to match those of the final scene in the movie when your characters get married. you’ll hope to work with him again, secretly, praying that you get to be close to him once more.

the final straw that breaks the camels back and gets you to realise that maybe you like bakugou a little more than just co-stars is when you’re both invited for a special interview with big fans of your princess film. children not older than eight or nine wriggle in front of you both with curious questions and katsuki is equally as charmed as you by the costumes they wear that link up with your characters.

for the most part they ask you silly questions like the hardest thing about being a prince or princess, what time you have to wake up for filming and your favourite foods (to which you tell them “he likes spicy tofu, the kind that makes you breathe fire!” and bakugou replies with “are you tellin’ ‘em i’ve got bad breath?” and that makes the kids laugh). but then, the little boy sitting opposite bakugou grows shy and timid towards the end of your time together and the blonde stops the interview from ending so that he can get his question out.

“how did you know that you were in love with her?”

your heart flutters, and you don’t have the heart to tell the poor boy that your acting is make believe and for the silver screen — but bakugou beats you to it, ruffling the kid’s hair fondly.

“i knew ‘cause i was always lookin’ for her whenever we entered a room. she was the first person i saw, the last person i’d want to see,” he rasps, the wisps of a smile on his lips despite the cameras rolling and capturing what feels like a love confession towards his costar. towards you. “i knew ‘cause she was always so kind to me even when i didn’t deserve it, to people who doubted her, to people who loved her. s’been a while since i realised, guess i never said anythin’ but if you like a princess, kid — make sure you tell her before a handsome prince snatches her up first.”

the boy grins eagerly at the blonde’s answer and filming wraps up from there. “they’ll have to cut that bit out,” you say softly, making your way back to the dressing rooms with katsuki. “to avoid scandal, probably.”

but he cocks his head, rolling his eyes at you as if you hadn’t understood a word he’d said. “it’d only be a scandal if it weren’t true. i meant what i said. i like you, dummy.”

you lean against the dressing room door, mouth agape. “w-why didn’t you say anything before?”

“because i was just worried that my princess had already been swept off her feet by her handsome prince.”

“by you, i’d been swept of my feet by you. stupid.”

you take a step back and bakugou follows you forward, caging you in. “guess that makes me your prince charming.” he quips, leaning down to your height.

tilting your head upwards, you smile gently and let your hands rest on katsuki’s broad shoulders. “you’ve been playing that part for the last few months, have you not.”

“yeah, ‘guess i have,” he mirrors your expression, lips brushing over yours in a real true loves kiss.

[nsharks]

Patient | Simon Riley x Reader

words: 3992

plot: you bring Simon home from the airport after months of not seeing him. he finds something in your apartment that triggers a discussion about your “situationship”

tags: drug mention, fem!reader

Whatever it is you share with Simon, it’s beyond complicated. So complicated that neither of you talk about the details too much or ask a lot of questions. Not yet.

He’s gone for months at a time. When he is home, you practically move in with him for the time being, moving your toothbrush into his bathroom and your favorite pajamas into his closet. When he’s home, he will hold you and stroke your hair and kiss all over your body and fuck you senseless. He will tell bits and pieces of his time out in the field, but never all of it. And in return, you tell him bits of your life, which always seems so boring and tame by comparison.

The complication arises in the fact that you have never seen Simon’s face. Not fully, anyway. Even off duty, he wears a painted balaclava and usually has a hoodie draped over his head to keep his face in shadows. Even when you sleep together, he typically prefers to keep a long-sleeve thermal on and some sweats. He fucks you by just pulling down his trousers low enough to take his cock out. You asked him about it at first, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours, but slowly you gave up on the idea. Being bare, exposed and vulnerable with all his scars on display, is not something Simon is okay with even after the eight months you’ve been… doing this together.

To complicate things further, the two of you never talk about your feelings. Not towards each other, anyway. He’s never said I love you, and although you’ve let a few things slip from time to time, you’ve never said it either.

