#and the second one he asks her to come and reaches out his hand for her to grab

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

standing in the steps of mine

how spencer deals with the fact that his daughter might be getting bullied at school

fluff word count: 1421 warnings & tags & stuff: dad!spence, references to spencer's bullying, references to spencer's dad leaving, its verryy comforting, they celebrate father's day on a friday WHOOPS my bad, umm just spencer being the best dad ever author's note: WOAH its been a long time!! sorry about that i went a little crazy about this app. i missed posting on here very very much and am still working on my self esteem when it comes to posting. so. this is terrifying. anywayyy i hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts if you have any! i love you and have a stellar day!!

“I did it wrong, I can’t give it to you.” 

This is, unfortunately, the first full sentence Anne has said since coming home from school, if you don’t count her little mhms and mm-mms tinted with a premature edge of sass Spencer claims to be all you.

Now, sitting on her newly acquired big-girl bed, Anne’s shoulders are worryingly slumped, voice meek. Her arms are hugging her backpack tightly, making sure no one except her can open it to see its contents, which– as you know from her contrastingly excited rambles during the car ride to school– include a Father’s Day craft made during her snack time just for Spencer.

“What do you mean, wrong, honey? Can we see?” Spencer asks her, crouching down to her eye level, thumb stroking her knee. After just a few seconds of trying to combat his imploring gaze, apparently just as effective on kids, she relents, unzipping her sparkly bag and taking out the slightly wrinkled paper. 

Her body language can only be read as small as she hands it to him, shy.

Right in the middle is a large, carefully drawn, and only slightly lopsided, plum purple heart. Inside, four names are written in black marker. Daddy, (the biggest, it is his day after all) Mommy, Slinky, (paired with a drawing of your cat) and Mrs. Agnes. (Stuffed unicorn.) 

Spencer utterly melts when he sees it, and looks her in the eye. “Anne, honeybear, this is perfect. Thank you so much. Can you tell me what about this you think is wrong?” You crouch too as he says that, rubbing her back.

She purses her trembling lips. “Ben said it was s’posed to be red since love is red, and that purple is dumb.” Spencer tilts his head.

“Well, lots of people do think love is red, but I bet it can be other colors too. In many countries east of here, orange can show love. Or, when you see blue, your brain tends to think of things associated with safety and trust. Trust is a kind of love, right?” Spencer explains. Anne nods hesitantly. “It doesn’t have to be red. He shouldn’t have called it dumb.”

“What do you feel when you see purple?” you ask, showing her the heart again.

“Um. Calm. And family. Since Daddy’s favorite color is purple,” she sniffles. “And the scarf you always make fun of him for wearing before you kiss g’bye in the mornings, an’ Mrs. A-agnes.” A fat tear drops down her face, and she shrugs. “I didn’t know. It should’ve been red. I just messed it all up.”

Spencer reassesses, thumb reaching out to wipe away the tear. It’s typical of Anne to have some self-esteem issues, sure, but they’d never not gone away with some reassurance. This is different. 

That’s when it hits him.

This isn’t just the body language of a sad kid. It’s the body language of a kid being teased. Her tucked in shoulders, short replies, breathing patterns, it’s so clear to him. Spencer’s mind reels, taken aback at just how long it took him to recognise this. In his own child. Her bow lips are pressed into the same exact guilty line his were at her age too. The same line he bore when his father had something to say, and when he was shoved against the goalpost in highschool, and when he was ostracised by his peers in college. 

He stills the stroking against her knee. “Anne, do you know Ben’s last name?” His voice is thin, wavery. 

“Umm, G.” 

He exhales a breath. “What about his full last name? Do you know that?” he presses. When she gives him a confused look, you interject.

“That’s okay, honey. Hey, do you wanna go hang this up on the fridge? I think Slinky needs some food too, do you wanna be in charge of that tonight? One and a half scoops, okay?”

She nods, momentarily distracted from thoughts of Ben G. and instead tottles off to do her favorite chore, despite her sadness.

Spencer looks at you the second she’s out. “I think she’s getting bullied.”

“We don’t know that for sure, Spencer,” you reason softly. “She hasn’t told us enough.” He ignores you, shaky hands digging in his pockets for his phone.

“I am not taking that risk. Garcia can find this…” he sputters. “Twerp.”

“Spencer, you are not seriously getting the FBI involved. I don’t care if it’s our child’s godmother.” 

“It’s Anne.” He spins and looks at you, eyes intense. “I’m not fucking this up. I’m not.” 

“I know it’s Anne. God, Spence, I know. Just let me call her teacher first. I don’t want an angry parent coming for us because we accused their son of bullying and got the federal authorities involved before they even knew what was going on. Okay?”

The panic behind his eyes softens a little. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he rasps out. You extend your arms for a little hug, which he sinks into. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.”

“It’s okay. She’s really good at covering it up. We’ll just… see if we can make her feel better for now and get more information out of her later?” He nods into your neck, knowing the two of you can, at the very least, do that. 

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Stop one-upping me on Father’s day. How’re you so calm?” 

You exhale a soft laugh. “I really don’t know. How do you wanna make her feel better, though?”

…

He comes out to the kitchen to see her staring at her drawing, obviously still hesitant to hang it up. She stands next to Slinky as he eats, making sure he has company, of course, but her eyes don’t lift from her paper.

“Hey honey? I don’t think I properly thanked you for this. May I?” Spencer asks her quietly. She hands the paper over reluctantly, and he hangs it up, then swoops her into his arms so they’re eye to eye. “I can’t believe you remembered Daddy’s favorite color.” he tells her, voice full of sincerity. “You know how full that makes my heart?”

She shrugs, tucking her head into his neck.

“This tells me just how much you love me and our whole family. This is the best Father’s day gift I’ve ever received. You’re considerate. Do you know what that means?” she peeks out at Spencer, and sees his light eyes looking down at her. 

She, very gently, shakes her head no, lips twitching out of that thin line and into a giddy smile. She’s a blur the second he sets her down, zooming all the way to the tall bookshelf next to the fireplace. 

…

Resting on the bottom, easily accessible, are two halves of the Compact Oxford English Dictionary, each practically half the size of her. She pauses, remembering the word Spencer told her, and selects the first one. A through O. She lifts it with a little huff of effort and runs right back, nestling herself on the couch right next to you, where you’re strategically waiting with a blanket and cuddles. She peeks up at you subtly for confirmation she grabbed the right dictionary, and you give her a little nod. 

“What letter are we looking for, little bear?” you ask, hand moving to her hair to stroke. Spencer comes and sits on the other side of her, having gone to wash his face.

“C.” She says definitively, flipping through the thin pages. She skims quickly and methodically, a procedure no doubt inherited from her father. 

You’re all quiet, air filled with the soft sounds of paper flipping. It’s peaceful, despite the stress you know Spencer is still feeling. You reach for his hand, pointer gently tracing to his pulse point. Much slower than it was a few minutes ago. 

Support, reassurance, distraction. It’s really simple. It took him, what, a minute to figure it out? How to make her feel the slightest bit better?

A fucking minute.

He blinks the thought from his brain, ignores the jabbing in his heart, and focuses instead on looking at his two girls and how the light from the lamp catches the color of your hair. Anne soon falls asleep against you two late that night after finally finding considerate, and you bring her to her big-girl bed, the little scrunch between her eyebrows that she shares with Spencer nowhere to be seen. 

[mywritersmind]

NOT ONE TO GIVE UP - LN4

summary : in which… a specific nosy neighbor can’t stop flirting.

listen up : lando norris is persistent! slight sex talk.

words : 2327

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Girl… come on.” My best friend rolls her eyes at me, sipping her drink while I scoff.

“What?” I say, even though I already know what she’s going to tell me.

“He’s hot!” She practically yells, “You should go for him.”

The ‘he’ in question is my neighbor who annoys me to no end. Mostly known as Lando Norris.

I shake my head, the image of his curly hair and wide smile appearing in my head from just seconds before when he came to ask me for sugar. I mean seriously, sugar!? We’re not in some story tail. “No way!”

She groans, “Why not? He clearly has a thing for you!”

It’s true. He does clearly have a thing for me. He’s cute and all, don’t get me wrong- but I just can’t.

“Come on.” I sigh, “I don’t go for guys like that.”

“Hot, genuinely kind, sexy, rich men?” I swear to god she already prepared that line.

“He’s a player! I’d be like a toy. Plus, I don’t like him!” She scoffs as if it’s the biggest lie she’s ever head.

“What don’t you like about him?”

“He’s arrogant-”

“Wants to show off for you!” She corrects me.

“And loud!”

She smirks, “Sounds like he’s fun!”

I eye her, “And he’s always bugging me!” Crossing my arms, I sit back in my chair, “Trust me. I will never go out with Lando Norris.”

⋆༺

Three weeks later, after many quiet nights, I yell at him to stop the elevator. Of course, I didn’t know it was him.

But the slip of a man’s tanned and veiny hand into the closing doors made me know instantly. He’s smiling when I walk in. “Need help?”

His tone is casual while I probably look like an idiot trying to hold all my bags. “No- I’m good!” He doesn't listen, grabbing three of my four grocery bags out of my hands like it’s nothing. “I- thanks… I’m having a dinner party.”

I say it as if I'm ashamed to be buying so much food. He doesn’t even blink. “That’s fun.” For a second, I worry he’s going to invite himself, “What are you making?”

He lets me talk the full minute it takes for us to get to our floor, letting me walk ahead while he still holds onto my bags.

I haven’t seen him in a while, he looks tanner, maybe a bit tired too. “Thanks for the help.” I smile as I open my door, reaching out to take the bags but he practically pushes right past me!

“You look like you’d fall over if you held all of them again.” He looks around before finding the kitchen and setting them down on the counter. “Nice place.”

I eye him, “Thanks.”

“It’s very… you.” His eyes still wander and I realize I hate the thought of him seeing my space, especially when it hasn’t been cleaned.

I raise a brow, “You don’t even know me.”

“More of a vibe thing.” He walks towards the door, turning around as he holds the door handle to look at me, “Though if you want me to know you more i’d be more than happy.” He winks at me before shutting the door.

⋆༺

I bang on his door after exactly two nights of uninterrupted sleep. He opens it with a wide grin and a far too awake face for three in the morning. “Lando. I can hear you.”

“Sorry, love.” After I blink at the nickname, I realize he’s not wearing a shirt. He leans against the doorframe when I drag my eyes away from his annoyingly perfect body and back to his annoyingly perfect face.

“What are you even doing?” I cross my arms.

He looks almost surprised at my question, “Um… streaming.”

“Streaming involves gun shots?” I say as his brow quirks, “We share a wall, you know.”

“Have you ever heard…” He trails off as if I'm going to understand immediately. When I don’t, he comes right out with it, “Sex stuff?”

My face goes red, I know it because I can feel my cheeks heat and because Lando’s smile grows. “No!” I say it louder than necessary.

“Okay. Just wondering.” He bites his lip, his gaze feeling much more loaded now, “Well, if you ever want to, let me know.”

I groan and walk back to my door, “Goodnight Lando!”

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “Night, love.”

⋆༺

I see him on TV a week later. I’m sat on my couch, trying to stop crying over the movie I just finished, and skipping through channels.

I almost miss it. I click past. But I go back once my teary eyes realize what I saw.

It’s Lando. He’s holding a microphone, in his race suit, with a sad look on his face. I’ve never seen him so down, but then again whenever I see him, it’s when he’s flirting with me.

I honestly have no clue what he’s talking about, too focused on how his eyes droop a bit and how his curls are clearly flattened from his helmet. I don’t know a lot about F1, but I suddenly want to know more.

⋆༺

“Hey!” I hear my name in the bar, expecting it to be one of my friends but when I turn- it’s definitely not. Lando is making his way through the crowd, in all black and holding a beer.

“Oh- hey.” My best friend eyes the exact moment he stops in front of me, her eyes wide as she leaves me to fend for myself.

Okay so maybe I don’t hate Lando. Besides the late night gaming, he’s not all that bad considering he’s gone almost every week.

“You look good.” He says it so quick, I wonder how drunk he is. He’s staring at my skirt, at my legs.

“I tried.”

He smiles and something weird happens in my body, his eyes meeting mine, “You don’t even have to try, You always look good.”

I start to say something but fall short when I realize I don’t really know how to respond to that. I’m saved from responding when a hand finds my waist.

One tiny thing I coincidentally forgot when Lando came into view, I'm here with my friends, and a date.

I honestly should have cancelled. I should have not texted back but my friend did it for me, saying I should ‘get out there’. The second he looks at Lando, I regret inviting him out.

“Hey man.” He’s blonde, cute in every way that Lando is pretty. He’s slim, taller than Lando and I and when he holds out his hand, I feel a little nauseous.

I don’t know why! It’s not like Lando is my ex or my new man, it’s just… awkward. Lando’s face is hard, shaking his hand cordially.

“Nice grip you got there.” My date shakes his hand as if Lando just hurt him, the brunette just smiles.

“Sorry. Instinct.” I have a horrible thought about how strong Lando really is- something I shake away with the clearing of my throat.

Lando beats me to it. “Are you her boyfriend, then?” I cringe at his words and take a big gulp of my drink. It’s weird enough seeing him out of our apartment complex, but him talking to my date is ten times worse.

“Nah. Not yet.” He jokes, making me genuinely want to scream and run away, “Easy to see myself as that though!”

Lando doesn’t laugh when my date does. But he does look back at me, “Didn’t know you were into blondes.”

“Didn’t know you knew my type.”

He tilts his head a bit, bringing the bottle to his curved lips, “I think we both know I do.”

My date frowns, “You're not into blondes?”

⋆༺

I’ve seen Lando too many times in the past week. He’s clearly back for god knows how long, and has taken it upon himself to bug me.

“I thought you had friends, Norris. Why ask me?” I sigh, looking at him standing outside of his apartment.

“Because my friends aren’t as pretty as you.” He shrugs, his hands sliding into his pockets, “Please?”

“I’m not going out with you.” He asked me to a new dinner place that he wants to try. I said no.

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

He scoffs, “I didn’t even give you a time.”

“You don’t take rejection very well.” I cross my arms, watching him shrug.

“Maybe because I don’t think you mean it.”

I roll my eyes even though i’m not as annoyed as I should be, “Not everyone is going to fall at your feet, Lando.”

“That’s why I asked you. You’re very clearly still standing up.” I bite my lip, shaking my head.

“Go call one of your fuck buddies.” I turn back to my door.

“If I do that, you really will start to hear sex noises!”

“Go ahead! I bought earplugs!”

⋆༺

The next time I see Lando, he’s got the same face as I saw on TV. He’s sitting on the floor outside of his apartment. “Are you okay?”

His eyes dart to me. “Oh. Hi, love. Yeah- I lost my key.” His eyes are bloodshot. “Locksmith should be here soon.” His voice is less enthusiastic today.

I turn my own key in my door, “Oh. Well… want to come in?”

And that is how Lando Norris ended up on my couch eating my leftover spaghetti. He’s overly appreciative, growing quiet only after I ask him if he’s okay again.

“Triple header. Wasn’t great. Just wanna sleep.” He sighs, shoving his fork in his mouth.

“You can here.” I don’t know why I'm being so open, maybe it’s because he looks like a wounded baby bird.

“Nah… I can never sleep after racing.” He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, “That’s why I game so much.”

“Oh.” Is all I can say. I’m not good at this. Not good at responding to people’s feelings. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love it-” he yawns, “Just a lot sometimes.”

“If you ever need someone to water your plants or take care of anything- I can help.”

He smiles softly, his head tilted back on the couch, “I can barely keep myself alive when I'm in town. But thanks, you’re really nice.”

“Why do you flirt with me?” I say it so suddenly that I think it surprises us both.

“That wasn’t flirting, you really are nice.”

“No- I mean calling me love and complimenting me and stuff.”

He shrugs, “Why does anybody flirt with someone else? I like you.” Lando’s phone rings in the moments of silence that follows, he picks it up and after a few words, he stands. “Locksmiths here. I’ll knock if I ever get a plant.”

⋆༺

I see him one week later, he’s waiting by my door with a piece of paper in hand. “You’re back.” Is how I greet him. After that day in my apartment, I haven’t seen or heard him.

“I am.” He smiles, “I got this for you.” he hands me the paper and I realize that it’s a postcard. It’s from Italy, with a scene of a race track on the front.

When I turn it around, I’m a bit shocked that he’s written anything at all.

It reads,

Hi love, Lando here. Obviously… Anyways I wanted to buy a postcard but couldn’t think of anyone but you that would like it. (I saw the cards on your fridge when I was there) so I hope you do. Like it, I mean. I wanted to say something cool like ‘I won here!!’ but I got second so that’ll have to be the next postcard you get. Hope you still think i’m cool (honestly i don’t know if you ever did) also here’s my number if you ever need it, or want it. use it, please.

He’s still standing in front of me when I finish. I can’t help but smile. “P2 is still great.”

“The only part you focused on is how I didn’t win?” He frowns as my smile grows.

“I see the number too.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, “Good. That’s my favorite part.”

“You really don’t give up, huh?”

“I’m no quitter.”

“Why do you want to go out with me so bad? Did you run out of girls in Monaco?” The second I finish talking, I feel bad.

But he doesn’t look offended, “I don’t understand why you can’t grasp the idea of me wanting you. I mean- I’m pretty obvious about it! I think you’re really funny and nice even when you’re trying to be mean. I also made it clear to both of us when I met that tall fucker in the bar, way too ugly for you, by the way.”

“Lando.”

“The point is, I want to take you out on a proper date because I think you’re beautiful and, yeah, probably too good for me but maybe I can make up for it if you say yes.”

I shake my head but my smile stays, “I’m not too good for you.” He starts to argue but I shut him up, “I’ll go out with you.”

His eyes brighten, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes, not really believing myself. But then again, I look at him and I can’t remember why I ever said no.

“Okay.” He looks at his shoes, “Great! I’ll uh- or I guess you can text me. Or I can! Or-”

“Or you can come knock on my door tonight at seven.” He’s smiling fully now, nodding.

“Sounds good.”

I stand on my toes to kiss his cheek, “I like guys who don’t give up.”

“You weren’t annoyed by me?”

“Oh I was annoyed!” I laugh as his jaw drops a bit, “You just happen to be charming at the same time.

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: insecure about yourself after seeing someone else (brothers + side characters)

(2.7k words) It happens on one of those rare, quiet afternoons when the two of you are out in the Devildom, The conversation is easy. Until it isn’t. She passes you like she owns the street, tall, poised, beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly. A succubus, maybe, or a siren, or some other kind of woman with an enchanting beauty, with the kind of confidence you’ve never had. Her smile lingers on them for a second too long, and though they barely glance her way, your stomach sinks. You know it's irrational, but suddenly you're hyper aware of everything you're not. You laugh a little too quickly at his next joke. You nod without really hearing. You hide it well, at least, you think you do.

Lucifer

He catches the shift in you almost immediately. The falter in your tone, the way your gaze drops to the ground, hands suddenly too still. He’s attuned to subtle changes, he’s had to be, as the eldest, the one who notices when things go unspoken. And when he sees you look at that passing woman with something quiet and sharp in your eyes, it clicks. He doesn’t comment right away. Instead, he adjusts his pace so that you’re closer to his side. The back of his hand brushes yours.

“You know,” he says softly, “I’ve spent centuries surrounded by beings who try to manipulate attention. But I’ve never once been distracted from what I choose to keep close.” He pauses, turning his head to look at you. “And that’s you.”

Lucifer isn’t always good at emotional tenderness. But when he sees you shrinking into yourself, it rattles him more than he shows. He doesn’t press for explanation. He simply gives you his steadiness, his presence, and a hand that lingers a little longer when he reaches for yours.

Mammon

At first, he doesn’t get it. You go quiet, your smile fades a bit, but you’re still walking next to him, still laughing at his dumb jokes, just a little less like yourself. Then it hits him. He remembers the look you gave that other woman, the way your eyes followed her, then dropped away like you didn’t want to be caught comparing. Mammon isn’t the best with emotional nuance, but when it comes to you? He notices everything.

He panics a little internally. Did he say something wrong? Did someone look at you weird? Why’re you suddenly not smiling the way you usually do when you’re with him?

So he stops walking, right in the middle of the street. “Oi. What’s with the face?” he asks, softer than usual. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” You try to wave it off, but he shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care who walks by. You think anyone else even exists when you’re around?” His voice cracks a bit from the sincerity. “You’re it, alright? You’re my favorite damn view.”

Then he grabs your hand and keeps walking like nothing happened, but his grip stays firm the rest of the way.

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t catch on at first. He’s too in his head, muttering about a limited-edition figurine he spotted in a shop window. But when he looks over and you’re not reacting like you normally would, he stumbles. “Did I… say something weird?” he asks, immediately assuming it’s his fault. Then he remembers her, the siren who walked past with all the self-assured grace he thinks he’ll never have. And he sees how you looked after her, the quick withdrawal into yourself. His stomach turns. He knows that feeling. He lives that feeling. Being second-best. Invisible. Not enough.

So he sidesteps his usual awkwardness. “Hey, um… if you’re feeling... y’know, weird or off or like, not... good enough or whatever... can I just say—that’s a total crit fail on your perception roll.” You blink, caught off guard, and he rushes on, red in the face. “You’re like... S-tier. I mean that. You’re the only one I feel like I can be this version of me around.” He offers you his sleeve to hold instead of his hand, because he’s still Levi. But the sentiment couldn’t be more real.

Satan

It’s a fleeting moment, but he sees it. The stillness in your expression after the woman passes, the way your voice flattens ever so slightly. You think you’re hiding it well, but Satan knows you too intimately not to notice the cracks. And what really cuts is how you don’t say anything. You just swallow it down like it’s not worth bringing up. He walks in silence for a beat, processing. Then, softly: “She wasn’t even half as radiant as you are when you talk about something you love.”

You glance at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze without flinching. “I know you won’t tell me what you’re thinking. But I want you to know... I saw it. And I see you.” He reaches for your hand, not to pull you along, but just to hold it in his own. “You don’t have to be louder, or flashier, or anything other than who you are when you’re with me.”

He doesn’t push the topic, doesn’t ask you to explain. He just slows down his pace, like he’s willing to match your mood and walk with it for however long it takes.

Asmodeus

He absolutely notices the woman. It’s hard not to, she’s practically dripping with seduction magic. But Asmo’s glance is automatic, casual, already forgotten… until he sees the way you tense beside him. You mask it well, but not to him. You go quiet. You stop making eye contact. His heart sinks. “Oh, darling,” he says, suddenly stopping short and turning to face you. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

He can feel the shift in your energy, the way you’re pulling into yourself. His voice gentles, loses the usual lilt. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough. Even I get insecure sometimes.” He offers a small, honest smile. “But when I look at you… there’s no one else I’d rather have beside me.”

Then he does something uncharacteristically quiet: he leans in, rests his forehead against yours, and whispers, “You’re beautiful. In ways she’ll never understand.”He doesn’t need you to say anything back. He just slips his arm around yours and holds on, tighter than before.

Beelzebub

He doesn’t notice the woman at all. He’s too focused on whether you’ve had enough to eat, if your shoes are comfortable, if you’re enjoying the walk. But he notices you, how your energy shifts, how your smile fades into something tight and practiced. You try to hide it, but Beel knows the rhythm of your emotions like he knows the beat of his own heart.

He slows his steps, gently bumping your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful. You nod, of course. You always nod. He stares ahead for a while, chewing on the silence like it’s something hard to swallow.

“I don’t really care what anyone else looks like,” he says eventually. “I care about you. I care about how you laugh, and how you sit beside me even when I’m eating enough for five people. That means more than anything." Then, in that gentle, unwavering way of his, he takes your hand and carries the silence for you. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth. Just Beel, anchoring you when you start to drift.

Belphegor

He sees her. He sees you seeing her. And he sees you instantly pull away from him in that quiet, invisible way: how your hand doesn’t quite brush his anymore, how your expression dulls like you’ve slipped into some private shadow you don’t want to name.

Belphie gets angry about it, not at you, but at the world that made you feel like you had to compare. That made you feel like less. His hand finds yours again, firmly. “You thinking dumb shit again?” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and something else… something protective.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not allowed to hate yourself around me,” he says simply. “That’s the rule.” He tugs you just a little closer, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk. “If you’re gonna shut down, I’m still staying right here. Might even take a nap standing up just to prove a point.” It’s his way of saying: I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.

Diavolo

He notices the other woman, sure, but only because your hand suddenly feels smaller in his, your steps a little slower. You don't say anything, but Diavolo's joy dims as he watches you retreat into yourself. He’s not oblivious. His life has been full of people trying to catch his eye, but yours is the presence he’s grown to crave.

“Hey,” he says gently, stopping the both of you. “Look at me.” When you do, reluctantly, quietly, he leans down a bit to meet your gaze. “There is no spell, no charm, no allure that compares to you.” His tone is softer than usual, reverent even. “Do you think I fell for you because of some illusion? I’ve ruled a kingdom for centuries. I’ve seen beauty in a thousand forms. But no one has ever made me laugh the way you do. Or made me feel understood.”

He brushes a hand against your cheek with heartbreaking gentleness. “You don’t have to say what you’re thinking. Just… let me remind you of who you are to me.” He tucks your hand into his arm like it belongs there and walks on, making the whole Devildom feel like it orbits around you.

Barbatos

He senses the change in your mood before you even feel it fully. Your steps become measured, your energy tight. Barbatos is deeply attuned to the unspoken, and though he notices the woman too, he’s far more focused on how you subtly retreat into yourself. He doesn’t draw attention to it immediately. He simply shifts his body closer to yours, not pressing but present.

Then, after a quiet beat, he speaks. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” he muses aloud. “How easily we mistake someone else’s flash for our own dimness.” You glance at him, startled, but he offers only a small, knowing smile.

“You shine differently. Not loudly. Not demanding. But with depth. Grace. Thoughtfulness. Anyone can catch the eye, but not everyone holds the heart.” Barbatos pauses, as though considering time itself. “And you hold mine.”

He doesn’t say much more, he rarely needs to. But when he offers you his arm again, you feel the strength of it, a quiet anchor reminding you: he chose you. And he always would.

Solomon

He notices everything, the woman, your reaction, the subtle shift in your posture. You’re trying so hard to hide it, but he knows the signs. He’s been around long enough to see that kind of pain wear grooves into people.

He doesn’t call it out directly. Instead, he tilts his head and says, “You know, I’ve met sirens who could stop armies with a single glance. But not one of them has ever made me want to stay.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment before adding, “You do.”

When you blink, unsure how to respond, he offers a rare, genuine smile, less teasing, more honest. “You’ve got a stubborn light in you. The kind that doesn’t need to scream to be felt. That’s what caught me.”

He’ll nudge your hand, light against his own, as if offering you the choice: speak or stay silent. Either way, he’s not going anywhere. “Come on,” he says, softer now. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. Just us.”

Simeon

He notices, not just the other woman, but the way you go quiet. How you withdraw without a word, folding into yourself like a page creased by habit. His heart aches, not just for your sadness but for the effort you make to hide it.

He slows his pace to match yours, letting the quiet settle before saying, “There’s a kind of beauty no glamour can touch.” You glance at him, unsure whether to brush it off. He offers you a gentle smile, the kind that makes it feel like the sun’s peeking through your clouds.

“I’ve lived among angels, watched starlight bloom in the Celestial Realm… but none of it has ever made me feel the way I do when I see you.” His words are soft, unflinching. “And I see you. Even when you try to disappear.”

Then, without asking, he loops his pinky with yours, quietly grounding, quietly sincere. “You don’t need to say anything. But I’m here. Always.”

Mephistopheles

He doesn’t notice right away, too busy monologuing about something minor and theatrical, until you suddenly stop contributing. It takes a few seconds for the silence to register, and then he glances at you. Your face is neutral. Too neutral. “Oi,” he mutters, nudging your side. “Where’d you go just now?”

You give him a practiced smile. It’s almost enough to fool him. He follows your gaze, sees the woman walking away, and instantly connects the dots. His jaw clenches, not out of jealousy, but fury at the self-doubt flickering in your eyes. “Pfft,” he scoffs, too loud on purpose. “Overdressed and underwhelming. Wouldn’t last a second in a real conversation. You? You could destroy me with one look, and that’s before you’ve had your morning tea.”

He says it like a joke, but his eyes betray the sincerity. “Next time your thoughts try to trick you like that… just tell them to shut up. Or let me do it for you.” Then he threads your arm through his dramatically. “Now come along, my love. You’ve got a face worth showing off.”

Thirteen

Thirteen clocks the siren in an instant, and rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they stay in her skull. But when she looks back at you and sees the way you’ve suddenly gone quiet, the light dimmed in your expression, she stops dead in her tracks. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

You blink at her, startled. “Do what?” She squints at you, then squints harder. “That thing where you act like you're fine but you’re actually spiraling over some glittery bitch who couldn’t outsmart a single one of my traps.” You try to brush her off, but she doesn’t let you.

“Seriously,” she mutters, moving to stand in front of you. “I’ve seen you face down demons, chaos, me—and that’s what gets you? That?” She jerks her thumb back toward the siren. Then, more softly, “You don’t see it, but you level me. Every time you laugh. Every time you keep showing up.” She nudges you with her elbow. “You don’t gotta talk. Just… don’t disappear, okay?” Then she throws her arm around your shoulder and grins. “Let’s go cause trouble. Hot people like us can get away with anything.”

Raphael

He notices the subtle shift immediately, your quiet withdrawal, the way your gaze drops when the other woman passes by. He’s always been keen on observing the small details, and this one pulls at something deeper in him. Raphael rarely speaks out of turn, preferring to keep his thoughts measured and precise, but when he senses your mood darkening, he allows himself to be a little more direct. “Is something troubling you?” His voice is calm, steady—a gentle anchor in the swirling discomfort you feel.

You try to brush it off, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he stays close, matching his pace to yours as you walk. “You often doubt yourself,” he says quietly, “but I see strength in you that you don’t even realize you have.”

He pauses, looking at you with unshaken sincerity. “The world might throw illusions of beauty your way, but what matters most isn’t what you show on the surface. It’s the kindness you carry, the care you give, the healing you inspire. Those things don’t fade, no matter who passes by.”

Raphael offers you a small, rare smile, not the serene healer’s smile, but a warmer one meant only for you. “You are more than enough. And I am here, always ready to remind you of that.”

[ddejavvu]

Hey sorry for not reading ur request guidelines before sending an ask last time! Ok how about spencer reid as a best friend with no boundaries? It would probably seem like they're married to bau team because of how they act and how not touchy/germaphobic spencer usually is. And also like 👀 even if it wasn't spencer, that's really touchy. I hope the other ask didn't annoy u too much! Have a good day!

fem!reader

--

"Hold this," You shove your drink into Spencer's chest, and it leaves a dark splotch against his white button-down. His tie is unscathed, but he barely manages to catch it before you're crouching down to pet the dog that's jumped at your calves. It's a little one, but you have no problem crouching down to meet them in the middle of the sidewalk as the owner apologizes for its intrusiveness.

"That's okay! I'm not allergic, or afraid." You hum, delighted to scritch the dog beneath the chin, and Penelope gladly joins in. You're both blocking the sidewalk now, but Derek's there to let you know if anyone's coming, so Spencer focuses on not letting your drink stain any more of his outfit.

Hotch watches the way that he tucks it into his palm, suddenly not minding the clammy condensation against his skin. Spencer never picks up a to-go cup without a napkin, but Hotch supposes it's just not an option at the moment.

After a few more moments of you and Penelope practically melting the dog into the pavement, you all go on your way again, and you reach for the cup in Spencer's grasp with eager hands.

"Did you try it?" You ask him, hands already around the cup, but when he shakes his head no, you shove it towards his face, "Try it! It's good, it's strawberry lemonade."

Now, everyone knows that suggesting that Spencer should drink out of someone else's cup is like suggesting that Hotch should start rollerblading around the office. They know it wouldn't happen in a hundred lifetimes, but apparently this is the hundred-and-first, because Spencer cranes his neck down to put his lips on the straw.

No one wants to discourage Spencer's miraculous bravery in the moment, so there's no eruption of sound, but everyone turns to give each other wide-eyed, meaningful glances. They all say, 'what the fuck?', but no one breathes a word.

"It's okay." Spencer nods, gnashing his teeth against something, "There's pulp in there."

You shrug and take the drink back, your hands brushing Spencer's own. Your hands, that had just been raking through the scruffy fur of a dog you'd met on the street, come into contact with Spencer's own skin, and he doesn't recoil. You begin meandering back towards the office like nothing's happened, with Spencer hot on your tail, and the rest scramble to follow.

Emily feels almost light-headed as she chases after Spencer, her steps staggered and uneven, "Hey, uh, Spence?"

"Hm?" He turns to watch her, and JJ bypasses the pair to plant herself firmly at your side.

"You don't mind that her hands were all over that dog a second ago?" Emily nods down at Spencer's hands, "I mean, I think it's great, I'm just surprised you haven't pulled out a package of wet wipes or something."

"It's kind of gross," Spencer thinks, his nose scrunching slightly, "But I can wash my hands when we get back to the bullpen."

"And the drink? That was bold, Spence. Does it not bother you anymore?"

She's not trying to push, but she's equal parts proud of Spencer's development and in awe of what she's witnessed. He thinks for a moment, then hums, "I don't mind drinking from her cup. I've known her forever. We're best friends."

Emily's mouth falls open, lipstick lining her lips pristinely, "Hey! We're best friends!"

"Well- I mean! It's just different, I don't know." Spencer shrugs, "I- I don't know why. It just bothers me sometimes and other times it doesn't."

Emily is barely placated, but she nods regardless, "Well, I'm proud of you. Even if the strawberry lemonade wasn't great."

Spencer smiles and nods, but the conversation ends as soon as your hand grabs his own.

"Look! Those are the pants I was telling you about the other day," You begin prattling, and JJ shifts seamlessly to Emily's side as the two ladies watch Spencer's hand intertwine easily with yours. His is clammy, they're sure, but he doesn't let go or try to wipe it on his pants, which is what happens every time someone ignores his warnings and gets a handshake from him. The two can hear Derek frantically giving Penelope a whispered play-by-play, but Emily doesn't want to hear the gossip: she's just glad that pulpy strawberry lemonade isn't the only thing Spencer's newfound bravery will grant him.

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 9

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda lose control

Word Count: 6,541

Warnings: angst, fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The Day Before

Wanda hadn’t stepped into Y/N’s room since that night.

She’d stumbled into it like a sleepwalker, her body pulled there by instinct more than intention, the lingering scent of Y/N in the sheets wrapping around her like a balm. For a moment—just a moment—the storm inside her had gone quiet.

But Vision found her.

And everything shattered again.

He had stood in the doorway like a statue carved in betrayal, and when she confessed the kiss, his silence turned cold. She remembered how his fingers had closed around her wrist—not cruelly, but with the unrelenting grip of someone trying not to break.

He dragged her back to their room without another word, ignoring her pleas, her stammered explanations.

And once the door shut behind them, he didn’t yell.

That almost made it worse.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring ahead with hollow eyes, while Wanda stood in the middle of the room, shaking. When she tried to speak, he just held up a hand.

“You made your choice,” he said quietly. “Now live with it.”

He didn’t touch her that night. Didn’t crawl into bed beside her. He simply powered down in the corner of the room, his back to her, like she was too much to look at.

And from that moment on, he didn’t leave her side again.

He became a quiet, ever-present shadow. Hovering. Watching. Never asking again about what he’d seen or what she’d admitted. Just making sure she didn’t go back to her.

And Wanda hadn’t.

Because she couldn’t.

Now, curled up in her own bed—in a room that didn’t feel like hers anymore—Wanda stared at the wall as the morning sun filtered through the curtains, golden and indifferent.

Y/N was supposed to come back today.

She should’ve been back already.

She should’ve come to see her.

But she didn’t.

Wanda told herself it was fine. Maybe Y/N was resting. Maybe Clint had kept her longer for debriefing. Maybe—

Her hand curled instinctively over the mark on her wrist, still faintly warm beneath her skin.

Maybe she wasn’t coming at all.

---

30 minutes before…

The next morning, during training, Wanda walked in late. Her steps were sluggish, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She hadn’t slept. Again.

Her gaze swept the room once.

Twice.

Clint was there.

Y/N wasn’t.

Her heart stuttered violently.

She moved straight to Steve, her voice low but trembling. “Where is Y/N?”

Steve hesitated—just for a second—but it was enough.

“She… she didn’t make it back yet.”

Wanda blinked, her chest tightening. “What?”

“She stayed behind. There was a second part to the mission. A delay,” he said quickly, too quickly.

But he didn’t meet her eyes.

Didn’t look at her.

Her blood turned to ice.

She didn’t make it back.

The words echoed in her skull, louder each time.

She didn’t make it back.

She didn’t make it back.

She didn’t—

Her lungs refused to draw air. Her knees wobbled under her. And before the scream could claw its way out of her throat—

Her magic exploded.

A shockwave of chaos burst from her chest, red lightning ripping through the air. The ground shook. Lights burst overhead with deafening cracks. The temperature dropped as the chaos rippled outward like a storm unchained.

The entire training room turned to hell in seconds.

“Wanda!” Steve shouted, diving for cover, his shield flying from his arm and ricocheting off a wall like a useless coin.

Clint barely rolled out of the way as red tendrils slashed across the floor.

Vision was the only one who dared move closer. “Wanda, what are you doing-”

But the moment he reached out, her powers reacted.

Feral. Unforgiving.

A violent lash of magic cracked through his chest and sent him flying backward with a grunt. He crashed into the far wall, sparks sputtering from where the chaos magic had scorched through his synthetic body.

And still, she didn’t stop.

She was sobbing now, suspended inches off the ground, her body trembling, her heart tearing itself apart from the inside out.

Y/N is gone. I knew she would be. I felt it. I felt her leave me…

The room couldn’t contain her grief. The windows buckled, walls creaked, alarms blared useless warnings as chaos consumed everything.

Because no one told her.

No one came to her.

No one thought she deserved to know.

She screamed—a raw, broken sound—and the red storm around her answered, howling with her pain.

And still, Y/N didn’t come.

---

No One’s POV

The training room had become a battlefield.

Crimson chaos exploded from Wanda in furious waves—ripping tiles from the floor, twisting steel beams like vines, and hurling debris against already shattered glass. The scent of ozone choked the air. Mats burned. Lights flickered and died in bursts overhead.

No one could hear the alarms anymore—not over the deafening roar of unrestrained magic.

Vision lay crumpled near the far wall, smoke rising from the ragged gash carved across his chest, the glow in his eyes flickering like a dying flame. He tried to speak—tried to move—but his systems sputtered, glitching against the damage.

Steve stood at the edge of the blast radius, shield up, bleeding from one temple. His mouth was tight. His eyes unreadable. But his stance said it all.

No one could reach her.

Not like this.

Clint crouched behind a flipped bench, eyes wide as he stared at the eye of the storm—at the woman he’d fought beside for years, now suspended midair, magic shrieking from her like a banshee’s cry. Wanda was wild. Hair floating around her like a halo of fury, eyes burning red-hot, face streaked with tears that turned to vapor before they could fall.

And then—

A blur.

A flash of movement.

Too fast. Too reckless.

Down the hall. Around the corner.

Charging straight into the fire.

“Shit—” Steve’s instincts kicked in. He lunged forward just in time to intercept the figure barreling toward the chaos.

Y/N.

He caught her mid-run, arms locking around her waist, boots skidding against the scorched floor as her momentum nearly knocked them both over.

“Y/N—stop!”

“Let me go!” she snarled, her voice hoarse with panic, fury, desperation. “LET ME GO—”

“It’s not safe—!”

“I DON’T CARE!”

She thrashed like a wild animal. Steve held on with everything he had, but her desperation made her stronger than he remembered. Her fists pounded against his arm. She twisted—hard—training and instinct fueling her movement.

Then—

“LET HER GO, STEVE!”

Clint’s voice cracked like a gunshot from behind.

And in a blink, Y/N broke free.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate.

She ran straight into the storm.

Red lightning surged toward her like a beast sensing intrusion.

Everyone shouted—

“Y/N!”

“Get back!”

“NO—!”

But—

Wanda turned.

Mid-float, mid-fury—her head snapped toward the door like she felt Y/N before she saw her. Her eyes locked. The chaos shuddered.

The magic stilled.

Those seething red tendrils, wild and destructive, softened. They didn’t strike.

They reached. 

Long fingers of scarlet energy stretched toward Y/N, trembling like they knew her. Like they recognized their home. 

Y/N didn’t stop.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

“Wands,” she said—barely audible over the lingering echoes of magic. Her voice cracked. “I’m here.”

Wanda gasped. Her lips trembled. The glow in her eyes flickered like a candle in the wind.

And then she flew.

Straight into Y/N’s arms.

The magic convulsed with one final burst of power—one last desperate scream—then folded inward, collapsing like a dying star. The pressure in the room dropped. Lights buzzed. The air cleared.

And the storm was gone.

Wanda clung to Y/N like she’d drown without her, sobbing against her chest with gut-wrenching desperation. Her nails dug into the back of Y/N’s jacket, holding on like she was terrified to let go.

“I thought you died…I thought you were gone…I couldn’t feel you…I couldn’t breathe….”

Y/N sank to her knees with her, arms wrapping around her shaking body, one hand in Wanda’s hair, the other pressed to her spine.

“I’m here,” she whispered, voice tight with emotion. “I’m here, Wands. I’ve got you.”

Behind them, Vision stared from where he’d fallen, his face blank.

Steve stood frozen, shield limp at his side, chest heaving.

Clint finally moved from behind cover, shoulders sagging like the weight of a mountain had lifted.

And in Y/N’s arms, for the first time in days—

Wanda breathed.

The shaking stopped.

The storm passed.

Because her soulmate came back.

And nothing else mattered.

---

Steve’s POV

He’d seen power before.

He’d watched Thor summon lightning like a god. He’d stood beside Wanda as she tore through enemies with rage in her eyes and grief in her heart.

But he’d never seen anything like this.

The chaos hadn’t ended because of tactics. Not because of training or orders. Not because of strength.

It ended because Y/N walked into the storm… and the storm chose her.

Steve’s chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, his shield still gripped tightly in his bruised hand. Smoke curled through the shattered room, the remnants of chaos magic sparking like dying stars. Wanda was on her knees in Y/N’s arms now—her body trembling, magic flickering around them like it knew exactly where it belonged.

Like she only held herself together because Y/N was holding her.

And Steve felt something in his throat tighten.

He’d been wrong.

He thought Y/N was the problem, that they were just attracted to each other. He thought distance would help, that time would settle things, that Wanda just needed space to figure herself out.

But this wasn’t chaos. This wasn’t weakness.

This was bonding. This was truth.

This was soulmates.

Something both of them wouldn’t be able to deny…

He could see it now—how the world bent around them, how even Wanda’s magic recognized what no one else had dared to name. The way she clung to Y/N like the air itself only reached her through that touch. It wasn’t obsession. It wasn’t drama.

It was destiny.

Steve’s gaze dropped for a moment to his wrist, where the name had started to fade now that she’s gone, but the memory hadn’t.

Peggy

He knew what it meant to have a name burned into your skin and never truly let go. Knew what it was to carry that connection across years, wars, and timelines.

So if Wanda’s powers were breaking…

It wasn’t because she was unstable.

It was because she was being forced to stay away from the one person her soul refused to let go of.

And the only thing that had ever stood in the way…

Was Vision.

Steve’s eyes drifted to the synthezoid slumped against the far wall, blue sparks still flickering from the split across his chest. Vision’s face was unreadable—blank and hollow in a way that unsettled Steve more than any rage would have.

But he saw it now.

All of it.

Wanda hadn’t unraveled because of Y/N.

She unraveled because she wasn’t allowed to have her.

And Y/N—who everyone had quietly blamed, doubted, distanced—had never been the threat.

She was the anchor.

For a long moment, Steve said nothing.

Because for the first time…

He didn’t know what to say to Vision.

Not as a teammate.

Not as a leader.

Not as a friend.

Not after this.

Because now, finally, painfully—it was clear.

Y/N wasn’t the problem.

Vision was.

---

Clint’s POV

The training room looked like a battlefield. Smoke in the air. Glass everywhere. The walls cracked from Wanda’s outburst. Vision lay across the far end like a downed machine, and Steve stood frozen, trying to make sense of the storm that had just passed.

But Clint didn’t move. Not right away.

His eyes were on them.

On Wanda, trembling in Y/N’s arms, red magic curling softly around them like it finally had permission to be still. On Y/N, cradling her like something precious. The kind of touch that wasn’t afraid—not of power, not of pain. Like she was home.

And Clint just… exhaled.

“Finally,” he muttered, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

---

Vision’s POV

His systems were damaged.

Smoke coiled from his chest where Wanda’s magic had struck—direct and merciless. Circuits failed. Internal diagnostics blinked red across his vision. He was compromised. Broken.

And she didn’t even look at him.

Through shattered glass and settling debris, she held her. Y/N. Pressed against her like a lifeline. Her sobs—ragged and human—were swallowed against the woman’s shoulder. Chaos magic, once a storm, now swirled with delicate control, gentle as a breeze.

All because of her.

Not him.

Vision didn’t rise.

He simply watched.

Watched Wanda tremble in someone else’s arms. Watched the red mist cradle Y/N’s fingers like recognition. Acceptance. Bond.

His jaw locked.

This… was irrational.

He had seen it, suspected it—but not like this. Not this raw truth, playing out before the entire team. A display of connection so primal it bypassed reason. Soulmates. That was what they called it.

But he couldn’t accept that.

He wouldn’t.

He was a synthezoid—designed from vibranium and infinite knowledge. His understanding of the universe was deeper than emotion. Deeper than fate. And his bond with Wanda had been forged from something divine. Celestial. The Mind Stone.

Their connection was not born of chance or biology. It was etched in energy. A shared frequency. Thought. Power. She had seen the very core of him.

How could that be weaker than a wristmark?

How could she—a woman of flesh and instinct—be the one Wanda chose?

He studied the way Wanda clung to Y/N, not just with desperation but need. Her entire body cried out for her. Her power—chaotic, dangerous, unstable—rested now only because Y/N breathed.

It made no sense.

She was a variable. An unknown. Vision had observed her closely—too closely, perhaps. He’d seen the way Wanda softened around her. The way her guard lowered. The way she began to withdraw from him.

He told himself it would pass.

But it hadn’t.

Because the moment Wanda thought Y/N was dead, her grief ruptured the world around them. And the moment Y/N returned, Wanda’s power obeyed like a loyal dog.

And still… Vision refused to see it as proof of something greater.

To him, it was proof of Wanda’s flaws.

Her emotional fragility. Her humanity.

He had offered her order. Purpose. Understanding beyond the physical. He had given her peace, and she had rejected it for chaos.

For this.

For her.

He didn’t feel heartbreak—not the way humans did. But there was something else in him now. A fracture in the code. Not malfunction, but something far more dangerous: resentment.

Because this bond—this soulmate phenomenon—was beneath what he and Wanda shared. It was primitive. Unmeasurable. It didn’t make sense. And therefore, in his mind, it shouldn’t exist.

---

Natasha’s POV

She’d arrived too late to stop it. The storm had already passed. The damage was already done.

But she watched the aftermath.

Watched Y/N cradle Wanda like it was instinct, like she’d done it a hundred times in secret and a thousand more in dreams.

I hope Wanda will stop running away after this. 

Nat thinks to herself.