There are some nights when he is home that you’re awoken by his body thrashing around under the blanket. Simon will groan and cry out in his sleep, and you’ll gently take his head into your hands and plant kisses all over his face until he calms down. You’ll whisper against his skin, “I love your eyes. I love your hands. I love your voice. I love your heart.”

You never say “I love you”, though, because that’s not something you feel safe telling him. And if Simon ever remembers the things you whisper by the time he wakes up in the morning, he has never mentioned it.

The past month without him was particularly hard. The complications of your relationship were starting to gnaw at you, the lack of commitment and lack of his presence taunting you each time someone asked about your ‘boyfriend’.

“He’s not really my boyfriend,” you’d tell friends, smiling half-heartedly. “He’s not… We’re both not ready for something like that. Especially when he’s gone all the time.”

They would nod like they understood, but their questions always made your chest tighten and your mind spiral. It felt embarrassing having to explain it sometimes. You pretended to shrug it off and act like you were okay with how things were, but the truth was, something in you was crying out for more than what Simon was able to give.

You pick him up from the airport the night he comes back.

You’re waiting in the car, fingers drumming against your thigh, and eyes peeled for any sight of him. When he does come out, it’s not hard to spot him amid the crowd, with his tall frame and broad shoulders and SAS uniform still clinging to his body.

Moisture swells in your eyes the moment you spot him, recalling all the nights alone when you missed being in the warmth and safety of his arms. You never heard from him while he was gone. Radio silence for four long months did things to your mental health, even if the man wasn’t really your boyfriend.

You wipe your eyes once he sees your car.

You get out to help him put his things in the back, even though know he doesn’t need any help. But you’re desperate to see him, to smell him and feel his body against yours after nightmares of him not returning.

“Hey… hey now,” he says when you pad up to him, always feeling small in his presence.

Simon has his quirks.

He’s not much of a hugger, never has been. So instead of pulling you in for a normal embrace, he grabs the back of your head and leans down, nuzzling his masked face into the warmth of your neck. That was as much of a “hug” as he would ever give you and it causes flutters to erupt in your stomach.

“Hi,” you whisper, touching his back as he breathes you in. You want to tell him you missed him, but those words feel too intimate, and you’re always worried about scaring him off. So instead, you say, “It’s good to see you, Simon.”

“It’s good to see you, too, pet,” Simon mutters, his voice just as thickly accented and drawled out at you remember.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

You try to help him with his backpack but he doesn’t let you. “Just get in the car,” he tells you, and you obey his order.

The drive from the airport is a quiet one. Not uncomfortably so, because you had anticipated him to be silent. He usually was whenever he first came back from duty. How could he not be? You understood better than anyone how difficult the transition was for him. He sits there while you drive, his hooded eyes staring out the window at the town called his “home”, but Simon isn’t sure if it has ever felt like one.

“Do you want to stay at my place for the night?” you ask him after some time.

Finally, Simon makes some acknowledgement of you, your words snapping him out of his heavy daze. His hand reaches over to splay atop your thigh and the simple touch is enough to replace his lack of words.

“Sure,” he nods. “Tomorrow, we’ll get ya into my place, yeah?”

You nod in return, glad for his verbal confirmation that he does still want you moving in with him while he is here. Secretly, you believed that Simon’s greatest fear was being alone, because ever since you’d known him, he’d done everything he could to be in your company.

Even though he loves having you near him, there are still days where Simon seems to be stuck in his own world. You can remember, just before he left four months ago, a day when he hadn’t spoken a word to you even though you were both in the house together. He’d walk past you in the kitchen, glance at you a few times, but then just stalk off into his room and lock the door. You had never asked him why, because you knew he wouldn’t tell you if you did, and because he was back to kissing and touching you the next day like nothing happened.

You often wondered about the things that haunted him when he got like that. Simon’s past was a dark canyon of trauma, that much you knew, and sometimes it hurt to watch him sit in that canyon all by himself and refuse to see the light you offered as a beacon.