---

No One’s POV

Y/N held her.

Arms wrapped tightly around Wanda’s trembling form, grounding her—her heartbeat steady, her voice low, soothing. She didn’t care about the stares, or the cracked walls, or the dust still settling from the fallout of Wanda’s powers. The only thing that mattered was the girl in her arms, sobbing like she’d barely made it back from the edge of herself.

“Wands,” Y/N whispered again, rocking her gently. “I’m here. I’m right here, baby.”

Wanda clutched her tighter.

Her face was buried against Y/N’s neck, hot with tears and damp with panic. She couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t even try. Every sob that tore from her chest shook them both, but Y/N didn’t let go. She rubbed circles into Wanda’s back, fingers gliding through her tangled hair, pressing soft, urgent kisses to her temple like each one might hold her together just a little longer.

“I thought—I thought you were dead,” Wanda choked out, gasping. “Steve said you didn’t come back. I saw Clint, but not you. I thought…I saw it, I saw it happen-”

“No, no, shhh.” Y/N hushed her, arms cradling her like she’d never let go. “I’m okay. I swear, I’m okay. I came back yesterday, Wands. They just—Vision wouldn’t let me see you.”

Wanda’s whole body went still.

Her magic flared again—not wild this time, not destructive. Just aching. Mournful. The way a soul might grieve before it shatters.

“I couldn’t feel you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I tried to sleep in your room, but they wouldn’t let me back in. It still smelled like you. It helped. But then you were just… gone.”

Y/N’s heart twisted sharply.

“That’s why it smelled like you,” she murmured, realization thick in her throat. “You were in pain. And I wasn’t there.”

“I missed you every second,” she added, softer now. “It was hell, Wands. I tried to find you the moment I came back. But they said you needed time. Space. That it was better if I stayed away.”

Her lips brushed over Wanda’s hair again, every word spoken like a vow she’d carve into stone if she had to.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Wanda finally lifted her head, eyes red and swollen, but clear—like the storm had passed through her, and what was left was raw, real. “Don’t leave again,” she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

Y/N cupped her face gently, brushing away the tear that escaped. “I won’t,” she promised, soft and certain. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Wanda’s arms wrapped around her neck, like she was anchoring herself to her soulmate.

“Never,” she breathed. “Never again.”

Y/N nodded, holding her like she meant it for the rest of her life.

And in the wreckage of chaos, beneath the quiet hush of stunned silence, Wanda finally began to breathe again.

Wanda’s arms stayed locked around Y/N like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go. Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held her—anchoring her with one arm smoothing along her back, the other resting protectively at the nape of her neck, fingers tangled gently in her hair.

Bit by bit, Wanda’s sobs quieted. The broken gasps gave way to uneven breaths, and her magic—which had thrashed and burned like a wildfire—began to settle. Red mist curled around them like smoke softening in the rain, calm now, almost reverent.

“I couldn’t breathe without you,” Wanda whispered, voice scraped raw. “It felt like something inside me cracked open.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to Wanda’s, voice low and steady. “Me too. The second I left, I felt it. Like a hole in my chest.”

Wanda gave the faintest nod, her face still damp against Y/N’s skin. “I kept dreaming of you dying. Over and over. And when Clint came back without you…”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, her voice thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry they let you think I was gone.”

“It felt real,” Wanda murmured. “Too real.”

“I’m here,” Y/N whispered. “I’m right here, Wands.”

Wanda leaned into her again, but this time slower. Calmer. Her breathing evened out as her body relaxed against Y/N’s. Her hands, once gripping with desperation, now softened their hold. Her powers drifted quietly in the air—gentle, as if reflecting her soul finally settling.

“I missed your scent,” she mumbled, still not pulling back. “It never changes. It’s always you. That’s what made it worse… when it was gone.”

Y/N smiled a little, just barely. “You could’ve told me that sooner. I would’ve sprayed my cologne on a pillow and mailed it to you.”

That drew a weak, muffled laugh from Wanda—the first real one in what felt like days.

Then, slowly, she pulled back just enough to see Y/N’s face. Her fingers reached up, brushing lightly along Y/N’s jaw. Her touch was featherlight, reverent. She traced the line of Y/N’s cheek with her thumb like she needed to memorize it all over again.

“You’re really here,” she breathed, eyes searching Y/N’s face like it was the only truth left in the world.

Y/N leaned into her touch without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda’s thumb paused at the corner of Y/N’s mouth, where a smile was beginning to form. “You smell like home,” she whispered. “You always have.”

Y/N blinked hard, her chest tight. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna cry in front of the entire team.”

Wanda gave a little shrug, a hint of mischief creeping into her still-fragile smile. “Let them see. I have my soulmate.”

Y/N’s hand lifted to cup Wanda’s in return, eyes full of something so deep it ached. “You have me,” she said. “Always.”

And in the middle of the wreckage, under flickering lights and the lingering hum of power, Wanda smiled—gentle and real, like spring finally breaking through winter.

Not because the battle was over.

But because she was home.

Wanda let her thumb linger against Y/N’s jaw a moment longer, eyes drinking her in like she still didn’t quite believe this was real.

Then, with a quiet, content breath, she buried her face back into Y/N’s neck.

Her arms curled tighter around her again—not out of panic this time, but peace. Her lashes fluttered closed, her breath fanning warm over Y/N’s skin as she exhaled softly. Safe. She was finally safe.

Y/N could feel her body start to relax completely, the weight of exhaustion catching up now that the fear had passed. Wanda sighed again, this one deeper, slower… and her nose nuzzled gently into Y/N’s skin like she could sleep right there.

“You falling asleep on me, Maximoff?” Y/N murmured with a teasing smile, brushing her hand over Wanda’s hair.

Wanda hummed faintly against her neck, voice muffled and warm. “Maybe.”

Y/N grinned, holding her a little tighter. “Before you pass out on me, think you could fix the room?” She glanced around at the rubble and blown-out walls with a wince. “We kinda wrecked the place.”

Still nestled in Y/N’s arms, Wanda lazily raised one hand—eyes still closed—and gave a little flick of her fingers.

The red mist surged outward in a quiet wave. In seconds, the scorched training room began to reverse itself. Shattered glass rose back into window frames. Cracked walls knit themselves whole. Burn marks vanished from the floors and walls. The air cleared, dust lifting like it had never settled, and Vision was included in the middle, his chest healing like nothing happened.

And through it all, Wanda didn’t even lift her head. Her magic pulsed like a sigh and settled again with ease.

Y/N chuckled under her breath, still in awe of her. “You are brilliant, Wands.”

Wanda didn’t respond—just nestled deeper into Y/N’s neck.

Y/N leaned down and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s temple, her lips brushing the skin as she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

Before anyone could even process what had happened, the two of them were gone—vanishing in a blur of wind and speed, Y/N moving with the ease of instinct, carrying Wanda gently in her arms like something precious.

The door to Y/N’s room clicked shut behind them not even a second later.

She didn’t stop until they were there—warm light, quiet air, the smell of her clothes, her sheets, home—and Wanda still wrapped in her arms like she belonged there.

Because she did.

Y/N didn’t turn on the lights when they got to her room. She didn’t need to. She moved carefully, holding Wanda close as the door clicked shut behind them. The space was quiet, untouched—still holding the scent Wanda had missed, still carrying the soft traces of comfort they’d both been denied for too long.

She walked them over to the bed and laid down with Wanda still in her arms, cradling her like something she’d never let fall again. Wanda shifted, curling closer, one hand tucked against Y/N’s chest, her breathing already slower.

Y/N brushed the hair from Wanda’s face, her thumb stroking gently along her cheek.

“Sleep, baby,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”

Wanda murmured something unintelligible and let out another content sigh, her lashes fluttering shut. In moments, her body grew heavier against Y/N’s, her breaths deeper and even. The weight of everything—grief, magic, fear—had finally given way to exhaustion.

She was out.

Y/N stayed there a while, holding her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Letting the moment soak in. Letting her heart ache and heal at the same time.

Then, carefully, she eased out from under Wanda, replacing herself with her pillow. Wanda instinctively wrapped her arms around it, sighing into the fabric like it still held Y/N.

Y/N smiled, heart soft and breaking all at once.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s forehead, letting her lips linger there. Then she whispered against her skin, “I’ll be right back, Wands. I promise.”

And in a blur of wind and purpose, she was gone.

Back to the compound.

Back to the ones who had kept her away.

This time, she wasn’t coming back with a broken heart.

She was coming back with fire.

---

The training room had been cleaned up—Wanda’s magic had fixed the walls and swept away the wreckage—but the air still felt heavy. Tense. Saturated with the charge of what had just unfolded.

Everyone was still there.

Silent.

Waiting.

And then Y/N appeared.

A blur of motion and heat. Hair tousled, eyes blazing. Her chest heaved with the effort of keeping herself contained, but fury radiated off her like a storm barely held at bay.

The moment she stepped inside, the air shifted.

Steve turned, guilt already written deep into his features. He stepped forward slightly. “Y/N—”

But she didn’t look at him.

Her eyes locked on Vision.

And Vision… looked livid.

“You had no right to take her,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, metal under strain. “She needed clarity. You clouded her mind again with this obsession.”

Y/N’s fists clenched. “Clarity?” Her voice was low, trembling with rage. “You think tearing someone away from their soulmate brings clarity?”

“She is not your soulmate,” Vision snapped, stepping forward. “We share the Mind Stone. That is a connection beyond human comprehension. Beyond hormonal surges or carved flesh. That is something higher.”

“Stop,” Clint said, stepping in, hand raised, but Vision ignored him completely.

“She was healing before you came back,” Vision continued, his tone twisting into something cruel. “You destabilize her. You always have. She was calm. Settling into peace.”

“I ground her,” Y/N growled. “You saw what happened in here. All of you did.”

Vision’s voice rose, something jagged and venomous breaking through. “You’re not her peace. You’re chaos dressed as comfort. You pollute her.”

Nat stepped forward, subtly placing herself between them.

And then Y/N moved.

She yanked up her sleeve, arm trembling with fury.

“LOOK AT ME.”

Her voice cracked like lightning.

Everyone froze.

On her wrist, still glowing faintly—like embers refusing to die—was a single name.

Wanda

Written in the same unmistakable script they'd all seen before.

Steve inhaled sharply. Clint muttered something under his breath. Even the hum of the building itself seemed to pause.

“We’re soulmates,” Y/N said, quieter now. “It’s not obsession. It’s not fantasy. It’s not some chemical illusion. It’s written into us.”

Vision stared.

Not with shock. With something darker.

Defiance.

This was wrong. The universe was wrong. Soulmates were a myth. Human sentiment wrapped in superstition. But he had the Mind Stone—he had shared it with her. That should have meant more than some cosmic coincidence.

Steve sat down heavily, as if all the weight of his guilt had finally collapsed him.

Nat’s voice cut through the silence. “She didn’t tell us. Not right away. We pieced it together.”

“You knew?” Steve asked hoarsely.

“She was going to let Wanda marry him,” Nat said, quietly now. “Even with her name on her wrist. She was willing to keep it buried. Forever. If that’s what Wanda needed.”

Vision’s fists curled.

Manipulation. All of it.

“You’ve twisted her against herself,” he hissed. “You infected her with this false idea of fate—”

“I love her,” Y/N said, stepping forward, heat rolling off her. “And she loves me. You don’t have to believe it. You just have to live with it.”

“She didn’t stop because we called to her,” Clint said, voice even. “She stopped because she saw Y/N.”

“She smiled,” Nat added softly. “For the first time in weeks.”

Vision’s teeth clenched so tightly his jaw creaked.

Y/N looked at him one last time. Her voice dropped—but her gaze remained sharp as glass.

“You lost her. Not because I stole her. But because you never had her.”

Then, in a rush of wind and blur of motion—

She was gone.

Back to Wanda.

Back to where she belonged.

---

The room stayed still long after the wind of Y/N’s departure had faded.

No one spoke.

Wanda’s magic still lingered faintly in the air, like the ghost of a storm. But now there was only silence. Tension stretched thin between everyone, anchored by things no one knew how to name.

Nat stepped back first. She glanced at Clint, her jaw tight.

“Come on,” she said quietly.

Clint didn’t argue. Just gave Steve a look—something between apology and disappointment—and followed her out. The door hissed closed behind them, leaving only two.

Steve and Vision.

The captain stood in place, staring at the scuffed floor like it might offer answers.

Finally, he spoke.

“…Did you know?” His voice was low. Ragged with regret. “That they were soulmates?”

Vision didn’t look at him.

“I knew she was drawn to her,” he said. “Emotionally compromised. Unstable in her presence. But I did not—and do not—believe in soulmates.”

Steve turned to him, eyes narrowing. “You saw the name. We all did.”

“A biological marking,” Vision replied smoothly. “A quirk of human DNA. Chemistry and sentiment wrapped up in mythology. Easily misunderstood. Easily manipulated.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s what this is? A misunderstanding?”

“I think Wanda is vulnerable,” Vision said calmly. Too calmly. “And Y/N exploits that. Her presence agitates Wanda’s emotional state, leads to irrational behavior. You saw it yourself—Wanda nearly tore this room apart. That isn’t clarity. That isn’t peace.”

“No,” Steve said, voice low. “But you know what is?”

He looked at Vision now. Really looked.

“It’s the way Wanda smiled when she saw her. The way her powers calmed when Y/N held her. The way she breathed like she hadn’t been able to for days.”

Vision’s expression flickered. Barely. But it was there.

Steve shook his head, a bitter sound escaping his throat.

“I trusted you,” he said. “When you said Wanda needed space. When you said it was for her good. I believed you.”

Vision said nothing.

Steve turned, almost too tired to be angry.

“Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates. Maybe you can’t. But that doesn’t make them any less real.”

He walked toward the door, pausing only once to glance back.

“You didn’t just lose her, Vision. You convinced the rest of us to let her suffer.”

And then Steve left too.

Leaving Vision alone in the training room—walls intact, but the truth laid bare.

And for the first time, Vision realized the silence felt nothing like peace.

---

Y/N’s Room – Later That Night

The room was dim, bathed in the soft golden hue of the setting sun bleeding through the curtains. The hum of quiet was only broken by the slow, even rhythm of Wanda’s breathing.

She stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, then her nose scrunched slightly against the pillow. Her brow furrowed in confusion—until her senses caught up with her.

Warmth. Familiar. The scent that calmed every nerve in her body.

Y/N.

Wanda blinked her eyes open slowly and turned her head.

Y/N was lying beside her, propped slightly on one elbow, watching her like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

“Hi,” Y/N whispered, her voice tender.

Wanda gave her a sleepy, crooked smile. “Hi.”

“You okay?” Y/N asked, brushing a knuckle gently along Wanda’s cheek.

Wanda nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know,” she murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. “But you’re here. So… I think I will be.”

Y/N exhaled softly. She leaned in and kissed Wanda’s forehead, lingering for a long, silent moment. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda shifted closer, her hand reaching up to trace along Y/N’s jaw with featherlight touches, as if reassuring herself that she was really there. Then her fingers paused, resting gently on Y/N’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Y/N blinked. “Wands…”

“No—let me,” Wanda said softly, eyes full of guilt. “I was scared. I tried to push you away, even when everything in me screamed not to. I told myself I was doing the right thing. For the team. For Vision. For the world. But I broke something between us. I hurt you. And I hate myself for that.”

Y/N’s heart ached. She caught Wanda’s hand in hers and kissed her fingers one by one. “You didn’t break anything we can’t fix.”

Wanda gave a soft, teary laugh and tucked her head into Y/N’s shoulder. “I missed your stupid voice.”

Y/N grinned. “Stupid?”

“Yeah,” Wanda said, snuggling closer. “And your stupid jokes. And your stupid face.”

“Wow. So full of love,” Y/N teased, wrapping her arms around her. “Tell me more about how stupid I am.”

“You left me,” Wanda mumbled into her shoulder, but this time it wasn’t an accusation—just a truth she’d carried alone for too long.

“I didn’t want to,” Y/N whispered. “They wouldn’t let me through.”

“I know.” Wanda sighed. “I just… couldn’t feel you. And everything stopped making sense.”

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to make sense of it anymore. I’m here now.”

Wanda shifted just enough to look up at her, eyes soft, vulnerable. She caress Y/N cheek slowly. 

After a moment, she whispered, “I have to talk to Vision.”

Y/N stayed still, listening.

“I need to tell him the truth,” Wanda continued. “About us. About the bond. I need to apologize to him… and end it. It’s not fair to keep pretending.”

Y/N nodded slowly. Her voice was quiet, but edged with something deeper—raw and heavy. “I already told him.”

Wanda blinked, surprised.

“I told everyone,” Y/N admitted, exhaling hard through her nose. “After the training session. I didn’t mean to. It just… it came out. I was furious, that Steve and Vision didn’t let me see you…”

Wanda rested her forehead against Y/N’s. Her hand still cupped Y/N’s face, gentle and grounding. “It’s okay…but he still deserves to hear it from me too.”

She didn’t say it out of obligation. There was a quiet strength in her voice now—a resolve to finally face the hurt she’d caused and bring it to an end.

Y/N nodded again, slower this time.

After a moment, Y/N let out a slow breath, her voice gentle but steady. “Do you… love him?”

Wanda blinked up at her.

“Because if you do,” Y/N went on, “I’ll step back. If there’s a chance he makes you happy, I won’t be the thing that holds you back. Maybe we can even find a way to… break the bond.”

The air changed.

Wanda’s breath caught sharply—like something inside her chest had just cracked wide open. “Don’t say that,” she gasped.

Y/N flinched as sudden pain lanced through her ribs, deep and burning, and she realized Wanda was feeling it too. Both of them winced, clutching each other like the air had been ripped from their lungs.

The bond was reacting—recoiling.

“No,” Wanda whispered, eyes wide with panic. “No, no, no—don’t say that again.”

“Wands—”

“I don’t love him,” she cried, voice cracking. “I never did. I cared about him, yes. He was kind. Gentle. And when I used my powers with him, I could… feel him. But it was never this. It was never you.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks now, her hands trembling as she cradled Y/N’s face.

“I thought maybe that kind of love wasn’t meant for me,” Wanda said. “That I didn’t deserve it after everything I’d done. But then I met you. And for the first time, I felt—alive. Safe. Wanted. Like I’ve been searching for you across lifetimes. Like my soul has always known yours.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

“I regret what I did,” Wanda whispered, broken and raw. “I regret hurting you. I regret hurting Vision too, because he didn’t deserve to be caught in this. But I can’t—I won’t—be away from you again. I feel like I’ll die if I lose you. I can’t breathe without you.”

She buried her face against Y/N’s chest again, her sob muffled. “Please don’t go. Please don’t offer to let me go.”

Y/N’s hand threaded through Wanda’s hair, pulling her close. She leaned in, voice no longer trembling—only sure. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And then she kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heated. It was deep—anchored in pain and forgiveness, in a love so profound it felt ancient. Wanda melted into it, kissing her back with everything she was. The bond between them surged like light through cracks in stone—aching, healing, sealing them together again.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, both of them breathless, Wanda whispered

“I love you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She cupped Wanda’s face with both hands, brushing her thumbs gently along her cheeks. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” Wanda said, firmer this time.

Y/N smiled — truly smiled, the kind that reached her eyes, her soul. “I love you too, Wands. So damn much.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Wanda murmured.

“You’re my soulmate,” Y/N whispered. “You don’t have to earn what already belongs to you.”

And this time Wanda was the one to kiss Y/N. 

It was soft at first—barely more than a breath. But the moment their lips met again, the bond surged, responding like a flame catching wind. The world around them dimmed. Time unraveled.

The kiss deepened, slow but intense, like their souls were pouring into one another. Wanda’s fingers curled into Y/N’s shirt, and Y/N’s arms wrapped tight around her, as if letting go might break them all over again. The bond pulsed stronger now, feeding off their honesty, their relief, their desperate need.

They didn’t mean to keep kissing.

They just couldn’t stop.

Every time they tried to pull away, the bond tugged them back—gentle but firm, insistent. It magnified everything: every heartbeat, every gasp, every tremble. Like it knew this reunion was long overdue.

And maybe it did.

Eventually, reluctantly, they slowed. Their lips parted in fragments. Foreheads met again, breathing in sync, as if even that had become shared.

Wanda kept her eyes closed, as though opening them might shatter the fragile peace they’d found. Her fingers traced slow, reverent lines along Y/N’s jaw.

“I don’t want to lose this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, voice steady despite the way her heart pounded. “You won’t. Not again.”

The bond thrummed softly between them now—no longer burning, but glowing. Warm. Steady. Certain.

---

Finally everyone!

[k2padfoot]

We Don’t Talk About It Pt.2

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

summary: You and Rafe are best friends turned roommates, and it’s obvious you love each other but neither of you know how to handle it.

Pt.1

You left before the sun came up.

Slipped out as quietly as you could—no slammed doors, no final words. Just the soft click of the front door shutting behind you and a backpack slung over one shoulder. You didn’t pack much, just what you’d need for a few days. The truth was, you didn’t know how long you’d be gone. You only knew that you couldn’t stay. Not in that house. Not with someone who barely looked at you anymore. Not with all that heavy silence filling the space where moments of love used to be.

You didn’t even wake him.

You walked until your legs ached, then called Kiara.

And like always, she showed up.

────୨ৎ────

She didn’t ask questions. Just opened the passenger door to her car and let you in like she’d been expecting the call.

At her place, she tried to keep things light. Put on music, offered to do face masks, made dumb jokes you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh at. She didn’t push, though. She let you sit in silence, let you cry when you needed to, let you say nothing when that was all you could give.

But no matter what she did, he still lingered in your mind—etched into every quiet second, every deep breath.

Rafe.

────୨ৎ────

By day 4 you still hadn’t answered him. Not the texts, not the calls. Not the voice message you could barely finish listening to before your thumb hit delete.

He even reached out to Kie. Of course he did.

“What did you tell him?” you asked, curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled tight around your shoulders.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “That you’re here. That you’re fine.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t true. You weren’t fine. You hadn’t been in a long time.

Later that day, she looked at you with that stubborn gleam in her eye. “You need a distraction.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

You sighed. “Kie…”

“There’s a party tonight. At Topper’s. Big Fourth of July thing. Everyone’s going. You should come.”

You shot her a look. “You’re forgetting the part where Rafe will definitely be there.”

“Not necessarily,” she shrugged. “And even if he is—you’ll be with me. And besides, you can’t hide forever.”

You hesitated.

She grinned. “Come on. You can wear something hot and get drunk. Tell me that doesn’t sound at least a little tempting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

────୨ৎ────

The party was already in full swing by the time you pulled up—music thumping from the house, people spilling out onto the lawn, beer kegs, sparklers, someone already drunk enough to be cartwheeling through the grass. The whole town showed up.

You dressed cute. Maybe too cute. Short dress, bare shoulders, glossy lips. The kind of outfit that would’ve had Rafe looking at you like you were the only girl in the world—back when things were good.

But tonight wasn’t about Rafe.

At least, you were trying hard to pretend it wasn’t.

You grabbed a drink with Kie, said hi to a few familiar faces, smiled when you were supposed to. It wasn’t until you ran into Topper and his friends that you started to feel… almost okay.

One of them—Alex—was tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair that curled behind his ears, and the kind of warm, striking eyes that made you want to get lost in them. He grinned when Topper introduced you, and somehow, the two of you fell into conversation like you’d known each other for years.

He was charming without trying too hard. Funny in a disarming way. And God, it felt good. Being looked at like you mattered. Being listened to. His hand brushed your arm when he laughed, and you didn’t pull away. You were almost three drinks deep, flushed and light, head a little fuzzy—but not enough to miss the way he looked at you like you were the only girl at the party.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel guilty.

In fact, you felt… good.

But that didn’t last long.

Because just when you were finally starting to forget, finally letting yourself lean into the distraction—he showed up.

Rafe.

You saw him before he saw you, swaying slightly as he stepped through the front door. Late, as usual. And it didn’t take a genius to know he’d been drinking already. Maybe he’d been drinking since the second you left.

Your stomach dropped.

And then his eyes found you.

Right there, smiling up at someone else. At Alex. His hand still resting lightly on your arm, his laugh echoing into your ear.

Rafe didn’t stop to think. Didn’t pause to take in the situation. All it took was one look—and he lost it.

────୨ৎ────

You barely had time to register the shift in energy before he was storming across the lawn—eyes locked on you, jaw tight, every bit of him wound up and seconds from unraveling. Alex was still mid-sentence, smiling down at you, when Rafe’s voice cut through the music like a blade.

“The fuck is this?”

Alex turned, brows lifting in confusion. You didn’t have to turn—you already knew.

“Rafe,” you muttered, pulse spiking as you stepped slightly in front of Alex.

He didn’t even look at you. His eyes were locked on the other guy, full of something dark. “You think this is funny? Hitting on someone else’s girl?”

Alex blinked. “Didn’t know she was your girl.”

“I’m not,” you said sharply, cutting the tension before it could spike higher.

That finally made Rafe look at you. Really look.

“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “So you ghost me for four days, and now you’re just—what? Out here playing games with some random guy like none of it mattered?”

You laughed—cold, sharp. “Games? Are you joking?”

He stepped closer. “You disappear. No call, no explanation—and now you’re acting like I don’t get to be pissed seeing you all over someone else?”

“Oh, so now you care?” you fired back, voice rising with the heat bubbling in your chest. “Where was all this fire when you were busy letting other girls hang on you? When you were out getting drunk and making out with random girls? Or when you’d go as far as to do it right in front of me?”

His face hardened. “That was different.”

“How?!” you snapped. “Explain to me how that was different, because from where I’m standing, at least I was honest. At least I never did that shit to you. I’ve been sitting in silence, wondering if I’m asking for too much just to feel like I mattered.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

And that only made your voice tremble more—not from weakness, but from the weight of everything you’d held in for too damn long.

“You know what the real problem is?” you said, stepping even closer to him now. “It’s that you never once said what we were. Never said what you wanted, never gave me anything. But the second you see me smiling at someone else—someone who’s treating me like I exist—you show up, drunk and territorial like I owe you something?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, quieter now, jaw clenched.

“No. You don’t,” you shot back. “I was never yours, Rafe. You never gave me a reason to be.”

The air between you was thick with things that didn’t get said—months of push and pull, of hot-and-cold nights, of moments that felt like love but never got the name.

“You don’t get to be mad,” you whispered. “Not when you did this.”

And with that, you turned and walked off, leaving him standing there in the middle of the crowd, stunned and silent.

Because for once, the silence was his to sit in—not yours.

────୨ৎ────

You hadn’t meant to come home that morning.

But after a night of pushing drinks past your limit, ignoring everything you felt until it hurt to pretend, your feet carried you there—back to the house, back to the place you’d tried to get space from. The hangover was already kicking in, your head heavy, limbs sore, mascara smudged beneath tired eyes.

You opened the door, expecting the same empty silence.

But instead—flowers.

Multiple bouquets in all different vases, scattered across the kitchen counter like something out of a dream. Tall ones, small ones. Bright and soft colors. You froze. And then your eyes caught the box sitting next to them—full of your favorite snacks, candy, drinks. Little things. But things only someone who really paid attention would know.

And resting in front of it all was a simple card.

You walked toward it slowly, dropped your bag to the floor, and sank into the stool at the breakfast bar. You hesitated before picking it up, fingers trembling slightly as you opened it.

His handwriting was rushed, uneven—but you’d recognize it anywhere.

Y/n,

I know I don’t deserve your time right now. And maybe you’re already done with me—and if you are, I get it. But I had to try. I had to say something before I lost the chance completely.

I screw things up. I break things when I care too much. When something starts to feel real, I sabotage it. Because if I ruin it first, it can’t leave me.

But you… you’re the only thing I didn’t want to ruin. I just didn’t know how not to.

These past four days without you—I’ve felt like I was losing my grip. Not just on us. On everything. Because you’ve become this constant in my life I didn’t know I needed. And now that you’re not here… nothing feels right.

I don’t know what we are. Maybe we never figured that out. Maybe we didn’t know how. But I know what you are to me. You’re my person. And whether we work out or not, no one will ever touch that place in my heart that belongs to you. No one ever could.

Please don’t forget that. Even if we never get it right.

—Rafe

You blinked hard as the words blurred on the page. Your throat tightened, the ache in your chest rising all over again. You were still reading the last line, still trying to breathe through it, when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned.

And there he was.

Rafe stood in the doorway, looking exhausted. His clothes were wrinkled. His hair a mess. Eyes red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept—or maybe had spent the whole night crying. Or drinking. Or both.

“Hey, you’re back.” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Rafe…”

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully—like you might run if he moved too fast. You noticed something in his hand, small and dark and velvet.

Your stomach twisted.

“Y/n—”

“Rafe, don’t,” you interrupted quickly, panic rising in your throat. “You can’t just—”

“Before you say anything else,” he started, voice low, “I’m not here to ask for anything. I just wanted to give you something.”

You looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod, your eyes flicking back to the box in his hand.

“I know how this looks. It’s not a ring,” he added quickly. “I’m not proposing. That’s not what this is.”

A relief flushed through you as you stayed silent, waiting.

He opened the box gently and inside, nestled against the dark velvet, was a delicate tennis bracelet—thin, timeless, lined with diamonds that shimmered in the morning light. It was stunning, but not in a flashy way. It was… meaningful.

“This was my mom’s,” he said quietly. “One of the last things she ever gave me. She told me not to keep it locked away. Said I’d know when it was time to give it to someone who mattered. Someone who meant something to me.”

His eyes were glassy now, but he kept going.

“And I want you to have it.”

You stared at him, blinking hard.

“Not because I want you to feel pressured. Not because I expect anything from you,” he added. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m not even asking for tomorrow. I just… I need you to know that you’re it for me, Y/n.”

He took a shaky breath, then set the box gently down on the counter between you.

“No matter what happens from here—if we figure this out or we crash and burn—you’re still the only person I could ever imagine giving this to. You’re the one. Whether we work or not, that doesn’t change.”

You looked down at the bracelet, then back at him. And for the first time in days, you felt something other than hurt. Something real. Something honest.

You didn’t know what you were going to say. Or what this meant. Or where you were going to go from here.

But for once, you felt like he wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear.

He was saying what he’d been holding inside all along.

*Ty to all the babies who asked for a pt.2 hope you enjoy!!* @ivy-34 @immyowndefender @artbymin @godsfavoritegirlll @drewstarkeyslover @berryonasummerevening @maryyyswift @whosmaybe @lightbluebaby @esotericcangel @dinnodallas @rafeycameronsgf @pillowprincess4him

so pt.3???

[tqlepatia]

— just know any love I gave you's forever yours to keep .

previous fic masterlist next

summary: After a rough night where their son lashes out at Sevika for kissing her new girlfriend, she brings him back to your home in tears. Once he's asleep, Sevika enters your room to talk.

notes: sorry for the long wait, i am doing anothers fics!! here it iss

The bedroom’s dim, the hallway quiet — like the whole house is holding its breath.

Sevika closes the door gently behind her after tucking your son into bed. He’s still curled up tight, cheeks puffy from crying. He only calmed down when you whispered to him together. When he could fall asleep knowing you were both there.

Now, Sevika stands in your doorway like a question.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands resting on your thighs. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what’s left to say.

She breaks the silence first, voice low and hoarse: "Didn’t think he’d react like that."

You nod slowly, eyes focused on the floor. "He's a kid. He doesn't know what to do with all that yet. It’s too much."

She exhales through her nose, frustrated. Walks to the chair by your dresser and sinks into it, her bionic arm flexing once, slow.

"You think I fucked him up already?" she mutters.

"No," you say, still not looking at her. "But that’s not the question you should be asking." Sevika frowns. "Then what is it?"

You finally look at her. Your voice comes soft, but sharp enough to cut.

"Why did you think it was okay to bring someone new into his life when he hasn’t even made peace with losing the one he knew?" She goes quiet. Rubs her hand over her face. "I wasn’t tryin’ to replace you."

You give a dry laugh. "He doesn’t know that. He just sees someone else kissing his mom and he thinks... he thinks he lost something."

For a long beat, she doesn't speak. "It didn’t feel real ‘til tonight," she finally admits. "Him freakin’ out like that. Screaming at me. I thought I could... compartmentalize, I guess."

"You can’t do that with him," you say gently. "He doesn’t have compartments. He just feels."

Silence again. But this time, it isn’t bitter. It’s full. Alive. You pat the mattress beside you. "Sit down, Sev."

She hesitates... then gets up, walking over, heavy steps, sinking down next to you. Her body warm. Familiar.

You both stay still for a while. Breathing the same air, Then, something bubbles up in your chest, uninvited:

"Remember when he cut all his hair off with those plastic kid scissors?" She snorts. "Looked like a baby raccoon. Like—straight patches missing everywhere."

You laugh, finally. The real kind, Sevika grins, just a little, like it surprises her. "You were so mad," you say.

"Because he lied and said you did it."

You shrug, smiling. "He knew you wouldn’t stay mad at me." Her smile softens into something quieter.

You shift back onto the bed, laying down. "I miss this. Not just you. I miss... us, all three."

She stretches out beside you, slow, heavy with thought, then carefully puts her head on your chest. You don’t move. Just breathe. Your fingers end up in her hair without thinking.

"He still waits for us to fix it," you whisper. "Even when we act like it’s fine."

"I know," she says, voice muffled against you.

A pause.

"You think we ever will?" You don't answer. You’re not ready to, But then your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You both ignore it at first.

Then hers vibrates.

She doesn’t reach for it either. But when it keeps going — again, and again — she groans softly and lifts her head from your chest. The air changes.

She picks up her phone. The screen lights her face up blue.

"It’s her." You close your eyes. Of course it is—She hesitates. Her thumb hovers over the screen for a long second, then taps. Brings it to her ear.

The voice on the other end cuts through the stillness. You can't make out the exact words, but the tone is clipped — urgent, a little panicked.

"Sevika, what the hell? It’s been hours. Are you coming back? You said you were just dropping him off—” You look away, shifting onto your side. You don’t want to hear her answer.

"No. I’m not, Don’t call again." She hangs up, The silence that follows feels sacred. Thick. Almost holy.

Sevika stares at the floor like she’s still hearing echoes. Her jaw tightens as she sets the phone down, face-down, beside your lamp.

She doesn’t speak. Just moves.

She crosses the room slowly, like she’s thinking through every step. Like if she rushes, you might vanish. Like if she speaks, the spell will break.

She pulls back the covers and slips beneath them again. This time, she doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t hover like a stranger in her own home, She finds you under the sheets, her body warm and heavy beside yours. Her head presses back to your chest — the same place it was before.

But this time, it’s different, Her arm wraps around your waist. Tight. Not possessive — grounding.

You breathe in, your fingers finding her hair again. The strands a little coarse between your fingertips, still damp near the nape of her neck. She smells like your son’s lavender shampoo.

Neither of you speaks for a while. Outside, it starts to rain.

You feel her relax slowly, as if she’s been holding tension in her jaw for weeks, and now she can finally unclench. Her nose brushes the curve of your collarbone.

Then, quietly, you murmur: "He’s gonna be so happy when he wakes up" A shaky exhale leaves her chest. You feel it more than hear it. Her hand tightens in the fabric of your sleep shirt. Her eyes close.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝐓aglist of the series : @possessedmagpie, @starrycherie, @moodient, @h2pinky, @minaridior, @abbysdollie, @vkumi, @acidblum, @skzhoiic, @sleepingwasp, @kmhbygss, @jksevendays, @lovejuliettq, @prettyyyy-girl .

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @katarandaa, @starrycherie, @moonshimegf , @watermelonshine, @zombieeepup .

[monserelates]

Clueless Idiots ; James Potter.

⇨f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Just Y/N and James being clueless little cuties.

⇨warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff fluffy fluff, use of y/n, reader is female, she and james are really oblivious

⇨a/n: once again with my favorite trope 🥹, I just love writing about James and writing fluff. If you guys have any requests you can definitely share them i’d be really grateful! Hope you enjoy <3

There were very few constants at Hogwarts.

One: Filch’s cat was always watching.

Two: The fourth step on the Charms staircase would always try to eat your foot.

And three: James Potter and Y/N Y/L/N were practically glued at the hip.

It wasn’t official. Of course not. Because nothing was ever that easy with the two of them. They were best friends, partners-in-crime, even, and the subject of at least two weekly betting pools run by both the Gryffindor Common Room and the Hogwarts staff lounge.

“Oh, come on,” McGonnagall muttered behind her teacup one morning as the pair entered the Great Hall, James slinging his arm over Y/N’s shoulder, Y/N stealing a bit of toast from his plate without blinking. “If he tucks her hair behind her ear one more time, I’m raising my bet to ten Galleons.”

Dumbledore sipped his coffee, smiling fondly. “They remind me of a young Lily and James.”

“They are James and—never mind.”

“Minerva,” Sprout said gently, “they’re teenagers. You can’t force these things.”

“I’m not forcing anything. I’m simply pointing out that if they don’t confess by Valentine’s Day, I’m deducting points for excessive obliviousness.”

Meanwhile, back at the Gryffindor table:

“Do you think I’d look good with a moustache?” James asked, munching on bacon.

Y/N wrinkled her nose. “What kind of question is that?”

“You didn’t say no.”

“I’m saying absolutely not. You’d look like an undercover Auror going through a midlife crisis.”

James grinned. “So… no moustache.”

“Not if you want me to keep sitting next to you.”

He paused for half a second—half a second too long—and then laughed.

She didn’t notice. Or at least she pretended not to.

Sirius, sitting across from them, rolled his eyes so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “You two are unbearable.”

Remus didn’t look up from his book. “It’s like watching two penguins try to flirt by throwing fish at each other.”

“Penguins?”

“Very monogamous creatures,” Remus said. “Mate for life.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s oddly sweet.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

James reached for more toast and brushed her hand accidentally. Their eyes locked for one second too long.

Sirius groaned into his pumpkin juice.

⸻

Later that day, the pair was in the library, sharing one textbook, their knees brushing under the table. Y/N didn’t flinch. James did. Barely. Just enough to notice.

“Did you finish your Potions essay?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he lied.

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

She snorted. “Come on, Potter, focus.”

“You said my last one was ‘shockingly decent.’ That’s high praise.”

“I meant its like a shocked cat watching fireworks, but sure.”

He grinned.

They were so close, heads bent together, she could see the tiny freckle beneath his left eye. He smelled like broomstick polish and cinnamon.

She looked away first.

⸻

That weekend, they sat together at the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin quidditch match, they had bet 10 galleons that Ravenclaw will win—James with one arm slung lazily around the back of her seat, Y/N leaning into his side to shout over the noise.

“Ten more points and we win!”

“I’ll take you to Honeydukes if we do!”

“You always take me to Honeydukes!”

“Then I’ll buy you everything in the front window.”

“Even the sugar quills?”

“Especially the sugar quills.”

Lily leaned over to Marlene. “Do you think they know they’re flirting?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Hogsmeade knows they’re flirting?”

⸻

Later, as the Gryffindors spilled back into the common room, James and Y/N flopped onto the couch together. James didn’t hesitate before pulling her legs into his lap.

“Oi, Y/N,” he said, grinning, “you ever going to tell me your type?”

She sipped her butterbeer. “I don’t have one.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, fine. I like boys who are funny. And brave. And maybe a little too loyal for their own good.”

His smile faltered for half a second.

“And,” she added, “he’d have to care a lot. Like… secretly-loves-dogs, picks-flowers-he-won’t-admit-to, remembers-how-I-take-my-tea kind of caring.”

He blinked.

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Remus, passing behind the couch, muttered, “I swear to Merlin, if one of you doesn’t kiss the other in the next forty-eight hours, I’m hexing both of you into next week.”

"What's that, moony?" You asked, oblivious.

"Oh, nothing. I was just talking to myself,"

⸻

Back in the staff lounge, the betting board had been updated:

“Confession before Halloween – 3 Galleons”

“Caught kissing in a broom closet – 5 Galleons”

“They still don’t know they’re in love – priceless”

“I’m changing my bet,” Sprout said cheerfully. “Two Galleons on Y/N realizing first.”

“I say it’s Potter,” said Slughorn. “He’s been writing her name in his notes for months.”

McGonagall smirked. “I’ll double it if it’s her who kisses him.”

⸻

That night, as the fire crackled low and the common room emptied out, James stretched.

“I should go to bed.”

Y/N didn’t move. “’Night, James.”

But he didn’t go.

Instead, he leaned down slowly, close enough for her to see the freckles on his nose and the look in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Y/N.

She blinked.

For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

For a second, she almost let him.

But then—

He straightened up, ruffled her hair, and walked off to the boys’ dorms.

And she sat there, heart thudding, cursing the universe and every stupid bet McGonagall was definitely winning.

[lilbluustar]

what i don't know how to say, but i feel

pairing— bf!anton x fem!reader

wc— 3.1k

content and warnings— male insecurity, emotionally fearful reader, overthinking, deep emotional connection, need for emotional validation, mild anxiety, smut (mdi), oral sex (f. receive), softboy!anton, fluff, emotional intimacy, mutual pining.

note— hello:) to write this i got a lot of inspiration from me, lol. at first people usually think i'm very cold and it's ironic because i'm a super loving and caring girl, i just have had very bad experiences and luck, that's why i'm usually a bit suspicious before opening my heart, anyway, i hope u like it and enjoy it! 🥺💕🫶💘

at the beginning of your relationship with anton, he felt completely enchanted—but also confused.

at first, it was hard for you.

much harder than you would’ve liked to admit.

when anton hugged you, your shoulders tensed almost instinctively.

not because you didn’t like it—quite the opposite—but because something inside you was triggered with a silent alarm. as if sudden affection were a luxury you didn’t know how to handle. you were afraid of giving too much, only to be left without it later. fearful of getting used to his warmth and waking up one day to find it gone.

and that kept you in a constant contradiction: wanting to be close, but fearing you wouldn’t know how.

you wanted to reach for his hand, but your fingers stayed still.

you wanted to say “i miss you” many times, but swallowed the words before they reached your lips.

there were days when you’d just think: what if i push him away because i don’t know how to love him the way he deserves?

but you tried.

slowly.

even if it didn’t always show.

even if no one else understood.

every small sign of affection was a battle won against your own fears. and somehow, anton knew. that’s why he never pressured you. he just waited. with a patience that sometimes broke you, because you couldn’t understand how someone could love you without rushing you.

he wanted everything with you, but there were moments when his hands turned cold, when he felt you pull away ever so slightly, like you didn’t know how to express love the way he felt it.

you’d been dating for almost two months. although your time together was sweet, anton was starting to feel a silent pressure he didn’t know how to let go of.

so one night, while rehearsing with the guys, he was quieter than usual. it was sohee who broke the silence:

"what’s wrong, anton?"

and after a sigh, he replied:

"it’s nothing serious. i just… feel weird. sometimes i wonder if i’m doing something wrong. i know she cares about me, i do… but there’s something that never fully comes out. like she’s holding back. like she’s scared to give me more."

and one by one, the boys started backing him up.

"that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, bro. maybe it’s just her way of protecting herself. i know her, you just need to give her time," Sungchan said, throwing an arm around Anton’s shoulders.

"love doesn’t always look the same. but if you can see she’s trying, even just a little… then it’s there," shotaro added while opening a bottle of water.

"talk to her. don’t bottle it up. you don’t have to carry it alone. she might surprise you too," wonbin nodded, serious but sincere.

and that conversation didn't leave his head for a long time.

days later, you were at his house again, helping him organize some things in his room. you were laughing as you found one of his childhood drawings, and he smiled too.

"was this supposed to be a three-legged octopus?" you asked with a breathy laugh, holding up the crumpled-edge drawing.

anton chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that’s with you, but also a little lost in thought.

"that was actually a dinosaur..." he said, scratching the back of his neck.

you moved closer to show him, and as you did, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear with such gentleness it left you speechless for a second. the kind of gesture that doesn’t say much, but says everything.

but deep down, something was keeping him distant. quieter than usual. every now and then he’d glance at you—then look away right after.

you noticed.

"are you okay?" you asked as you sat on his bed.

anton stood there silently for a moment, hands in his pockets.

"yeah… just tired, i guess."

but you knew him. you knew that wasn’t it.

"is that really it?" you insisted.

he took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and sat beside you, still not looking at you.

"i don’t want to sound like an idiot, but... sometimes i feel like i’m holding back all the time," his voice was low, honest "i want to hug you without overthinking. to kiss you without wondering if it’s the right moment. to touch your cheek or hold your hand without second-guessing if you’ll pull away a little..."

you looked at him silently, your heart aching. he finally met your eyes—and in them, there was affection… but also vulnerability.

"i promised myself i’d be patient. and i’m trying, i really am. but it’s hard. it’s hard not to feel insecure sometimes. you make me happy, but i feel like i’m walking on glass. like one wrong step could make you pull away from me."

you swallowed hard, leaning a little closer.

"anton… i don’t want you to feel that way. it’s not your fault. i... i’m learning how to trust. not you—but that i deserve this. that you won’t hurt me. but i swear, i don’t want you to feel like this."

he looked at you silently, jaw clenched like he was holding something in. then he whispered:

"i don’t mind that it takes time… but it hurts to feel like maybe i don’t make you feel safe enough."

that broke you.

you moved closer, took his hand in both of yours, and placed it over your chest—right above your heart. and as he felt your warmth there, he let out the tiniest sigh, like that one gesture calmed him more than a thousand words.

"you’re right here all the time. even if i’m scared to say it out loud."

anton lowered his gaze, then found your eyes again. and in the softest voice, with an almost invisible tremble:

"sometimes i wonder if you know how much i love you… or if i’m just screaming in a language you don’t quite understand yet."

your lips parted in surprise, your eyes beginning to water.

"i’m trying, anton. every day… i’m just afraid i’ll get used to your tenderness and then lose it."

"that’ll never happen. just… promise me you won’t leave me guessing all the time. even if it’s silent—let me know you love me. that you’re here."

you nodded, softly.

"i promise, anton."

he rested his forehead against yours.

silence.

a suspended space where only your breaths and unsaid words existed. then he whispered:

"thank you for trying. teally."

and even if you still weren’t ready to be overly expressive, you kissed him. slowly. a soft kiss—gentle, but intentional. as if saying without words: i don’t know how to do it all right yet, but i want to learn—with you.

and him… even if it still hurt a little, even if the insecurity didn’t completely vanish, he knew that your gesture was another step forward. for him. for both of you.

and that was enough.

a couple of weeks had passed since that conversation.

since then, anton noticed every detail.

that you didn’t hesitate as much to hug him.

that you looked for him more often.

that even in your silences, there was love.

and that day, you were walking together after dinner. you stayed outside talking, under a streetlamp, with that soft breeze messing up your hair a little.

anton held your hand, fingers interlaced and playing with yours. you weren’t talking about anything deep—just a movie you both wanted to see… but in the middle of the conversation, you suddenly said:

"you make me feel safe, you know?" he went quiet. that phrase—from you—meant the world. and you knew it.

so when you looked up and saw him looking at you like that… with that mix of tenderness, pride, and restrained desire… you smiled. anton stepped closer. his hands cupped your cheeks. and you didn’t pull away. you didn’t look down. you didn’t freeze.

you just looked at him—straight on. then hid your face in his chest, laughing softly, and he murmured: "you’re worth the wait. every time."

another time, anton was sitting in the living room with his guitar, you lying in front of him while he shared his progress with you, strumming absentmindedly... until he felt your arms around him from behind. you hugged his back, leaned your cheek against him and whispered:

"i’m really happy to be with you…"

he froze for a second. not because he didn’t want the moment—but because it was hard to process that you were now the one reaching out. that you were the one giving yourself without reservations.

he set the guitar aside. turned to face you, eyes filled with love, disbelief, and pride. he caressed your face and whispered: "you have no idea what this means to me…"

he kissed your forehead. then pulled you onto his lap, as if needing to hold you close. as if now he couldn’t quite believe it.