Everything was fine until you reached your apartment.

It’s not often that he visits you here since it’s usually you staying with him. But it’s closer to the airport than Simon’s place, and you can only imagine how tired he must be, so you pull up to your flat and quietly guide him up the stairs with your purse slung over your shoulder. You’d only managed to put a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt to go get him, but you know he doesn’t mind it, especially when he grabs at your ass on the way up the stairs.

You flush and tap his hand away.

“I figured you’d be too tired tonight,” you say sweetly, biting your lip as you shuffle through your purse for the keys.

“I’m never too tired,” Simon says simply, and touches your butt again. It’s a possessive yet gentle touch. “You can never find your bloody your keys, babe.”

“No, they’re here,” you mumble, loving the sound of the pet name tumbling from his lips. He is sporadic with his use of affectionate names, sometimes going weeks without calling you babe or baby, so when he does say it, it sends a wave of warmth through your chest.

He lifts the hand off your ass and reaches in the purse for you.

“Here,” Simon says with a roll of his eyes, finding your keys before you can.

“Thanks.”

Despite the quiet car ride, and despite the lack of “I missed you’s”, Simon is quick to let you know just how much he was thinking about you the past four months the moment you open the door.

One minute you’re breathing normally, and the next you feel the wind knocked out your lungs as he tosses his bag to the floor and pushes you up against the door. His balaclava is pulled up within seconds, just enough for him to get his warm mouth on yours as his hands touch everywhere and anywhere.

You’re not sure if you are weak or if he is just all-consuming, but every night spent away from his touch and every worry about your future together suddenly seems so far away now that his body is so close. His lips are rough and feverish and his tongue laps against yours. It takes you a minute to fully respond, bringing your hands up to his chest and feeling the firmness of him underneath his uniform.

“Thought a lot about these lips,” he tells you lowly. His hands cup your bum and give it a squeeze. “Thought a lot about this, too.”

Is this his way of saying he missed you? Your heart takes the words and runs with them, melting into his arms as he keeps your body pressed against the door.

“Simon,” you sigh into the kisses. Relief washes over you and leaves behind a building warmth between your legs. You feel needy, four months of only having your fingers and memories of him to keep you company, and you make sure he is aware of just how needy you are by grabbing his hand and guiding it under the waistband of your sweats.

“You’ve been thinking about me too, then?” he asks, almost unsure of the question. You want to pinch his shoulder and tell him that of course you were thinking about him. You didn’t have it in you to think about much else.

He practically growls when he feels the wetness of your underwear.

“Good to know I’ve still got such an effect ya, pet,” his voice is low.

He’s touching you there now, igniting your veins with a heat that you’ve been desperate to recreate in his absence. You’re not sure you can live without this, this warm touching and eager kissing that you’ve only ever shared with Simon.

It’s almost enough, you think. It’s almost enough to keep you happy despite all of of the flaws and unspoken words and months apart.

Slipping his hand out, he picks you up all of the sudden with such ease that you feel weightless. His hands on your bum and your legs instinctively wrapping around his torso, he breaks away from your lips only so he can see where he’s going. The departure of his warm mouth makes you pout, digging your fingers into his shoulders and instead latching your lips onto his warm neck as a replacement.

The game of pretend you are playing- the one where everything is fine and you’re happy and his touch is enough to replace his love- comes to an abrupt end when Simon suddenly stops.

You don’t even notice at first. Just keep sucking and nibbling at his neck until he lets go of you, your body sliding against his so you’re feet meet the floor.

“What-“ his brows are furrowed and he’s looking at something behind you. “What the fuck is that?”

“What’s what?” you ask, wiping the wetness from your mouth and following the direction of his darkened gaze.

You’re confused, belly still churning with need, and you’re wondering what the hell could have made him take his hands off you.