"i swear i feel like the luckiest guy in the world. not just because i’m with you—but because i got to see you bloom… to have your love like this, with no walls."

and you, looking at him with tenderness, said: "thank you for not giving up when i was the most scared." and anton, voice cracking slightly, could only say: "i never would. never."

since then, whenever you went out with the boys, they started noticing too. they saw how you laughed more freely when you were with anton. how you finally hugged him first. how one day, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

every little moment was a victory they lived with him. every small step you took toward anton brought shared smiles and knowing glances among the boys. sometimes they’d even nudge him with a grin, like:

"did you see that? she’s breaking through the barrier." and Anton… he just watched them, nodding with that goofy, proud little smile. because yes, it was you. and even if at your own pace… you were getting closer.

until one day, at the end of a hangout with the boys, just as you were leaving, you turned back on your own and gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek. just you. on your own initiative.

and when you walked out, everyone screamed, hugged him, lifted him like he had just scored the goal of the century.

anton just laughed, covering his face, mumbling “stop it, stop it,” while his heart whispered: finally… she’s starting to let go of the fear.

later, coming back from lunch with the guys, you were in anton’s room. sitting on the floor, backs against the bed, sharing a little blanket he’d had since childhood —one of those with the frayed edges but still smelled like home.

it was raining gently outside, and there was a calm in the air that wrapped around you both, like the world had turned down its volume just to let you breathe.

he was drinking coffee. you, hot tea. your knees brushed against his every now and then, but you didn’t pull away anymore. you were talking about a strange dream you had —one with colorful birds and floating trains.

anton looked at you with that soft, tilted smile he only wore when you had him completely mesmerized without even trying. he listened like you were telling him the most important secret in the universe.

at some point, you paused. looked at him.

"hey…" you said softly.

anton raised his eyebrows, curious.

you set your cup aside, swallowed hard, and before you could overthink it, you moved closer. rested your head on his shoulder, and from there, you whispered:

"can i tell you something?"

"always."

"i don’t think i ever thought i’d be here. that i could feel so… at peace, so happy, just sitting next to someone. with you. it feels like there’s no rush. like everything’s okay even if i don’t say much. and that… makes me want to stay."

he didn’t say anything at first. he just took your hand, gently, and kissed it. then, pressing his forehead to yours, he whispered:

"stay as long as you want. i used to dream about this too."

you set your cup down on the nightstand and didn’t waste another second before melting your lips into anton’s.

he kissed you with so much intensity and love, like the whole world depended on not letting go of that moment.

"are you okay?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

you nodded, unable to speak. his eyes were shining—not just because of what had just happened, but because of what it meant. everything you had kept inside out of fear, everything you had held back because of pain, had crumbled with the first brush of his lips. and still, it felt… peaceful.

"anton…" you said, searching his eyes.

he swallowed hard, as if every part of him was struggling to stay steady.

"are you sure?"

you looked at him with the kind of honesty that only comes when nothing else matters anymore.

"yes. please… make me yours"

anton kissed you again, this time with more hunger, more restrained emotion. his hands slipped under the fabric of your coat, and you clung to his shirt, pulling him closer.

the kisses grew slower, deeper. breaths heavier. the barriers disappeared in soft touches at first—shy—then bolder, more desperate.

he gently laid you down on his bed, as if you were too delicate, never once breaking the kiss. your bodies spoke the same language, as if they had been waiting for this moment forever.

your hands tangled in his hair, and he let out a sigh against your lips when you felt his fingers brush the skin beneath your blouse.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he said again, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours.

"don’t stop," you answered—without fear, without hesitation.

then Anton looked at you like you were the only person who had ever mattered. and with overwhelming patience, he began to undress you slowly, as if each layer was a shared secret, a promise to stay—even when it hurt.

the dim lights, the silence of the room, and the warmth of your bodies created a new kind of intimacy—one where there was no space for ghosts, only for the two of you.

and for the first time, your scars didn’t ache when they were touched.

your blouse fell to the floor unhurriedly, as if time itself had surrendered to you both. anton’s gaze never left you for a second. there was no lust in his eyes—there was something else… admiration. care.

"you’re shaking…" he murmured, tracing your collarbone with his fingers.

"so are you," you replied with a faint smile.

the warm lights in his room were soft, as if they, too, wanted to protect that moment. outside, the rain had begun to tap against the windows, creating a slow, intimate rhythm.

a melody that wrapped around you both.

anton lowered his head and kissed your neck, leaving wet caresses on your skin, soft at first... until his lips became more determined. each kiss was a confession he dared not say out loud.

your hands slipped under his shirt, pulling it up little by little. He took it off without breaking contact, letting your breaths mingle in the silence.

when you were both half-naked, you stood like that for a moment, facing each other, no longer touching. just looking at each other. as if seeing each other for real was also undressing.

anton kissed you again, this time deeper, more desperate. he held you by the waist and pulled you to him, until you felt every heartbeat, every breath. he moved down your body, leaving wet kisses on the exposed part of your breasts your bra didn't reach to cover, on your stomach, slowly descending, worshipping every corner as if it were sacred.

you moaned softly as you felt his mouth lower, and your thighs trembled at the contact with the warmth of his tongue. He paused for a second, looking up.

“are u all right, baby?” he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against your wet folds.

you nodded with parted lips, cheeks burning.

“don't stop... please.”

and anton listened to you as if every word was a divine command. he started to eat you out, you with urgency, with devotion, with tenderness. his tongue moved with a perfect blend of slowness and pressure, as if he wanted to memorize every sound that escaped from your mouth.

your hips moved of their own accord, seeking him, yearning for more. one of your hands clung to the sheets, the other to his hair.

it wasn't long before you reached your peak of pleasure, releasing you and anton didn't hesitate to take it all as if he needed it to exist, causing you to be overstimulated.

“toni...” your broken voice made him raise his head, his breath hitching.

“may i...?” he asked, brushing his cheek against yours.

"yes... please. i want to feel you closer."

he kissed you as he positioned himself on top of you again, both of you still trembling. the first brush was slow, almost awkward from nerves. you pressed him tighter against you, moaning as you felt him enter you fully.

your bodies clicked together, as if they were made to meet like this. slow at first, as if each movement was a promise. then deeper, more urgent, as the breaths became gasps and the silence was filled with your names.

“don't look away," anton asked, his voice breaking. just look at me.

and you did, even as your body arched with pleasure, even as tears mingled with sweat and sighs.

because in that instant, between the trembling of your bodies and the rubbing of your souls, you knew each other more than two wounded people.

they recognized each other.

they chose each other.

they were love.

his forehead rested on yours, your breaths still uneven, his trembling hands on your waist.

and you stayed like that, no more words.

because sometimes love didn’t need shouting or grand gestures.

sometimes it only needed a rainy afternoon, two warm cups, and the kind of safe silence that blooms when someone finally feels… at home.

[cassiemaebarnes]

The New Winter Soldier: Part 2

Part 1

Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky goes on a mission to investigate a possible Hydra base, and comes back with you...who they were training to be the new Winter Soldier.

Word Count: 5,692

You weren’t sure how long you ran for, but eventually, you made your way to a clearing where two jets were sitting.

Bucky slowed down, so you did too, walking over to the jet on the left. As you walked up, two people got out, causing you to freeze.

“It’s okay,” he said, glancing over at you before he looked at the two others. “Hey guys.”

“Hey,” they answered in unison, both letting their eyes settle on you.

Bucky dropped your hand, then stepped in front of you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, they’re with me,” he said, nodding to the others behind him. “That’s Bruce on the left, and Wanda on the right. They’re gonna take you back to our compound. You’ll be safe there.”

You glanced over his shoulder, looking at Bruce and Wanda as he continued.

“They’re just gonna run some tests, make sure you’re healthy, get you settled in.”

The second you heard ‘tests’ you froze. You knew you could trust them if they were with Bucky, but you didn’t want any more people testing on you.

He noticed you freeze, then reached his other hand up to rest on your other shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re not gonna hurt you. They’re here to help you – just like me.”

You looked back at Bucky, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said, stepping to the side and dropping his hands. One hand came up and rested on your lower back, guiding you to the jet where Bruce and Wanda were standing, holding out the binder to Bruce so he could take it.

“I have to go back, but I’ll be there soon, okay?”

You just looked at him again, giving him another nod before he stepped away. He looked at Bruce and Wanda, nodding once, then ran off, back towards the building you just left.

You slowly turned, facing Bruce and Wanda. Wanda was the first to speak.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna help you.”

“Yeah,” Bruce responded. “When you’re ready, we’ll get on the jet and go back to the compound.”

You looked between them for a moment, not moving, then you finally gave them a small nod.

Wanda gave you a soft smile while Bruce turned around and started walking up the ramp onto the jet. You followed, but suddenly, Wanda stopped in front of you at the bottom of the ramp, reaching out her hand to help you up.

You just stared at it.

You knew you could trust them, but you didn’t feel fully comfortable with anyone other than Bucky. So you took a half-step back, eyes flicking back up to her face.

She seemed to notice, putting her hand back down and mumbling an apology as you walked past her onto the jet.

Bruce was sitting on a bench along the left side, so you went to the right, scanning the space before sitting down carefully. Wanda sat down next to Bruce, both of them looking at you intently, but trying not to scare you.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked. “Any injuries or pain or anything you want me to check out right now?”

You looked up at him, shaking your head before looking back down at the ground in front of you.

“Okay,” he said.

Then Wanda added, “If you need anything, just let us know.”

This time, you nodded without even looking up at them.

--

You weren’t sure how long you were in the jet, but Bruce and Wanda didn’t say anything else. Clearly, they could tell you didn’t want to talk.

The faint hum of the engines shifted beneath you, growing deeper as the jet began its descent. The vibrations under your feet changed, and your body tensed instinctively. Wanda and Bruce both stirred in their seats.

“We’re at the compound,” Bruce said gently, rising to his feet and brushing off his jacket. “We’ll head to the med bay to run a few tests, make sure you’re okay.”

You tensed again.

That word. Tests. It made your stomach twist. Your fingers dug into the edges of the bench beneath you, but Wanda had already stood, waiting patiently near the exit ramp, her expression soft.

You didn’t want to go. You wished Bucky had stayed with you. But you followed.

The landing pad was quiet when you stepped out of the jet. It was nothing like the facility you came from, but it still didn’t feel safe yet.

Bruce led the way, Wanda falling into step just behind him. No one said much. You kept your eyes low, trailing just far enough behind to feel like you had space, but close enough that you didn’t get lost in the massive halls.

And then Bruce stopped in front of a set of doors.

He pressed a button, and the doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the room beyond. White light spilled out into the hallway, cold and clinical.

Inside, you saw the machines. Medical monitors. IV poles. Chairs with straps meant for holding patients steady – not like the ones they used on you – but close enough. Too close.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stopped walking.

Wanda turned first. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer.

Bruce turned next. “What’s wrong?”

Still, you said nothing. You couldn’t make yourself move. Couldn’t step forward. Couldn’t speak.

They stood there quietly, watching you, trying not to pressure you. Wanda took a step forward, then stopped, not wanting to crowd you. The silence stretched.

Finally, Bruce spoke again, softer this time. “Do you need something?”

You looked up for the first time since stepping off the jet. Your lips parted, but you didn’t say anything at first. Then finally, you spoke for the first time since you left your cell.

“Bucky.”

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted, caught off guard. “Oh,” he said, nodding slowly. “Okay. We can wait until he’s back.”

Some of the tension in your chest loosened, and your arms dropped to your sides. Bruce gave you a quick, reassuring smile.

“I’ll go get things ready in there,” he said, and turned to step inside.

You looked around for a moment, then slowly sank down to the floor, sitting with your back against the wall just down the hall from the med bay. Your legs curled in and your arms wrapped around your knees. You couldn’t bring yourself to be inside that room. Not without him.

Wanda knelt briefly. “Do you want anything? Water, food, blanket?”

You shook your head.

She didn’t push. Instead, she turned and disappeared into the med bay, returning a minute later with a chair. She set it down gently near the doorway and sat, keeping her distance but not leaving you alone. Just close enough that you knew she was there.

Neither of you spoke.

You just waited.

You weren’t sure how long it would be until Bucky came back. But you could wait.

--

Time passed in quiet stillness, the only sounds the soft hum of machinery inside the med bay. You kept your knees pulled to your chest, eyes unfocused, your back pressed against the cool wall.

Then, you heard Wanda get up from her chair.

You looked up just as she stood, and she gave you a small, reassuring smile.

“The others just got back,” she said gently. “I’ll go get Bucky.”

You didn’t speak, only nodded once, and she gave you one more soft look before heading down the hallway. Her footsteps were quick but quiet, fading as she turned a corner and disappeared.

Your gaze dropped back to the floor. You didn’t know what time it was. You didn’t know how long it had been. But you knew that the only thing making your lungs work right now was the thought that he would be with you again.

You heard footsteps approaching a few minutes later, and you looked up.

Wanda rounded the corner again, and beside her was Bucky.

He was talking to her in a low voice, too quiet to make out, but something about it immediately made your chest loosen. Like everything was finally about to settle.

A few more footsteps followed behind them. Three other people – all in gear, clearly part of their team. They stopped farther down the hallway, casting quick glances toward you, curious. They didn’t come closer. Just stood there for a second, exchanged a few quiet words, and turned back around, letting you have your space.

Wanda slowed her pace, hanging back just slightly, but Bucky kept walking.

He stopped in front of you, crouching down so he was eye level. A small, familiar smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Not too wide. Just enough to tell you he was happy to see you.

“Hey,” he said softly, like he didn’t want to startle you. “Heard you didn’t wanna go in without me.”

You nodded, barely perceptible, but he noticed.

He tilted his head, his voice still soft. “You ready now?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, finally, you spoke, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

His smile widened just a little, not in a teasing way, but something more like relief. Like he’d been holding his breath waiting to hear you speak.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

He stood up and reached out a hand to you.

And this time, you didn’t hesitate. You slipped your fingers into his, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else had since you left that cell.

You didn’t let go.

Together, you walked toward the med bay doors – still holding his hand as you stepped inside.

The lights inside the med bay weren’t harsh, but they still felt too bright. Too much like the places they used to take you when they wanted to test what your body could survive.

The whirring of machines, the faint beep of monitors, the sterile scent in the air – it all made your skin prickle. You froze just inside the doorway, but Bucky’s hand tightened slightly in yours, not to rush you, just to remind you he was there.

Bruce was across the room, checking over a tray of tools and equipment that – thankfully – didn’t look invasive. Just simple diagnostic tools. A stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, a thermometer. You’d been trained to notice everything in a room, and right now, you were grateful that nothing looked sharp. Nothing looked like it was meant to hurt.

Bruce turned to you with a calm expression. “You ready? We’ll just do some basic checkups,” he said. “Vitals, reflexes, stuff like that.”

Your shoulders were still tense, but you nodded faintly and let Bucky lead you to the nearest exam chair.

You hesitated before sitting. Bucky caught it, of course.

“You want me to stay right here?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded again.

He didn’t even blink. Just shifted to sit on the small stool beside the chair, keeping your hand in his.

Bruce approached slowly, movements careful. “Alright,” he said, glancing between you and Bucky. “I’m gonna take your pulse and blood pressure first.”

He waited until you nodded before stepping closer.

The cuff went around your arm, and you tried to breathe steadily, but your heart was pounding. Not because Bruce was hurting you – because he wasn’t. He was kind and respectful, didn’t even touch you until he was sure you were okay with it. But your body didn’t know the difference between this and the tests they used to run.

Bucky must have noticed the way your fingers clenched in his. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, steady circles.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured.

The cuff inflated, then deflated with a slow hiss. Bruce didn’t say anything about the reading – just nodded to himself and moved on.

He checked your temperature next, then used the stethoscope to listen to your heart and breathing. You flinched slightly when the cold metal touched your skin, but again, Bucky’s hand stayed steady in yours.

“Alright,” Bruce said after a while, stepping back and jotting something down on a tablet. “No signs of major injuries or infection. You’re underweight, and I’m guessing you haven’t had proper sleep in a while, but…you’re stable. And safe.”

That last word lingered in the air. Safe.

You didn’t quite believe it yet. But with Bucky beside you, it felt closer to the truth than it ever had.

Bruce looked at you carefully. “We can take a break here if you want. The rest can wait. No pressure.”

You looked at Bucky first. His eyes were already on you, waiting for your signal.

You gave a slow, shallow nod, then looked at Bruce. “Okay,” you whispered.

Bruce smiled, gentle. “Good. You did really well.”

He stepped away, giving you space, and Bucky turned toward you, still holding your hand.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low just for you.

You hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

Bucky didn’t smile wide – just enough to reach his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

You took a deep breath, then nodded.

“You ready to go?”

You nodded quickly, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. He stood at the same time you did, hand still in yours as he led you to the door. It opened with a soft hiss, and you felt your body relax a little more as you stepped out.

“Are you hungry? We can get you something to eat.”

You weren’t hungry – not really – but you knew you should eat something. You didn’t need Bruce to tell you that you were underweight, it was obvious. They had barely given you any food, and whatever they had given you wasn’t exactly filling.

But you nodded your head, looking up at Bucky as he smiled in response.

“Okay, we’ll go down to the kitchen and see what there is.”

You didn’t nod this time, just simply followed his lead as he led you toward the elevator. You stepped in, watching as he pressed a button on the panel, then were out just as quickly.

As you started down the hallway, you could hear the echo of conversations from down the hall, coming from where you were headed. You started to slow down, but Bucky already knew.

“Sounds like there’s people in there. If you want to wait somewhere else, I can bring your food to you. Or, if you go in and sit at the table, they won’t bother you.”

You finally came to a stop, right outside the doorway to the kitchen. The voices were louder now, but you knew you didn’t want to sit alone in a room somewhere, away from Bucky.

“I can go in,” you said quietly.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, so he continued walking through the doorway, into the kitchen.

The room went quiet the second you stepped in.

Conversations tapered off mid-sentence. Heads turned. A few forks froze halfway to mouths. The group clustered around the kitchen island all looked up – some with curiosity, some with confusion, and more than a few with amusement flickering in their eyes.

Maybe it was because you were new. Maybe it was because of the bruises still faint on your skin.

But most likely, it was because your hand was still in Bucky’s.

He didn’t let go. Didn’t even glance at anyone else. Just kept walking, leading you gently along the edge of the room, away from the cluster of Avengers near the island and toward the quieter side of the kitchen, where a long table sat empty.

You felt the stares as you moved – curious, not cruel – but still intense enough to make your pulse pick up. You kept your eyes down and your steps soft, letting Bucky be your anchor.

When you reached the table, he let go of your hand only to pull out a chair for you.

You hesitated for a moment before sitting, every instinct in your body still on edge, but Bucky crouched down beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee as he met your gaze.

“Is there anything in particular you want to eat?” he asked, voice low and warm.

You shook your head slowly. Food still felt foreign. But the way he looked at you – steady, like your uncertainty didn’t bother him – made it easier to stay grounded.

“I’ll go see what’s in the fridge,” he said, giving your knee a soft pat before he stood.

He walked off, and only then did the low hum of conversation begin again behind you, quieter now, but full of sneaky glances in your direction.

You didn’t look up, didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to. You could feel their eyes flicking your way – trying to be discreet, but still curious.

It wasn’t hostility. Just interest. Surprise, maybe. And something a little softer, like maybe they weren’t quite sure how close you and Bucky had gotten.

You could hear snippets as their voices picked back up.

“Is that the girl Stark mentioned?”

“She’s smaller than I expected.”

“Bucky held her hand?”

“She looks like she might bolt if someone breathes too loud.”

But nobody came over. Nobody said anything to you. And after a few minutes, the glances started to fade.

Still, your shoulders stayed tense, your eyes locked on your hands in your lap.

A few minutes later, Bucky came back, crouching down in front of you.

“Okay, we have a few options. There’s some spaghetti, grilled chicken and roasted potatoes, or tacos and Mexican rice.”

You thought for a second before answering. “Chicken and potatoes.”

“Okay,” he said, getting up again. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned shortly after with two plates, both with two small chicken breasts cut up and a pile of roasted potatoes. He set one down in front of you before he settled into the chair next to you with his own plate.

“I wasn’t sure how much you would want, so don’t feel pressured to eat it all. Just eat as much as you want.”

You nodded, then picked up the fork, just looking at the food. Bucky dug into his plate next to you, so you slowly pierced a piece of chicken and put it in your mouth, chewing slowly.

The taste shocked you.

It wasn’t just that it was good – it was real. Real seasoning. Real texture. Real food. After so long with bland, barely-warm rations that barely passed as edible, this was…kind of amazing.

You ate another bite. Then another. The potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, warm and perfectly seasoned. The chicken was juicy and tender, and tasted like it had been made by someone who actually cared. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since food tasted like anything.

You weren’t that hungry. At least, you didn’t think you were. But your fork kept moving. Bite after bite disappeared off the plate, slow but steady, your focus narrowing on the food in front of you as the rest of the room faded to a soft, distant hum.

By the time you sat back in your chair, your plate was nearly empty – just a couple small scraps of potato and a few pieces of chicken left behind. You blinked down at it, surprised.

Bucky glanced over at your plate and smiled.

“Told you it was good,” he said lightly. “You done?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He paused for a second, then tilted his head slightly. “Wanna know who everyone is?”

Your stomach tensed a little. You looked at him carefully, uncertain. But he seemed to notice right away.

“I won’t make you talk to them,” he added quickly. “I’ll just point them out. Quietly. Just so you know who’s who.”

That made it feel a little safer.

“Okay,” you said softly.

He leaned just slightly closer, keeping his voice low. “Okay, over by the island, guy with the goatee? That’s Tony Stark. He’ll probably say something weird later, but he means well.”

You followed his gaze briefly, before looking back at Bucky.

“The woman next to him, red hair and black tank top? That’s Natasha. She’s quiet but scary smart. Nice, too, once you get to know her.”

You nodded faintly.

“Guy in the gray t-shirt, that’s Steve. Captain America,” he added, almost like it was an afterthought. “He looks all big and tough, but he’s really just a skinny kid from Brooklyn.”

A quiet breath of amusement escaped you, and Bucky’s eyes lit up for a second, like he caught it.

“That’s Sam on the end – laughing at whatever dumb joke he just made.”

“And the one leaning back on the chair, that just threw a napkin at Sam?” Bucky smiled slightly. “That’s Clint. Don’t let the clown act fool you – he notices everything.”

When he finished, he gave you a soft smile and stood.

“I’m gonna rinse these off,” he said, picking up both your plates. “Be right back.”

You nodded, watching him weave easily through the kitchen, stopping briefly to nod or exchange a quiet word with someone. But no one came toward you. No one stared anymore. And the conversations had started to sound normal again.

When Bucky returned, he didn’t say anything, just rested a hand on the back of your chair for a moment.

“You ready to head to your room?” he asked gently.

You nodded, then stood up slowly, as Bucky stepped to the side. He didn’t offer his hand this time as he started to walk, but he didn’t have to.

You slipped your hand into his on your own.

His fingers curled around yours without hesitation, warm and steady, and he gave a small nod like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of voices faded behind you. The hallway felt peaceful again.

You got on the elevator once again, then he led you down the hallway. He pointed out where his room was before stopping in front of a half-open door, pushing it open and turning on the light.

“This will be your room.”

You walked in behind him, letting go of his hand as you took in the room. It was bare, but pretty big, with a big bed in the middle, a dresser and closet off to the right, and another door – probably a bathroom – in the back corner.

“There’s some clothes for you in the dresser, we can get you more if you need, but that should be good for a couple of days.”

You nodded as he made his way over to the bathroom.

“This is your bathroom. Should be stocked with everything you need, but if you’re missing something let me know.”

You nodded again as you stepped in behind him.

“Do you want to take a shower now?”

You carefully looked around the bathroom, then slowly nodded.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Bucky said gently, watching your expression.

You shook your head. “I do.”

He gave a small nod, then turned back toward the bedroom. “Okay. Let me show you what clothes we have for you.”

You followed him out of the bathroom and over to the dresser. He opened one drawer, then another, showing you neatly folded piles of soft t-shirts, sweatshirts, sweatpants, and shorts. He moved aside to give you space.

You picked out a pair of gray sweatpants, a soft black t-shirt, and a set of clean underwear, holding them close as you followed him back to the bathroom.

He stopped just outside the doorway, turning to look at you. “Do you need anything else?”

You looked around the bathroom once more, then shook your head. “No.”

“Alright,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll come back in a little bit to check on you.”

He started to turn, walking away from the bathroom door when you suddenly said, “Wait.”

He paused instantly, turning back. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, hugging the clothes a little tighter against your chest. “Can you…stay?”

His eyebrows lifted a little, not in surprise – more in quiet understanding. “Okay. You want me to wait outside the door?”

You nodded, a little embarrassed but not wanting him to completely leave.

Bucky’s smile softened. “Okay. I’ll be right out here.”

He gestured to the floor just beside the bathroom, then gently pulled the door closed behind him.

You let out a breath, relieved that he was staying. Then, you set the clothes down on the counter and turned on the water. You pulled off your clothes before carefully stepping into the shower, immediately being met with hot water.

You stood under the water for a long moment, not moving, just letting the water run down your back and shoulders. The heat melted into your muscles, loosening tension you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. You closed your eyes, tilted your head forward, and took a slow, deep breath.

Little by little, you started to relax.

You weren’t used to hot showers, but this was something else entirely. The warmth, the pressure, the way the steam clung to your skin – it made everything feel quieter inside.

Finally, you reached for the shampoo, working it through your hair with careful fingers. The scent was clean and light, something almost floral. You rinsed it out slowly, then reached for the body wash, running it gently across your arms, your shoulders, your legs.

By the time you turned off the water, your body felt clean and warm and…new. Like you’d shed something invisible.

You dried off slowly, careful not to push at the spots on your skin that still felt tender, then pulled on the soft sweatpants and t-shirt. They were a little big, but comfortable.

At the sink, you opened a drawer and found a brush. You ran it gently through your damp hair, then found a toothbrush and some toothpaste and brushed your teeth. It felt like such a small thing, but even that made you feel a little more grounded.

Finally, you took a breath and opened the bathroom door.

Bucky was sitting right there on the floor next to the door, just like he said he would be. His head turned up at the sound, eyes meeting yours immediately.

“You done?” he asked, standing as he spoke.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Do you want me to take your old clothes?”

You stepped back into the bathroom for a second, grabbed the small pile of clothes, and handed them to him.

He took them without hesitation, folding them under one arm. “Do you need anything else right now?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Alright,” he said, smiling. “You can settle in a little bit. I’ll be right back.”

When he turned and walked out the door, you just stood there for a little bit, looking around.

It felt different now. Calm, quiet, and just a little safer.

You slowly walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. The mattress dipped softly beneath you, and your brows lifted slightly in surprise. It was…really soft. You sank in a little more, curling your fingers into the edge of the comforter. The fabric was cool against your hands, clean and smooth.

You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed something as simple as a soft bed.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again and Bucky stepped back in.

“You like the room?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And the bed?”

Your lips tugged into the tiniest hint of a smile. “It’s soft.”

He chuckled quietly, nodding. “Good. That’s the most important part.”

You glanced down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket as he spoke again.

“So…tomorrow’s probably gonna be a little busy. Bruce wants to run a few more tests – nothing too invasive, just some scans. Maybe an MRI or x-rays, depending on how you’re feeling. He just wants to get a better look, make sure we’re not missing anything.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information without reacting much. It made sense.

“And,” he continued gently, “the team’s gonna have a meeting. Debriefing. They’ll want to go over what happened. Get some answers, if you’re up for it.”

Your stomach tensed a little at that, but he must’ve seen it, because his tone softened even more.

“But,” he said quickly, “if any of that feels like too much, or if you’re not ready, just say the word. We can wait. All of it. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You looked at him then, grateful for how easy he made it to believe him.

“Okay,” you said softly.

He nodded once. “Alright. We’ll take it slow.”

Then, after a beat: “You ready to go to bed?”

You nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He stayed in place as you lifted the blankets and slid beneath them, the covers warm and clean against your skin. You shifted to your side, pulling them around you, trying to settle into the comfort you weren’t used to.

Bucky gave you a small smile. “Get some rest. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

You nodded one last time, and he quietly stepped back, easing the door shut with a soft click behind him.

You were alone again.

The bed was soft. The room was quiet. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were safe.

But your mind was thinking over everything he’d said – scans, questions, meetings. You weren’t sure you were ready for that. You weren’t sure what you were ready for.

Still, the thought of Bucky being nearby helped. So you closed your eyes, pulled the blankets tighter, and tried to breathe.

--

You’d tossed and turned for a long time, just trying to fall asleep.

Eventually, though, you gave up. For the past couple of hours, you’ve just been laying on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

You didn’t want to wake up Bucky. You didn’t even really want to get out of bed. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

You slipped out from under the covers and made your way to the door. But when you opened it and stepped out into the hall, you couldn’t remember which end Bucky’s room was on. There were elevators at both ends of the hallway, and you couldn’t remember which side you had come from.

So you ended up just standing there for a while, the tile in the hallway cold against your bare feet, not knowing what to do.

A few minutes later, you heard a door open down the hall.

You looked over to see a woman – Natasha – step out of her room. She looked half asleep and didn’t even notice you until she was a couple steps away from her door. When she saw you, she froze, like she wasn’t sure if she should be concerned for you or for herself.

“Umm, hey,” she said, slowly. “You okay?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want to ask for Bucky. Honestly, it was probably a good thing you didn’t remember where his room was. He didn’t need you bothering him this late anyway.

“Do you need something?”

You looked back at her, and she looked more relaxed now. Like she knew you weren’t a threat. As much as you told yourself you shouldn’t, you spoke before you could stop yourself.

“Bucky.”

She smiled softly, like she was expecting you to say that.

“Okay, I’ll get him for you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as she turned around, heading to the left side of the hall. You watched as she knocked softly on his door, and you committed that door to memory.

A moment later, Bucky’s door cracked open. Natasha said something quietly – too soft for you to hear – but as soon as he stepped into the hallway and spotted you, his expression shifted.

His brows pulled together in concern as he immediately moved toward you, brushing past Natasha without a second glance.

“Hey,” he said softly, already making a beeline to your side. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t sleep, because it sounded childish. Weak. Stupid. But you didn’t have any other reason, and he was standing right there, looking at you like he really wanted to help.

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just stared at him.

His gaze softened even more, then he placed a hand on your back. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go back inside.”

You let him guide you back into your room, his hand never leaving your back. He walked you over to the bed and sat you down carefully before settling beside you.

He looked at you for a moment, quiet and patient.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, voice low and kind.

You shook your head slowly, your lips pressing together.

“Was it a nightmare?” he asked.

You hesitated, then shook your head again. “No,” you said quietly. “I just…can’t sleep.”

He nodded, like he understood completely. Like it wasn’t weird or dumb or anything to be embarrassed about.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding – almost like a sigh of relief – and nodded. “Yes.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, proud and gentle. You weren’t as tense now. He could see that.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave, then come back less than a minute later, his pillow tucked under one arm and a blanket slung over the other. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, then crossed the room and set his pillow on the floor near your bed.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said simply, looking up at you.

You nodded. “Okay.”

You laid back down, pulling the covers around you, and Bucky laid down on the floor beside the bed, getting comfortable with barely a sound.

The room was quiet again – but this time, it wasn’t lonely.

And this time, you fell asleep quickly.

--

Masterlist

Author's Note: part 2 of Darling and I Noticed are coming soon :) and if you want to be added to either taglist, just let me know!!

Series Taglist: @ordelixx @capswife

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd @navs-bhat @starstruckfirecat @yes-ilovetowrite @bonnyclydecat @knowingnothingnoel

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER FOUR: The Pod

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue | Chapter Three| Chapter Four (Here) | Chapter Five

w/c: 3.1k

c/w: She/Her pronouns and the feminine Kryptonian naming convention used for the reader

a/n: so, revealing more about Y/N or Kent, I have written her to simply be a female version of Clark. Thus the weird version of Clark’s name. I normally wouldn’t change it, but I want to stick by the naming convention as more characters will be introduced using that.

“I’m thinking about going back to the country,” you said suddenly, placing your chopsticks down.

To say Mark froze would be an understatement. He flinched, barely perceptible if you were anyone else, but unmistakable for you, and went completely rigid. For a second, you weren’t even sure he was breathing.

“You’re moving back to the country?” he asked quietly, the hesitance in his voice making you feel instantly guilty for even bringing it up.

“Moving? No—no, that’s not…” you stammered, shaking your head, hunching your shoulders. “I’ve just… maybe I’ve been homesick? I don’t know—”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, accidentally tugging at it. “I’ve kinda been wanting to look into it. Into… into who I am.”

“You’re you,” Mark said immediately. The words came out too fast, too certain. His frown deepened, somewhere between a pout and genuine concern, as he tilted his head. Like you’d just tried to convince him the sky wasn’t blue and he was struggling to comprehend it.

“Well, yeah, but lately I’ve just felt this pull. Like I need to understand it all. Where I came from. What I am.”

You rubbed at the back of your neck, the old familiar guilt creeping in for laying this on him out of nowhere. But then he nodded.

“I get it.”

You blinked, surprised.

“I mean,” he continued, glancing down at his cup, fingers tapping once against the ceramic, “I think about that kind of stuff too. More than I let on.”

That caught your attention. Mark rarely cracked open that door. You leaned forward slightly, curious.

“Do you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Guess I know a thing or two about feeling… not normal.”

There was a pause. A quiet moment that buzzed with meaning. You both sat with it, with the unsaid truths you weren’t quite ready to voice.

“You don’t have to figure it all out,” he added. “But if going home helps? Then do it. Just don’t stay there, okay? I’ll miss my favorite reporter.”

You smiled, this one small but real. “I won’t. Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll give you updates. Tell you all about the baby cows.”

“Those fluffy ones?” He asked

“I think I remember our neighbor having one or two Highlands for shows,” You laughed softly.

Mark responded almost immediately after. “Deal.”

You clinked your glass lightly against his in a silent toast with a laugh.

He walked you back to the Daily Planet, and that’s where you parted ways with a hug and a quiet promise to text when you got home.

The rest of the day passed far more smoothly than the morning. No creepy visitors. No friends dragging you off to investigate something dangerous. Just painful, wonderful monotony.

You called Dr. Kim on your way home, asking about your dad’s progress and whether he might be able to come back home for a few days. She replied warmly, telling you there were no more tests to run for now and that it’d be a few months before all the results came in. If he kept up with his exercises, she added, he wouldn’t even need to come in for physical therapy. At least not as regularly as he had been.

The news lit you up. A weight lifted from your chest, replaced by something lighter. And a small, persistent voice in the back of your mind whispered, Now you can finally go home.

But you shook the thought away as quickly as it came.

You liked it here, in the city, despite how different it was, how loud and fast everything seemed. You had a job you actually enjoyed, even if it was more intern-level grunt work than real reporting. You had friends, good ones. Real ones. You had Jimmy Olsen and all his hijinks but always somehow snapping the best candids. Lois Lane and all her stubborn, persistent, but admirable search for the truth as the best journalist you knew.

And you had Mark. Who could go quiet for days but come back like no time had passed at all. Who made lunches and walks feel like something more than just a break from work. Who was a constant. The kind of constant you didn’t realize how much you needed until it was gone.

Still, as you reached your apartment and unlocked the door, a strange stillness greeted you. The kind that didn’t quite feel like peace.

You slipped off your shoes, hooked your bag onto the hooks near the door, and stood there for a moment in the quiet.

Then your phone buzzed and you pulled out your phone. One new message.

Pa: Dr. Kim says I’m in the clear for a while. Might go crazy without all the poking and prodding. Hope your day wasn’t too insane. Proud of you.

Your chest tightened, but in a good way. The way that it always felt when your dad would say he’s proud.

You: Don’t go getting into trouble without me. I’ll have dinner set when you get home. Love you.

You kept thinking of your lunch with Mark as you made dinner, how even though he did seem upset at the idea of you going back home for a bit, he supported and told you to do what’ll make you feel better.

So, once dinner was ready and plated, and while you waited for Pa to come home, you pulled out your phone again.

You called Perry White first. He grumbled about the timing and asked if you were quitting, to which you quickly replied, “Absolutely not,” and explained it was just a few days to reset. He let out a heavy sigh, muttered something about “damn kids needing breaks,” and told you to keep your phone nearby in case something big broke while you were gone.

Then you texted Lois and Jimmy.

You: Heading back home for a bit. Just a few days.

Jimmy: SEND PHOTOS. I wanna see the cows. Or goats. Or whatever you've got out there.

Lois: Ughhh but who’s going to stop me from punching Cat Grant during meetings?

I better get my partner in crime back in one piece. And no skipping out on post-trip gossip. I expect the full debrief.

You: You will, promise. And don’t actually punch him. I will, promise. And don’t actually punch her.

Lois: I make no promises

You smiled and set the phone down just as you heard the front door open.

“Smells good in here,” Pa called as he stepped inside, setting his keys in the dish near the door. “That your cooking or did someone sneak in and leave us dinner?”

You snorted. “Rude. You know I’ve got skills.”

“Sure, sure.” He grinned as he came into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. “Need me to set the table?”

“I’ve got that,” you said, gesturing to the already-prepped plates. “But… I wanted to ask you something.”

He paused, picking up two glasses to fill with water. “Shoot.”

You hesitated for just a second, then said, “Would it be okay if we went back to Smallville? Just for a few days. Nothing long, but… I think I need it.”

Pa glanced at you. His expression didn’t shift much, but you knew him well enough to spot the emotion under the surface.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” you said, meaning it more than you expected to. “I just— I want to be home for a little while. Not just here, but home home.”

He nodded slowly, then gave you a half-smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been waiting,” he said, shrugging as he handed you a glass. “Figured it’d hit you eventually.”

You took the water, your fingers brushing his. “So… that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes. We’ll head back in the morning.”

You sat down with him, the quiet hum of the city outside your windows fading into the background as the comfort of dinner and company filled the space instead.

Tomorrow, you’d go home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of Mark’s day went significantly worse.

It had started out completely normal.

Breakfast with his mom and brother. His mom made scrambled eggs, toast, and cut up fruit like it was any other day. Oliver spilled orange juice all over the table accidentally as he was talking animatedly with his hands, and Mark helped wipe it up while his mom shook her head fondly.

After that, he spent the morning hanging out with William, who insisted it had been way too long since they’d hung out and managed to wrangle a morning off from classes. They grabbed coffee,as William was telling Mark about the newest episode of the show he’d been trying to get Mark to watch with him.

It was nice.

Comfortable.

And then it all shifted.

Mark had barely said goodbye before his fingers were already moving over his phone, typing without thinking, like muscle memory.

Texting her.

Their lunch went mostly how he expected it to. Teasing, sarcasm, and soft smiles tucked in between bites of dumplings. The place had been a gamble, he hadn’t even been there before, heard about it and just had looked at the menu out of curiosity, but she’d liked it. That had been enough.

But when she told him about the man, some government guy, pressing too hard, asking too many personal questions, something in him snapped.

He didn’t show it. Not much. But every part of him had gone on high alert.

He asked calmly. Quietly. But he knew what she was talking about.

GDA.

He didn’t know for sure who the agent was, but if he had to guess, it had to be someone under Cecil’s umbrella.

When she said the guy made her feel like she’d never get to be normal, Mark had to restrain himself and keep back the urge to crush his glass in his hand.

She deserves better than that.

He wanted to tell her everything. About the GDA. About himself. But the words caught in his throat, because how could he ask her, a normal citizen, to carry his secrets that he had trouble keeping?

So he told her what he could. That she deserved a life of her own. That anyone who thought otherwise could deal with him.

And when she laughed. A quiet, real, soft around the edges type of laugh. And he felt something in his chest ease. Even just for a moment.

After lunch, Mark changed into his workout clothes and flew over to the Guardians' HQ.

He technically had to be there, anyway. They still him on this training extreme regiment. Plus working out helped him think.

The workout room was empty, it normally was since he was the only one to really use the ginormous weight lifting machine, which also was a relief. He quickly scaled it up three times before he cooled off enough to simply count the reps to his usual number.

But as he toweled off, breathing hard, he heard the door hiss open behind him.

Footsteps. Steady. Unfortunately familiar.

He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Cecil,” Mark said, voice flat. He grabbed his bottle and took a long drink, refusing to look over.

“Mark,” Cecil replied. Calm. Even. Always unreadable. “We need to talk.”

Mark finally turned, towel slung around his neck. His jaw was set.

“About?” Mark prompted with a raised eyebrow of his eyebrow.

“I think you know,” Cecil replied unamused, “That girl you hung out with today.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, could feel his nose crinkle as his hackles raise. Turns out it wasn’t someone under Cecil’s umbrella. It was the umbrella.

Cecil clasped his hands behind his back. “She’s not in any danger. Yet. But I think we both know she’s not exactly ordinary. And if she’s going to be that close to you, we need to be sure she’s not a problem waiting to happen.”

Mark stepped forward, tension humming under his skin like a live wire. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but she’s not a problem.”

Cecil didn’t flinch. “So you don’t know what she is?”

“I want you to stay the fuck away from her,” Mark sneered as he all but stalked closer to Cecil. Catching what Cecil said but not questioning it in the moment, too caught up in his emotions.

They stared at each other for a long beat.

Then Cecil added, with that infuriating calm, “This isn’t a threat, Mark. Just awareness. We’re watching. That’s the job.”

Mark’s fists clenched.

He didn’t say another word.

He just turned and walked away. There wasn’t anything else to say. He gave Cecil his warning. And God help him if he doesn’t listen to it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Home.

God, you missed home.

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft Kansas breeze rustling the fields, the distinct smell of grass and earth and fresh air. Everything. All of it.

“Ma!” you shouted, practically launching yourself into your mother’s arms.

She caught you with a laugh, and you wrapped her in the most careful hug you could manage, despite how desperately you’d wanted to squeeze her tight.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, bug,” Ma murmured, holding you close. She only let go when Pa made it up the porch steps with a slow grin.

“Good to see you too, dear,” she added, pulling him in for a kiss and a quick hug.

Dinner was what you missed most of all.

You and Pa could hold your own in the kitchen, but Ma’s cooking? That was comfort wrapped in nostalgia, seasoned with a whole lifetime of love.

Later, when everyone was cleaning up. Ma elbow-deep in soap suds and Pa stacking dishes with practiced ease, then you finally cleared your throat.

“Hey, Ma? Pa?”

They both looked over.

You hesitated, then, “Do you think I could… go back to the pod?”

Ma froze, water still running from the faucet. Pa paused mid-stack, brows knitting.

“Is everything alright, bug?” Ma asked gently, drying her hands as she crossed the kitchen to you. She cupped your face in her warm hands, tilting your chin up like she used to when you were a kid, as if she could check for cracks or bruises just by looking into your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, resting your hands over hers. “I just… I think it’s time I figured out who I am.”

“You don’t have to go digging into your past just because you feel like you’re supposed to,” Pa said as he stepped over, voice quiet but steady. “You should do it because you want to. Not out of pressure.”

“I do want to,” you said, firmer now. “I want to understand. I want to know where I came from.”

There was a long pause, but then Pa nodded. He laid a gentle hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright,” he said. “Come on.”

He led you out the back door, through the soft golden light of early evening, across the yard and toward the barn.

The old barn creaked softly in the wind, just like it always had. The scent of hay, wood, and oil lingered in the air, familiar, grounding. And beneath it all, that other scent, faint, metallic, what you could only describe as, as cheesy as it sounded, not of this world.

Pa pulled open the sliding doors. The interior was shadowed but not dark, streaks of sunlight pouring in through slats in the walls. And there, nestled beneath a tarp and resting in the middle of a reinforced storage pit, was the pod.

Your pod.

You stepped toward it slowly.

“I dusted it off last week,” Ma said behind you both, near the doors still. “Just in case.”

You glanced back at her, a little surprised. She just shrugged. “Had a feeling. Call it mother’s intuition.”

You reached out, fingers brushing the smooth, curved surface. Even now, years later, it still thrummed faintly under your touch. Alive in some strange, alien way.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” Pa said from behind, his voice soft, but not pulling you back as he walks back to the doors to stand next to your mother. “Take your time, we’ll be just back inside the house. If you need anything, yell.”

As they walked away, you were left with only the low creaks of the barn and the quiet whisper of wind through the open door.

Then you took a breath and laid your full palm on the pod.

And the world fell away.

It wasn’t dramatic. No burst of light. No whirlwind. Just one blink you were in the barn. The next, you weren’t.

You were standing in a chamber of light and crystal. Vast and cold and bright like starlight frozen into form. It wasn’t real, not physically, anyway. You knew that. But it felt real. The way dreams sometimes do.

Before you stood a man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a blue and white suit that shimmered like glass. What you could only call a symbol in the middle of his chest, one that looked like an ‘S’ in the middle of a shield. Important, you could guess. His eyes held a sadness that reached across galaxies and through unknown languages. His face was vaguely familiar yet unfamiliar all at once.

He stepped forward and spoke, but you couldn’t understand a word.

The language was fluid, soft but dense. You could only infer the emotion behind each unknown word. Confusion. Urgency. Grief, maybe?

And then he said something you could only infer was a name, “Kala Zor-El”

You frowned. Shook your head.

He paused. Then started to repeat the same phrase over and over again. The only words you could distinguish that were proper nouns were Kala Zor-El, Zor-El by itself, and Krypton.

You took a tentative step forward.

“I don’t understand you,” you said, your voice echoing faintly in the crystalline space. “I’m sorry—I don’t—”

He didn’t seem frustrated, but maybe a bit saddened. Instead, he lifted a hand, and a soft blue light bloomed between his fingers. It expanded outward like a ripple on water, washing through the chamber. Across your skin.

And then.

What you could only guess was memories filled the space around you.

Not yours. His.

A planet. The skyline of a world lost to time. The odd solar rays of sun. The man in front of you taking a baby from a woman’s arms and placing it into what you recognized as your pod. A planet you could tell was dying.

The vision stuttered. Flickered.

The man, you now know was the one to place you in your pod, looked older now as he continued to speak. Less of a projection now, more of a ghost.

The language still didn’t make sense. But the emotion behind it did.

And who ever he was, he was important to you. And whatever it was he was trying to tell you, it wasn’t finished.

[jamesmcalover]

worst plus one 6

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: maybe a bit of angst, a lot of emotions

Summary: Reader is Matti's best friend and is brought along to this whole Eurovision mess. His annoying brother is making this trip even messier.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

2.8k words - not proofread

You don’t really feel like going out again.

You’ve spent most of the day holed up in your room with headphones on.

Your phone buzzes while you’re curled up on the bed, trying not to think about anything.

Matti: can you come to my room??

Matti: emergency

Your stomach knots.

You don’t think twice. You don’t ask questions. You’re already on your feet and halfway out the door, because Matti never texts like that unless something’s seriously wrong. You don’t even knock when you get to his room. You just push the door open.

“Matti-”

You freeze.

Hálfdán’s laying on the bed.

Not Matti.

Just him.