Then, you see it. The thing he’s staring at so intently. Your racing heart slows down once you see the rolled up joint on your coffee table you that stupidly left out for some reason.

Shit.

“Simon, it’s just… it’s just a little pick-me-up I bought the other day. It’s really not-“

“You’ve been doing drugs?” he questions, voice low and laced with something that sounds like disgust.

“Well, no, not drugs. Just weed. Only a little bit while you-“

“While I was gone?” He almost laughs, uncharacteristically, and shakes his head to himself. “Christ, what else have you been doing while I was gone, huh?”

You swallow. “It’s really not… it’s not a big deal, okay? Let’s go to my room.”

Attempting to wrap your hand around his doesn’t result in the distraction that you hoped for. Instead, Simon seems barely fazed by your touch, still standing in the same spot and breathing fiercely. You wish you could see him under that mask because maybe then you’d have a better understanding of what he’s feeling, and why this seems to bother him so much.

“I’ve disappointed you,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about it.”

“Well, I do,” he says gruffly, with a voice you’d heard only on a few occasions when his temper was kicking in. Simon could get angry, just like anyone else, and it was something that actually benefited him out in the field when he was yelling commands and knifing people in the neck. But here, with you, his anger is something he works very hard to reign in because he knows from experience how things could get ugly, fast.

“I do have strong feelings about it,” he continues slowly, and you’re certain that his nostrils are flaring under that mask of his. “I hate that shit, Y/N. I don’t want you using it anymore.”

The command, spoken as if you were his subordinate, causes your teeth to sink into your cheek and the next words that fly from your mouth are not words you have any control over.

“It’s not like you’re my boyfriend, Simon. You can’t just order me around. Why should you even care?”

You regret them as they come out, but once they are spoken into the air, you actually feel a weight lift from your shoulders just enough to let you breathe for a moment. The towering man in your living room doesn’t seem to share your relief, because now he is pinching the bridge of his nose and swearing under his breath.

“Fucking hell,” Simon grunts. You’ve clearly stoked the flames of his frustration even further. But did you say anything other than the truth? The gnawing truth that he so conveniently likes to pretend doesn’t share a space between you and him, keeping you from ever truly being close to each other.

“That’s it… I need to- I need to be alone,” he declares, a vein in his neck ticking. “Don’t wanna… don’t wanna argue with you, alright?”

You blink away the sudden moisture in your eyes and nod, wishing that you could be back in his arms. But by the way he’s looking anywhere but you, you get the feeling that Simon would like to be very far away from you.

“Okay,” you mouth, nails clenching into the palms of your hands. Why couldn’t he just tell you what was wrong? Why was that so hard?

He had a habit of doing this when he was pissed off. Though it’s only been a few times, you can recall Simon shutting down before his anger ever rose to its full potential. He hated arguing. He’d usually stalk off to his room or go take a long shower, but right now, you watch him walk back to the front door.

Your heart flutters. “You’re leaving?”

“For a walk,” is all he says, leaving you confused and hurt and feeling like your relationship was somehow even more complicated than it was while he was gone.

____

By the time you hear the front door open, you’ve almost dozed off to sleep. You’re propped on the couch, legs tucked against your stomach, and your eyelids red and heavy from all the crying you’ve done.

You felt like you had a right to anger, too. Out of nowhere, he’d demanded that you quit a recreational habit as if he was someone who deserved a say over your life. He could tell you to stop smoking weed but he couldn’t tell you he cared about you?

But you’d read somewhere in a book once that all traces of anger lead back to hurt. You were hurt more than anything, having felt the shame and disappointment roll off him in waves when he’d seen the joint on the table. Simon made you feel like you’d done something horribly wrong, but couldn’t even explain why. Even after a year, he didn’t trust you enough to be vulnerable about whatever thoughts or memories were surfacing in his mind.

He opens the door and your eyes flutter from the sound of it. You’re quick to your feet.

“Hi,” you say, swallowing the hoarseness away.