He looks up, caught mid-scroll on his phone, hoodie half zipped and one leg bouncing. You blink at him. Then your hand’s already reaching back for the door handle.

And right in that moment, it slams shut behind you.

Click.

You whirl around.

“Matti?” you call.

Nothing.

You grab the knob. Yank it. Locked.

Of course it is.

You exhale sharply and turn back toward the room.

He’s still sitting there, looking just as confused as you feel.

“He said he wanted to hang out,” Hálfdán says, slowly.

You glare. “He told me it was an emergency.”

You fold your arms, backing toward the door. “Unbelievable.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you look like I’ve personally committed war crimes?”

You stare at him.

Because you’re mad. Because you’re stuck. Because everything has been off since that night in the village and you’ve been holding it in so tightly, pretending it doesn’t matter, pretending you’re fine, and now you’re trapped in a room with the one person who has made everything harder since the moment you met.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says after a beat, tone careful now.

You scoff. “I’ve been breathing. Sorry if that offends you.”

He stands. “What the fuck is your problem?”

You blink at him, hard. “My problem?”

“Yeah,” he says, louder now. “One minute you’re acting like we’re fine, like we can actually talk like normal people, and the next you’re freezing me out again like I murdered someone.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I care?” Your voice cracks around the words. “You think I give a shit who you talk to?”

He stares at you, something unreadable tightening in his face. “This is about that girl.”

You don’t answer.

“The one in the purple dress. The one I talked to for five seconds.”

“It was more than five seconds,” you snap.

“Oh my god,” he laughs dryly, stepping toward you, exasperated. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

He stops in front of you, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to piece you together from the outside in.

“Then what is it?” he asks. “Seriously.”

You cross your arms so tight it hurts. “Maybe I just remembered why I couldn’t stand you in the first place.”

His jaw flexes. “Right. So we’re back to that again.”

“Back to what?”

“You're such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

It comes out sharper than you mean, louder too, echoing off the hotel walls. But you don’t care. Not this time.

His eyes flash. “Then stop acting like one.”

You step forward, heat rising in your chest. “I’m acting like someone who’s sick of being jerked around by you.”

“Oh, come on,” he snaps. “When have I ever–?”

“You flirt with me like it’s a game, Hálfdán. You look at me like I’m the only person in the room and then you to some random girl when you think I'm not looking, touching her arm like you’re trying to win a prize for it.”

“That’s what this is about? A fucking arm touch?”

“No, it’s about you,” you spit. “You acting like you care one second and then turning around and proving you don’t the next.”

He looks stunned. Just for a second. Then he recovers. “I never said I cared.”

“Exactly,” you fire back. “That’s the problem.”

A heavy silence slams down between you. His jaw clenches. Yours does too.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters.

“Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”

He shakes his head, pacing a few steps away, like he needs space before he says something worse. “I don’t get it. You treat me like I’m the villain in your life story and then get mad when I don’t act like the hero.”

You stare at him, breath shaking. “Because part of me thought maybe–”

You stop. Bite it back. Too far.

He turns, eyes locking on yours. “Maybe what?”

You press your lips together, hard.

He exhales sharply, frustrated. “God, just admit it. You’re pissed because you like me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuck you.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer again, voice lower now, cutting through the tension like a knife, “you don’t get to be furious at me for talking to someone else if you don’t even like me.”

“I’m mad because you make me feel things I don’t want to feel.”

There. It’s out before you can stop it.

The air goes dead quiet.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The words hang there between you, brittle and loud and dangerous. You wish you could take them back. Bury them somewhere deep and silent and forgotten.

But it’s too late now. He’s looking at you like you just handed him the last piece of a puzzle he didn’t know he was building.

And it makes you want to scream.

“You think that makes it better?” you say, voice raw. “You think just because I admitted that, everything you’ve done doesn’t matter?”

His brows draw together, confusion slicing into the edge of his expression. “What have I done?”

You stare at him, furious. “You made me trust you.”

His breath hitches. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No. You just made it easy.”

You step back, hitting the wall behind you like it might hold you up. “You made it so easy to believe that maybe we didn’t hate each other anymore. That maybe I wasn’t imagining everything between us. The way you looked at me. The way you talked to me. The way you–” You bite the words back before they crumble into something pathetic. “Forget it.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s still watching you, face unreadable now, jaw clenched like he’s trying to hold something in.

���You think I did all of that on purpose?” he asks, voice tight. “You think I just… what? Played with your head for fun?”

“I don’t know, Hálfdán,” you snap. “You tell me.”

“I was trying to be close to you.”

“Then why–”

“Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with you!” he explodes suddenly, hands thrown wide. “Every time I think I get it– think we’re fine, you go cold again. You act like I’m nothing to you. And then the next second you’re looking at me like I’ve broken something.”

You flinch. “Maybe you have.”

That stops him.

Silence again. But this one is heavier, thicker. Charged.

He lets out something between a laugh and a groan, pacing again. “I swear to god, you make me feel like I’m losing my mind. One minute you hate me, the next you’re jealous, then you’re ignoring me, then you’re in my head every time I blink–”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I was scared you’d do exactly this!”

His voice cracks at the edges. It startles you.

“I knew you’d find a reason to pull away again,” he says. “I knew I’d mess it up. So I didn’t say anything. I just kept it casual, and then I talked to that girl because I didn’t know how else to stop thinking about you for five minutes.”

Your heart stutters. “So you were trying to make me jealous.”

He barks a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “No. But if it worked, maybe I should’ve.”

Your hands curl into fists. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Oh, come on,” he snaps, stepping toward you. “You’ve been acting like I kicked your dog ever since that night. What do you want me to do? Apologize for talking to someone?”

“No, I want you to stop pretending you care and then acting like you don’t!”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“You flirt with me,” you spit, stepping forward too now. “You tease me. You get in my head and then you act like I’m crazy for reacting to it.”

His jaw tightens. “I never asked you to react.”

“You didn’t have to!”

Your voice cracks again and you hate that it does. You hate that he sees it.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, quieter now but sharper. “I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t come here thinking I’d have to deal with you.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “Yeah, well, newsflash. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with you either.”

You flinch at that. Just a little. But he sees it, and his face changes, like he regrets it.

You shake your head. “You win. I’m mad. You got under my skin. Congratulations.”

“That’s not–” He steps back, dragging both hands through his hair. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

He stares at you like he’s not sure if he should say it. Like the words are already halfway out of him and he’s trying to wrestle them back.

“I want you, okay?” he says, fast, furious, like it’s been building in him forever. “I want you to stop looking at me like you hate me. I want you to stop pretending I’m nothing when every time you walk into a room, I fucking notice. I want you to stop being everywhere in my head all the goddamn time.”

You just stand there. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just run a mile. His hands clench at his sides. His eyes are wide, angry, desperate.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he goes on, voice rough. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t try to like you. But I do. And I hate it, and I hate you for making me feel like this when you clearly don’t want me back.”

Silence drops over you like a trapdoor.

You feel like the floor just disappeared beneath your feet.

He drags a hand through his hair again, muttering under his breath, pacing away like he can undo it now, like if he walks fast enough it won’t have happened.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you can.

Because he just said the one thing you never thought you’d hear.

He lets out a breath like he’s deflating. His hands fall from his hair, his posture finally caving under the weight of everything he’s been holding in. He turns without looking at you and sits down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

You stand there for a second, frozen. Your heart is still pounding from the argument, your pulse too loud in your ears, but something about the way he’s sitting, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, eyes fixed anywhere but on you, cuts through the noise.

You shift your weight. Your arms are still crossed tightly over your chest, like you’re trying to hold yourself together, but you can feel the edges of your anger softening. Fraying.

Slowly, you cross the room. Not quite sure why. Not sure what you’re going to say. You just move.

And then you’re sitting down beside him.

Not touching. Not speaking.

Just there.

The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Less explosive, more fragile.

He exhales again, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

You glance at him. “Neither did I.”

He nods, like that’s all he expected. Then adds, even softer, “I didn’t mean to call you a bitch, either.”

There’s a pause.

“I know,” you whisper.

Another beat of silence.

“I think I was trying to push you away,” he says, still not looking at you. “Because I didn’t know what the hell to do with how I felt.”

You don’t answer.

He hasn’t looked at you since he sat down. He’s hunched forward a little, elbows on his knees, jaw clenched like he’s trying to hold something in. Or maybe hold something back.

You watch him for a second. The bounce of his leg. The way his fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans.

And even though your chest still feels tight, even though your heart’s still bruised from everything that just came out of both of you, you find yourself reaching.

Slowly. Carefully.

You place your hand over his.

He tenses at first. Doesn’t move.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

Your thumb brushes lightly over his knuckles. It’s not much. Just a small, human thing. But something in him shifts. The tension in his shoulders starts to unravel.

“I didn’t mean to…” he starts, but trails off.

You don’t make him finish. You don’t need him to. The way his fingers curl gently under yours says enough.

“I know,” you say quietly.

He finally glances at you. Not fully. Just out of the corner of his eye. But it’s the first time you’ve seen him soften like this. Really soften.

“I don’t hate you,” you say, barely audible.

His breath catches a little, but he nods.

“I don’t hate you either.”

You both sit with that. Let it settle.

Then, slowly, he turns his palm to face yours. Lets your fingers slide together, your grip firmer this time.

His thumb brushes yours. Tentative at first, then steadier. Neither of you looks away.

It’s quiet again, but the kind that doesn’t feel like it’s about to break. The kind that holds space for something new.

You feel the heat of him next to you, hear the subtle shift in his breath. He still won’t fully meet your eyes, but he’s not pulling back either. If anything, he’s leaning in, just barely. Enough to let you know he’s still here. Still with you.

You glance down at your joined hands.

“This is so fucking confusing,” you murmur.

A breath of laughter escapes him, quiet and dry. “You think I’m not confused?”

Your lips twitch, despite everything. “You’re always so confident. Like nothing gets to you.”

He exhales. “You get to me.”

That pulls your gaze to his. His eyes are on you now, fully this time. And they’re serious. Unflinching.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits. “Whatever this is.”

“I know,” you say. Your voice is soft again. Not bitter this time. Just honest.

He watches you like he’s memorizing your expression, like he’s afraid if he blinks too long, you’ll change your mind. “But I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t care.”

You don’t say anything.

Instead, you shift a little closer, your thigh brushing his. You squeeze his hand.

That’s all he needs. He lets out a slow breath, and some of the sharpness in his face fades.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say, but there’s no bite in it.

“Fair,” he says, a little smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Then a jingle of keys.

Then Matti’s voice, too casual to be innocent.

“You guys done screaming at each other or should we wait another twenty minutes?”

You groan, not moving, forehead tipping forward to rest on your knee. Hálfdán huffs a quiet laugh beside you.

The door clicks open.

Matti pokes his head in, eyes scanning the room, landing on the two of you still seated side by side on the bed. He blinks once. Then again. Then grins.

“Holy shit. Did you guys talk?” he says like he just witnessed a lunar eclipse.

Úlla pushes in behind him, her eyes darting between your faces. “Are we alive? No bruises?”

“No blood,” Hálfdán deadpans. “Shocking, I know.”

You shoot him a sideways look, and he meets it with something small and warm. Not a smirk this time. Just soft.

Úlla’s brow arches. She catches the hand still cradled in his, and her mouth pulls into a satisfied smile. “Told you it would work.”

Matti slaps her palm in a smug high-five.

You roll your eyes, but you’re not actually mad. Not really. Not anymore.

“You locked us in.”

“You needed it,” Úlla says without a hint of remorse. “We were losing our minds watching you two walk around like emotionally constipated Sims.”

“She texted me ‘I will end them,’” Matti adds, pointing at Úlla. “All caps.”

“You’re lucky I don’t end you now,” you mutter, standing slowly.

But you don’t drop Hálfdán’s hand right away.

And he doesn’t let go.

He glances at you, and this time you don’t look away. You just smile.

Matti groans loudly. “Oh god. They’re cute now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Part 7 coming soon!!

[bodhiscurls]

put a little love on me. ( bodhi durran )

after a surprise attack on bodhi, being jumped by four cadets you're the first person he runs to. or alternatively, fire signet reader using her hands as a diffuser after she washes his curls.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem! reader

themes: fluff mainly, mentions of blood.

a soft thud lands at your door.

it's not strong enough to be a knock which alarms you. nobody you know has any reason to be at your door and the one person who does can just walk right through the wards. you knot your brows in confusion and turn the handle, a body immediately collapsing into yours.

"bodhi?" your heart stops as you catch his tired frame before he does more damage and hits the stone floor. his breath is hot on your skin as he lets out a groan, hand clutching his side. "bodhi?" you whisper again, "come on babe we gotta get you up," and you make a plan to move him to the bed.

he's heavy and so warm, the sweat trickling from his brows and down to the sides of your neck. by the time you've sat him upright, you're heaving for air.

"you're okay right?" he makes out through a wince. he lets go of the side of his ribs he's been clutching since he landed at the door and reaches for your hands, looking to your gaze. you stand above him and the muscles in neck ache to reach up but he does it to meet your worried eyes.

"i'm fine," you stress, "what the fuck happened to you?" and he lets out a sigh of relief, shoving his head into your stomach to relieve the pressure. your fingers find his hair and you tug at the strands, blood still wet flattening his usual bounce of curls and you pull back.

at the withdraw of your touch he opens his eyes again, "some asshole cadets jumped me on my way back," and he fights to stand up. your hands immediately go to his shoulders and plant him back down onto your soft sheets with a quiet but forceful shush. the warning in your eyes is scary enough to make him comply immediately and he relaxes at the sight of you being safe.

it takes you a second to let realisation hit and when it does your heart splits open in to. he didn't head straight for the healers, he came straight here for you. he assessed and asked how you were even as he was collapsing in your embrace.

"i thought they would've tried coming for you too," he lets out softly, fingers itching to cradle your face gently and you lean into his touch.

"where are they now?" you ask in the quiet of your bedroom.

"dead," he hangs his head low but there's no ounce of regret in his being. he did what he had to do to survive and you more than anyone knew that living at this hellhole was a constant matter of survival. "don't know who they are though," he says after a moment.

"i guess we'll find out tomorrow when they meet the death scroll," you run your fingers up and down his arm and he shivers at the touch. "come on big boy, let's get you cleaned up."

bodhi's regained some little strength to lift himself off the bed but you still are slung under his arms, shifting his weight as you both paddle in the direction of your bathroom. he takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and slowly you peel each layer of clothing off him until he's laid bare.

"fuck," you swear softly.

usually it's said in adoration, in disbelief and absolute love for the man infront of you. only tonight, the feelings are still there but its overshadowed with worry and fear.

"maybe we should get you to a healer," your fearful eyes meets his and he shakes his head softly. you guess he doesn't want to make a fuss, he doesn't want it to be known that he'd been attacked in case it'd fuel further questions about his abilities and strength. as a marked one, you would always be targeted and bodhi durran had accepted his fate as being at risk. he'd still punish those who crossed him with death but it was just part of life.

the blue and purple hues are splattered across his body. there must have been a good few of them to damage this wide and this quickly to him. your eyes land on a gash to his side- the ribs he was clutching earlier and you wet a small towel with some water and hold it to his side as a compress. you're razor focused on his skin, maintaining immediate injuries and calming the fury inside of you at tonight's events.

he places a hand over your own, enveloping you in warmth. "really," he promises, "you should've seen the other guys," he weakly jokes and immediately silences himself when he doesn't find you laughing with him. a scold at the tip of your tongue ready to burn him.

you grab hold of his hand to take over as a compress and make your way around him to start filling up the tap. the sounds of water rushing takes over the angry silence between the two of you, and he wonders what he could possibly say to lighten the load off your shoulders. your hands sink into pool of water forming- a small sizzle before the water heats to a perfect temperature.

"get in,"' you look at him.

"yes ma'am," he holds out his hand for you take and lead him in, and multiple groans leave his mouth as soon as his flesh meets the warmth of the basin.

"fuck me," his muscles relax.

"maybe tomorrow after dinner if you're still alive by then,"' you return and hand him a washcloth. he makes work of it quickly, scrubbing down his body and softening the remenants of blood. his body tenses with pain after a few moments and you take the cloth from him, carrying on into the spots he's missed till hes all clean. he's leaned back into the tub and you refill clean hot water into it.

"yn," he mutters softly.

"yes my love," you're round the back of the tub and bodhi hates that he's hardly gotten to see you face to face tonight but he's thankful more than anything that you're here by his side. you work your way with some shampoo into his roots and he knocks his head back, relishing in your touch.

"please keep doing that," he lets another moan slip from his lips and you massage his head gently. when the rush of water runs through turning clear from the reddish brown splotches, you are satisfied and start with conditioner. you massage and scrunch his hair, tugging at his roots and the spots you know he loves and he enjoys every moment of this. next comes a blend of cream into his hair and you're gentle when you detangle, curling each strand around your fingertips till they drop down onto his forehead. the inky silkiness shining in the dark of your bathroom.

"almost done," you breathe and he nods lightly, finding himself drifting to sleep. your hands heat up with another sizzle and you gently cup each of his curls, taking the time to make sure his hair is dried at a temperature that doesn't burn his scalp.

soft snores envelope the air and a small smile breaks into your lips. you could've lost him tonight. instead of going straight to a healer and safety, he ran to you out of concern for your wellbeing. even as death knocked on his door, you were his first priority and your heart swells.

a tear slips from your eye from the love embodied infront of you and you fight back a sniffle, distracting yourself in hopes the sleeping soldier will stay resting.

your hands heat up with another sizzle and they find the back of his neck and into the muscles at back tracing all the skin thats burned into your memory and he shifts slightly.

"bodhi darling," your voice trickles, heavy with emotion.

"hmm," he stirrs.

"we need to get up my love," and you have the towel ready for him to step into. he complains and groans, wanting to say in the warm slumber for a moment longer but you rest your hand on his.

"come on baby, just a couple more steps and you can sleep as long as you can," you coach. he complies silently, and wraps himself into the towel. you guide him back to the bedroom and sit him back on the bed.

"i'll be back in a moment, just gotta grab some clothes," you press a kiss to his warm forehead. he whines and tugs you back into his grasp and holds you steady as you stand between his legs.

"stay," he mumbles against your skin.

"i will," you promise, "we just have to get you changed." he nuzzles into you and you sigh, weaving your fingers back through his freshly washed hair. it's intimate and seeing him so relaxed, so off guard is special to you knowing you're the only one who's allowed to see this version of him.

the version that carries no burdens only a boyish charm.

"i'll be right back baby," you promise and he nods sleepily. you race to the dresser to find some clothes he's left here last and return within milliseconds. you help him dress and tuck him into the covers, climbing in next to him.

"you're so toasty," he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. and you thank the universe for your gift of a signet.

"i'm glad you're okay," your words tug a smile onto his face and he draws you closer till theres no air left between the two of you. "i don't know what i'd do without you," your breath catches in your throat.

he looks up lazily but theres earnest swimming in those brown eyes. "you don't have to," he swears, "because nothing on this earth can keep me from you."

note: don't ask me how there's a war but you have shampoo conditioner curl cream gel and some oil. there just is!

[keirareidss]

cardigan - s.r

♡ summary: "and when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite" pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: hurt/comfort, putting spencer through hell again :( wc: 4.4k

Vintage tee, brand new phone High heels on cobblestones When you are young, they assume you know nothing Sequin smile, black lipstick Sensual politics When you are young, they assume you know nothing

"It just seems unnecessary! All I really need is the ability to call and text. And what is Siri?" You chuckled as you swung yours and Spencer's hands between you. He was rambling on about the pointless aspects of current phones when a flip phone will do just fine.

"Siri is like..." You pondered how to explain it to him in a way he'll understand. "You know what a concierge is, right?"

"Yeah, someone whose job is to assist with arranging tours, making theater and restaurant reservations-"

"Right, so Siri is like that, but turned up to a thousand." He gave you an adorable questioning glance. "You just say 'hey siri' and ask her literally anything you can think of." He lifts his phone close to his mouth.

"Hey, siri, how close is the nearest pizza place?" Spencer asked and after a few seconds, got a response.

The nearest pizza place is 'Dino's pizza' 1.5 miles from your current location. Would you like directions? You gave Spencer an 'I told you so' look before speaking into his phone.

"Yes."

The two of you were an unusual picture, you in your Mary Jane's, a pencil skirt, and a nice blouse, and Spencer in a Vintage tee and jeans, the epitome of casual. He had picked you up from work on his day off and the two of you were walking around downtown.

You'd convinced him to finally buy a phone to replace his old vintage flip phone, so you can send him pictures, and now you were on your way to Dino's pizza. As you slid into the booth across from Spencer, you found yourself comforted by the nostalgic environment of the 50's themed pizza place.

"How's James doing?" Spencer asked, the bitterness in his voice at the mention of your boyfriend evading you.

"He's good. We've got a date next weekend." You hummed cheerfully, taking a bite of your pizza. Spencer's hand clenched around his coke, taking a sip as he avoided eye contact. "Have you found a girlfriend yet?" You teased, nudging his shin with the toe of your shoe.

"No." He muttered, looking down, blushing slightly.

"I'm sure it'll happen soon. You just need the right person to come along."

"Yeah." He said quietly. He looked up at you, his eyes tracing your face, watching the way you picked the pepperoni of your pizza. Every time the two of you came here, you bought one pizza to share. You let him choose the toppings and picked off the ones you didn't like.

One time, he'd asked you for the reason and you claimed it was easier that way instead of trying to figure out which toppings should be on the whole pizza and which should just be half. And anyways, you'd just end up sending the pizza home with him. This was only one of the things that proved to him that the right person was sitting right in front of him.

"What? Is there sauce on my face?" You asked, wiping at your cheek.

"No, no, it's-" He started to deny but now that he was really looking, he noticed there actually was. "Well..." He reached forward, using his thumb to wipe it away. He wiped it on his own napkin, knowing the more sexy, romantic thing to do might be to lick it off his finger, combined with eye contact, but he couldn't bring himself to do that.

"Oh, thanks." You gave him a smile, sipping your own coke, his eyes dipping to your lips wrapped around the straw before he forces them away. He shouldn't think about you like this. His best friend. He forced himself to be courteous and respectful for the rest of the night, walking you home, making sure you make it up to your apartment and texting you goodnight. Ah, young love, he heard Rossi's voice in his head. So simple. So utterly idiotic.

But I knew you Dancin' in your Levis Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

Your date with James was yesterday. It was now Monday and you hadn't said a single thing about it. Spencer was getting concerned. It wasn't that he wanted to hear about it. God no. It's just that you typically went straight to him, telling him every juicy little detail. As if he wanted to hear any of it. No, that was mean, he wanted to hear you talk. He loved hearing your voice. He'd listen to you talk about quite literally anything at all. Even if you were earnestly telling him that the moon landing was fake or that you didn't believe in science.

But you hadn't told him a single thing about your date. Nothing. Did something happen? Did he propose? Did he break up with you? Did you break up with him? Did you propose? Oh god, he didn't know if he could handle it if you got engaged.

He looked up as you sat down at your desk across from him. You were on your third cup of coffee that day and you passed him the one you made for him. He hummed a thank you, taking a sip. He decided he'd just be up front and ask you about it. He opened his mouth, shifting in his seat but he couldn't get the words out. Just do it. Just ask.

"So uh..." Just ask. "Um... how was your date?" He asks, his throat suddenly dry.

"Oh, it was fine." You said, your eyes on your monitor.

"Yeah? Where did he take you?" Spencer continued cautiously.

"Um, some fancy pizza restaurant." You said. Not as good as Dino's. Spencer could sense that he shouldn't keep pushing you as you clearly didn't want to talk, but he needed to know.

"Are you okay? You seem kind of... off." He gave you the kindest look he could muster. You finally looked up from your computer, meeting his eyes, and your resolve crumbled. Your face fell and you sniffled, struggling to keep your composure at work.