There’s a red tinge lining your puffy eyes that he would be blind not to notice.

Simon mutters a quiet, “Hey.”

Then, he nods over to the couch behind you. “Sit down, yeah?”

Obliging, you’re now sitting at the edge of the couch with your knee bouncing gently and your fingers laced together. He sits down beside you. The joint on the table is long gone. You’d tossed it the moment he left.

You’re ready to go first, start off with how confused you are, but he beats you to it.

“My brother was a drug addict,” Simon states, his eyes round and dark and wounded. “I realize I never told you that before.”

Oh.

“He’s dead now,” he continues, watching your face carefully as he shares this information with you. A piece of himself that he’d never shared before. “Not because of the drugs, but that doesn’t matter. It was really… it was not fun watching him go through that, yeah?”

You nod, your throat now dry and new tears threatening your eyes.

“There was a time,” Simon rubs at his eyes as he gathers his words. He hasn’t said this much all at once ever in his life and it’s foreign and weird and uncomfortable, but after his walk, he realized that it was necessary. “There was a time when I had problems with it, too.”

He leaves it at that, not willing to say more. He gauges your reaction with a haunted stare and you simply nod again, accepting what he’s told you, but not offering any judgement of the past. He’d played the words over and over in his head during his walk. Kept changing his mind on whether or not to tell you. Would you hate him for it? Would your eyes fill with pity and disgust?

Simon knew that the words were out now, a little bit of his darkness out in the open for you to see. He hates sharing things like this because, well, saying them aloud makes them feel more real. Less distant.

But for right now, with how you are looking so tenderly at him, Simon thinks to himself that it didn’t feel nearly as terrible as he thought. Your hand finally reaches out to find his, a gentle thumb brushing over his knuckles as if to let him know you are here, with him.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” you whisper when there’s been a stretch of silence. “I know that was hard for you, opening up about that. But I… I have to open up with you about something, too.”

His hand stiffens under yours. “What?”

You wonder if it’s the right time. Maybe you should just draw him in and kiss him and swallow your feelings down into your stomach where they’ve been staying for some time now.

But if there was ever a right time, it had to be now.

“While you were gone,” you begin, clearing your throat. “I realized that I-I need more than this, Simon.”

Those wounded eyes are now curious and unreadable, glazing over your the sight of your touching hands. “What do you mean by more?”

“I mean that,” you lick your damp lips, “I mean that I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you. I know you don’t feel the same, but it’s killing me to keep holding back. To keep feeling like… you’re always hiding yourself from me. I didn’t even know you had a brother until just now.”

You think maybe he will get up and walk away again, or tell you you’re off your rocker. This is the most intimate conversation you’ve ever shared, so you’ve no idea how he’s feeling about it. For you, it’s equally as scary as it is everything you knew you needed to say.

To your surprise, Simon leans over and does that thing of his where he nuzzles his covered face into your neck. Your body tenses from the shock of such a gesture.

“Of course I care about you,” are the words he decides to breathe into your neck, resting his head fully on your shoulder. It’s got to be an uncomfortable position for someone his stature, to lean across the couch like that, but he keeps his head there anyway and you happily melt against him. “I missed you like crazy, you know that?”

“You did?” you whisper, in a daze, and your fingers settling at the nape of his neck. You can’t believe it.

“Fuckin’ hell, I did,” he rasps. “I missed you… s’much.”

You hold him. Arms wrapping around the breadth of his shoulders, you feel his wound-up muscles underneath your touch and you sigh into him. It feels unreal, to hear him say those words after a year of him hesitating to even call you ‘babe’.

“Be patient with me, pet,” Simon mumbles, his hand finding yours as you sit together like that for some comfortable minutes. “I know you deserve more from me.”

Patient. If there was one word to describe you, it’d have to be that.

You kiss the top of his head over his mask. Tonight, he trusted you with a dark part of himself, and he told you he cares.

For now, that would be enough.