"Um, no... uh, James... he broke up with me." You muttered, staring hard at your desk. Oh.

"I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"It's fine, Spence. It doesn't matter."

"He was a jerk."

"It's fine." Spencer stayed quiet. He wasn't accustomed to this. He didn't know what to say in this situation. He wasn't good at comforting people. He could give you facts on breakups, the average amount of time it will take you to get over it, the estimated amount of time before you'll find someone new. But he knew that wouldn't help.

"Um, do you wanna maybe come over tonight? We still haven't made it through all the Lord of the Rings movies." He suggests. You look up at him, a smile growing on your face.

"Sure. That sounds fun." You agreed and Spencer smiled, feeling warmth growing inside him. Penelope would call it butterflies, Derek would call it desire, Rossi would say, you're in love with her, kid. Do something about it.

You drove both of you to Spencer's place after work, sparing him from the subway ride and letting him pick the music on the way (He chose the Beatles). When you made it to his apartment, he made some popcorn and you set up his couch with all of his cozy blankets and pillows, turning off all the lights and queuing up the movie.

Around halfway through 'The Return of The King' you glanced at the window and noticed it was raining. Now, the two of you had drank a few glasses of wine each and, though that may have affected your decisions in the moment, you were sure that you would suggest this even if you were stone cold sober.

"Hey, let's go outside."

"What?" Spencer asked, turning to face you.

"Let's go outside."

"It's raining." He protested, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Exactly. Haven't you ever wanted to dance in the rain?"

"No?" You giggled at his honesty but sprung up from the couch anyway. You grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet.

"Come on, Spence. It'll cheer me up." You claimed, knowing it would effectively persuade him. Sometimes it seemed as though all he cared about was pleasing you and, as dangerous as that sounds, you didn't mind it. You only wish that sometimes he'd look after himself too.

"Okay. Let's go." He said and you grinned, pulling him to the door. He put on his converse as you slipped into your Levi's. He didn't let you leave without putting on a sweatshirt, one of his sweatshirts at that, so you wouldn't get hypothermia. You rolled your eyes but tugged it on anyway because it smelled like him. When you got outside, you took his hands, pulling him forward down the empty sidewalk as rain rushed down around you. "What are we doing?" Spencer shouted giddily over the sound of the rain.

"We're having fun!" You shouted back, spinning yourself under his arm. You twirled and jumped, moving around in what you would call dancing but Spencer would call flailing. "Dance with me!" You said as Spencer just stood in front of you, staring. You were soaked, your wet hair sticking to your face, your skin slick and shiny with water.

He didn't know if it was the wine running through him or your infectious joy seeping into him but he started to dance, though he wouldn't call it dancing. He copied your movements, jumping around, taking your hand and spinning you, stumbling over his own two feet but it didn't matter, he was having fun.

Under the streetlight he could see your smile, brighter than the lamp itself, making his own lips curl upwards. He felt giddy. He felt like a young boy again. Like a teenager in love. He stopped dancing, reaching out to pull you closer, his arm behind your back, your chests pressed together.

"Spencer..." You looked up at him, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed. He reached up, gently brushing a lock of wet hair away from your face. Then, suddenly he bent down, connecting his lips with yours. Your hands came up to cup his face, making him shiver at the temperature of your skin on his, kissing him back just as fervently. His arm stayed around your back, the other on your waist, sliding under his your sweatshirt. It was yours now. He'd never let you take it off. "What are we doing?" You asked, a whisper against his mouth.

"Having fun?" He asked. You pulled back more to stare up at him.

"What are we?" Spencer was quiet, pondering. He'd never really thought about it. You were just, you. The two of you were connected. In the same way that the earth and the moon were connected. In the same way that life and death were connected. In the same way that blood and bones were connected. Because that's the way that it's meant to be.

"I don't know. But I know that you're my favorite person."

"You're my favorite person too."

To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleedin'

"This is new." Spencer hums. The two of you were laying in bed together, the room dark, the sheets kicked down by your feet so you weren't sweating in the July heat. Neither of you knew what time it was, only that it was late.

"Hmm?"

"You have a new mark here." His thumb rubs gently back and forth over the new spot he found on your thigh.

"No, that's been there a while." You brushed it off.

"No it hasn't."

"Oh and you would know?" You teased softly.

"Please, I've memorized every scar, freckle, and mark on your body. This one is new." You try not to show how flustered his words make you. His hands manhandle your body until you're laying on your stomach, one leg bent up so he can see the scar. "Where did it come from?"

"Do you remember that case we had last week? The unsub nicked me with his knife before I cuffed him."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It's not like it needed stitches. Look at it, it's already healed."

"You could have told me." He frowned, his thumb continuing its slow, gentle motions. You didn't know if he even knew he was doing it. He stared back down at the small scar and you could see a small shift in his expression, a slight furrow to his brow that meant he was contemplating something. He suddenly got off the bed, striding to the desk.

"Where are you going?" You ask, lazily lifting an arm to reach out for him, letting it drop back to the bed when he got too far. He doesn't answer, coming back with a pen in his hands. He sits down next to you, cross legged with a small child-like smile on his face. His hand takes your thigh again, steadying you while the other uncaps the pen. He leans down a bit, beginning to draw on your leg. "What are you doing?"

"Shh."

"Did you just shush me?" You chuckle and he attempts to hide his smile, ducking his head as he draws. You lift your head from the pillow to get a peek at what he's drawing. There are multiple small stars drawn around your scar, forming a familiar shape. When Spencer finishes, he caps the pen, looking at you.

"Your scar looks like Cassiopeia."

"So you had to go get a pen to draw the stars in?" He nods, a grin on his face, filling your stomach with butterflies. "What does this one look like?" You asked, turning onto your back and lifting your shirt to show him the larger scar along your rib cage that looks like the Scorpius constellation. This sparked a ramble about constellations, his favorites, the oldest ones, the biggest ones, anything he could think of. And you loved it. You loved hearing his voice. He could be talking about anything, whether it be the inaccuracies in the star wars movies or his thoughts on society's shift from public libraries to bookstores or e-readers.

When the two of you were in a bar downtown the other night, you'd long overstayed your intended time period because you didn't stop Spencer from talking. You'd kept your chin resting in your hand as you gazed at him, your eyes filled with love as he ranted about the pyramids or something? You weren't exactly sure because at this point, you just wanted to kiss him stupid.

By the time you made it outside, waiting for the uber, both of you too drunk to drive, you were itching to get your lips on his. And then you got in the car and it was dark and the street lights were blurring past the window and you were pulling him closer by his tie and pressing a kiss onto his lips. And before you knew it, you were at your apartment and the two of you were stumbling out of the car and up the stairs. You made it to the bedroom but you didn't have sex. You just kissed and that's all you really wanted.

'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Spencer asked.

"Don't make me say it again." He stayed silent, staring at you with those big puppy dog eyes that always made you soft. You sighed, avoiding eye contact. "I got a job offer in Wyoming and I think I'm going to take it."

"That- that's halfway across the country! You're just going to leave all of us behind? You're leaving me behind?"

"Spencer-"

"No, no don't. I- I can't believe this."

"Spencer, please don't make this harder than it already it."

"Oh, it's hard for you? It's hard for you." You could hear the hurt in his voice as he scoffed, putting up his walls again.

"Spence-"

"Don't, just- you know what, I need to go." He stood from your couch where you'd chosen to deliver him the bad news, moving to storm out of your apartment.

"Spencer, don't leave like this. Spencer-" You tried to call after him but he slammed the door behind him, cutting you off and making you sit in silence, with the regret of your decision. You knew you were going to take the job in Wyoming. It was everything you'd ever dreamed of. The only downside was leaving the team. Leaving Spencer. And as much as you didn't want to, you had to put yourself first.

You told yourself you'd keep in touch with him. You'd text, you'd call and face time, you'd visit each other. Everything would be fine. Spencer had the courtesy to see you off to your train. You put your luggage on board and stood in front of him outside the doors two minutes before you had to leave.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. But I have to do this."

"I know." He swallowed thickly, looking at the ground.

"We'll keep in contact. We can call and I can send you pictures of Wyoming cause you've got that new phone, right?" You tried to smile but Spencer didn't respond. "Hey... can I have a hug?" He stepped forward, his arms wrapping around your waist, squeezing you tight.

"Please don't go." He whimpered into your shoulder, his voice wavering. "Please."

"Spence..." You whispered, stroking his hair gently. He held you tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't know if he'd ever get this again. Realistically, for the first month you'd text and call often, maybe the first few months if he was lucky, but it would slowly dwindle down until it was maybe a happy birthday call every year or a Merry Christmas text until ultimately conversation stopped altogether and you were permanently gone from his life.

"Please, please, I don't want to lose you." He held you tighter, almost pulling the breath from your lungs.

"Spence, Spencer I have to go." You carefully pulled yourself from his arms and he let them drop to his sides, looking like the picture of sadness. "Oh, honey." You reached up, cupping his face and wiping his tears. "I'm sorry." He stared at you, his big brown eyes filled with tears, a sight you hated to see. You hated even more that you were the one that caused it.

You would stay if you could but what was waiting for you in Wyoming was important, more important than your job or, and you hated to see it, your team. What was waiting for you in Wyoming was your next big step. But even after all of that, you thought that maybe, if Spencer asked you to stay just for him, if he'd promised or shown you that he would make some sort of commitment, you might have stayed. Little did you know, that Spencer was thinking if you had asked him to drop everything in his life and come with you to Wyoming, he would. He would tear up his life, quit his job, leave his friends, for you. But you didn't ask. Neither of you did.

So you got on the train.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasin' shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standin' in my front porch light

Spencer knew this would be hard. You were his favorite person. Maybe you still are even after all this time of you being gone. Ripped from his life like some sort of sick, twisted joke. Thanks world, give him everything he'd ever wanted in his life and then just when he was confident he would be happy forever, ship her off to Wyoming, along with his courage and confidence.

After you left, he retreated into himself. His team, his friends, didn't know why this had hit him so hard. They knew the two of you had been seeing each other, they knew you liked each other, they thought you loved each other. They didn't know it ran this deep. It was in his bones, his blood. You were driven deep into the roots of soul and he couldn't rip them out for fear that he'd ruin himself in the process.

He saw you in everything he did. Late night trips to Dino's pizza where he'd sit alone in your usual booth until they kicked him out, eating the pizza you always ordered, even picking off the toppings you usually picked off so he could taste it the way you had. Taking it home where it sat in his fridge until it grew moldy and he'd throw it out with a heavy heart.

Every time he looked at his phone he remembered you, making him buy it, showing him all the features, putting your contact as the first one in his brand new phone. He'd scroll through old photos you'd sent him, he'd stare at his lock screen which was a picture of you at the park, sitting across from him over a game of chess. He wished he could change Siri's voice to yours but he couldn't.

He saw you in every blurry streetlight that passed by the car window, every time it rained he wished he could go outside and dance with you. When he looked at the sweatshirt that you'd left behind. His sweatshirt that should have been yours but now sat on his armchair, darkening the space around it with unwanted but desperate, hopeful memories.

He couldn't help but think back on his time with you, the curse of an eidetic memory, and wonder what he did wrong. If there was a moment in time he could freeze and pinpoint and say this is it. This is where, if I could go back and change something, maybe I could have saved it. I could have saved you. But there was no single moment. There is no one time to pinpoint. And there is no way he could have saved everything. It was inevitable. That's the way it was meant to be.

You were in a similar position in Wyoming. You loved your new job, it was everything you wanted. But it was missing one thing. Spencer. You'd underestimated the impact he'd had on your life. You'd underestimated how much you'd miss him. You were thankful you didn't have as many reminders of him and, as much as you wished you could forget him, your mind kept coming back to him. There was a pizza place near your work but it wasn't as good as Dino's and you couldn't tell if it was because of the quality of the food or the missing ingredient of your favorite person.

Once the enchantment and spontaneity of your new life ended, you were left only with the mourning of your old life. Was it really worth it to leave everything behind? Did you make the right choice? Should you have stayed?

Seven months after you'd left Virginia, you had a change of heart. You couldn't explain it. If anyone asked, all you could say is that, you woke up one morning and just felt the need to go back. The pull of something in your soul, tugging you back home. You packed up your things, trusting your gut as you always have, and hopping on the first train home. You knew you were impulsive, it was one of your worst qualities, and you'd figure everything out later. Right now, you just had to see someone.

And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back

Spencer heard a knock on his front door. How inconsiderate. He was in the middle of wallowing in his feelings, tucked on his couch while re-watching Lord of the Rings for the tenth time since you left. He sighed, slowly pushing himself off the couch and trudging towards the front door as the knocking became more persistent.

"I'm coming." He called halfheartedly, not bothering to look through the peep hole before opening the door. He froze when he saw you standing on the other side. His eyes were wide, red rimmed from crying and he was sure his hair was rumpled.

"Spencer." You breathed.

"Is this real? Am I dreaming?" You smiled, reaching up to pinch his cheek.

"Does this feel real?" He let out a sob, yanking you into his arms. His grip is tight around you as he buries his face into your neck.

"You came back." He gasps, sniffling and holding you tighter.

"I did." Your arms wind around his shoulders, feeling your own eyes watering as your fingers tangle in his hair. He pulls back, not straying far from you, to look in your eyes.

"Are you... are you staying?"

"I think so." You smiled up at him. "If you'll have me." He nods, pulling you into another hug.

"Don't leave again. Never leave me again."

"I won't. I promise." It didn't matter what you said, Spencer wasn't planning on letting you go again. And you weren't so concerned about that. You didn't want to let him go either. As for your life in Wyoming, you'd figure that out as you went. As long as you were with Spencer, you weren't worried about anything else. You were with your favorite person again.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @redorquid

[mamiobesssionfics]

Where You Said You’d Be

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warnings: mention of past abuse, angst

Summary: You made her promise, long ago, that no matter how bad things got between you, she would never let you fall asleep alone.

It wasn’t a complicated promise.

You had asked her early on when the two of you were just learning how to be soft around each other, what it would take for you to sleep peacefully again.

The answer had been simple.

“Just don’t let me sleep alone. Please.”

You had whispered it one night in her arms, her fingers tracing the outline of your spine. You had never explained the full reason.

Not at first. Not until months later, when the trust had begun to bloom.

Your ex-boyfriend had made the nights a battlefield.

The bed had become a place of tension, of fear.

You never knew if sleep would bring rest or violence if the turn of a blanket would lead to a bruise, a shove, or worse.

Even long after he was gone, you still woke in a panic, you swore you could hear footsteps that didn’t belong.

Rhea had listened, jaw clenched so tight her teeth might crack.

And she had pulled you into her arms like you were something sacred.

“I’ll never let you sleep alone again,” she had promised, voice low and steady against your skin. “Not even after the worst day. Not even if we fight. Never.”

And for a long time, she didn’t.

No matter how exhausted she was, no matter how busy her schedule got, she always found her way to your side.

Even when there had been arguments, tension, and slammed doors, she still crawled into bed beside you, pulled you close, and let sleep find you in the safety of her arms.

Until tonight.

Rhea had come home late, looking like she’d been fighting storms.

She barely glanced at you.

She threw her bag on the floor, kicked off her boots, and started snapping at you about dishes left in the sink.

“You could have done something while I was gone,” she said, brushing past you.

“I did,” you said quietly, confused by her sudden coldness. “I just, I didn’t get to the kitchen.”

“Right. Of course, you didn’t.”

It spiralled from there.

Words flung carelessly, old wounds tugged open. She was tired and frustrated. You were hurt, trying to keep your voice calm, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t want to be reached.

When you both stood on opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, your throat tight with unspoken pleas, she turned away.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” she muttered.

You froze.

“Rhea,” you said, voice cracking, “please. Don’t.”

She didn’t answer.

You waited.

She didn’t come.

The bed felt like a tomb.

You tried to stay awake. Stared at the ceiling. Curled up with your back against the cold side of the mattress, trying to remember her warmth.

Eventually, sleep dragged you under.

And with it came the dream.

You were back in that place. That voice. That room. The air turned heavy, his hands grabbing you, shoving you down, your throat closing in terror. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

Until you woke, sobbing.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t tell where you were. You were shaking, crying out into the dark.

“Please stop, please don’t, please don’t touch me, please…”

The door slammed open.

Rhea was there in seconds, still barefoot, eyes wide with panic. “Hey! Hey, it’s me!” She dropped to her knees beside the bed, grabbing your arms. “Baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

You flinched. “Don’t let him touch me again, please don’t let him-”

“Shhh, no one’s touching you,” she whispered, climbing into the bed and pulling you into her lap. “I’ve got you. He’s not here. He’ll never hurt you again. Never.”

You were shaking so hard that your teeth clicked.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sobbed.

She held you tighter, swaying gently. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I broke my promise. I didn’t think, I just, I was angry and tired and selfish.”

You pressed your face into her chest. Her heartbeat was wild beneath your ear.

“You said you’d always stay,” you said through sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing your hair. “I’ll never walk out again. I swear to you. I will never leave you to face the night alone. Not ever.”

You clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling.

Eventually, the tremors stopped.

She tucked you under the blankets, curled up behind you, her arm strong and sure around your waist.

She didn’t let go. Not even for a second. She whispered apologies, lullabies, promises.

Her breath is warm against your neck.

And when you slept again, she was there. Just like she’d promised.

Right where she said she’d be.

You woke slowly.

The room was bathed in early grey light, soft and quiet, the world not quite awake yet.

And neither were you.

But what you noticed first, before the ache in your throat, before the memories creeping at the edge of your thoughts, was the warmth.

Her.

She hadn’t let go.

Rhea was still there, arms wrapped around you like a second heartbeat. One hand rested flat on your stomach, her nose tucked gently against the nape of your neck. You could feel her breathing slow and steady, like the ocean in sleep.

It felt safe. Real.

For a few moments, you didn’t move.

You just let the warmth of her back into you.

And then, as if sensing the shift in your breathing, she stirred.

Her arm tightened around you, holding you closer.

“You awake?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and guilt.

You nodded.

Rhea pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you whispered.

She shifted slightly, enough to prop herself up on her elbow and look at you properly.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept much after you did.

“I messed up,” she said. “No excuses. No defence. I let my mood take over and I forgot what you needed from me. I broke a promise I never should have broken.”

You looked at her, really looked, and saw it in her, the regret, fear, shame. The same emotions that had clawed through you in the dark, now etched into her features.

“I didn’t want space,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

“I know. And I gave you the one thing I promised I never would.” She swallowed hard. “I heard you crying. It- God, it felt like I’d ripped the floor out from under you. I never want to hear that sound again.”

You blinked fast, throat tight.

“I don’t blame you for being tired,” you said gently. “But when you weren’t there, it felt like… he was.”

Rhea closed her eyes like your words physically hurt her.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said firmly. “Today. Tomorrow. However long it takes. But for now, I just want to take care of you. Let me?”

You nodded, and she kissed your forehead with such love that didn’t belong to someone called The Nightmare.

She pulled the covers over both of you again and stayed wrapped around you, your bodies entwined like roots grounding each other.

Later, when the sun crept higher, she charmed you out of bed with soft touches and kisses.

She guided you to the bathroom and helped you brush your teeth with her arms around your waist.

Then she made you tea, your favourite kind, with a little extra honey and a clean hoodie draped over your shoulders like a hug.

She called out of training.

Didn’t even glance at her phone after that.

Instead, she stayed home, set up a nest of blankets on the sofa, and let you pick the movie. You barely watched it. You just curled into her, her hand resting protectively on your knee, thumb tracing circles into your skin.

She made you lunch. Cut the crusts off your sandwich. Kissing your cheeks between every bite.

“Do you still want me?” she asked quietly at one point, voice low like she feared the answer.

You turned to her, placing your hand on her cheek. “I never stopped.”

She kissed you like an apology, like a vow.

Like you were everything.

And that night, when sleep came again, she was already waiting. Arms open, body warm, lips at your temple.

“I’m here.” she whispered, as you drifted off.

And this time, you believed her.

[punksyeet]

- Heart & Sole 4 ❥

Plot: “Do you love her, Joshua?”

Warning: Mature language & fluffy romance! <3

A/N: we’re back! GAHHH i missed this! so uhh if you missed it, it’s been a hot minute (at least for me) since i updated this series. and while i’d like to blame it all on writer’s block (which i definitely had so pls don’t get it twisted), i’ve also been in my gifs era!

shameless plug: you can check them out here AND one of my favorite ones that i’ve made so far is above!

anywho, ngl i’m kinda proud of this part (for once lmao) so i hope you all enjoy! 🥲💗💗

previous chapter! <3

———————————————————————————————

“Mm!” Jon hums in approval, chewing his first bite of barbecue chicken. “Ma, this chicken is gas.”

In true mom fashion, Talisua turns from the barbecue and raises an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “Gas? Boy, you got a problem with my chicken?”

He and Josh share a look before both nearly choking on their food from laughter.

“No, mama!” Trin replies in between giggles. “Gas means good. Like really good.”

Their mom still seems unamused, mean mugging us before turning back to the grill to flip the last few pieces of steak. “I’ll never understand y’all youngins and your random words.”

We all share a laugh before Jon looks over at me.

“How you like the food, Gi? This your first time tryin’ it, right?”

I nod, taking a sip of my lemonade. “It’s amazing! The ribs are my favorite.”

“A woman with taste!” Galina chimes in, offering me a high five.

I reach over and accept it, before we laugh in unison.

“I’m glad you like ‘em honey,” Talisua replies, walking over to the table with a tray of even more freshly cooked meat. “There’s plenty more if you’d like.”

I thank her sweetly before we all go back to our separate conversations.

As I’m awkwardly swirling my drink, I feel a warm hand on my thigh.

I look up and immediately smile, my eyes being brought with the most beautiful man in the world.

“How you feelin’, ma?” Josh asks, picking up his beer bottle from in front of him.

I nod, placing my hand over his. “Good. Really full though.”

He lowers the bottle from his lips and licks them before letting out a low chuckle. “Das the best way to feel after havin’ our food. Happy n full.”

I smile, nodding in agreement, before looking back down at my cup. 

He lifts our hands and places a soft kiss on my knuckles.

I scoot my chair over and lean my head on his side, wrapping my free arm around his waist.

He presses a deep kiss to my temple before our focus is brought back to his mom, who comes back outside from the house with a couple more beers.

I watch on as she talks with Josh’s stepdad, smiling and laughing like a teenage school girl on a date with her crush.

They look so happy.

And as if he can read my mind, Josh interrupts the soft sound of mutters throughout the yard.

“She in her element f’sho.”

I look up at him, smiling. “They’re adorable.”

“It’s been a tough go for her and pops since we been little,” he continues, rubbing small strokes on my hand with his thumb. “I’m just happy she’s happy.”

A soft smile appears on his face, as his deep brown eyes watch his mom from afar.

I don’t know if it’s the flame from the decorative torches spread throughout the yard or just a natural glow, but his eyes are extra sparkly tonight.

God he’s so dreamy.

I guess I stared for a little too long, because he turns his head after a few seconds and we make direct eye contact.

“Whatchu lookin’ at, girl?” he teases, the wholesome smile now turned into a playful smirk.

I roll my eyes playfully and look back down at my cup. “I can’t admire you now?”

He chuckles and gently lifts my chin. “Nah baby, feel free. I like lookin’ atcho pretty self.”

I smile and lean up to kiss his cheek, before resting my chin on his shoulder.

“You’re so beautiful,” he coos, staring deep into my eyes and lowering them onto my lips.

I chew on my bottom lip gently, reaching out to play with his curls. “Thank you, love. So are you.”

He raises an eyebrow, a confused smile on his face. “Girl, I’m a dude!”

I chuckle and cross my legs so that I’m fully facing him. “Guys can be beautiful too, you know.”

“Forreal?” he asks, tucking a curl behind my ear and resting his hand on my cheek shortly after.

I nod, leaning into his touch. “And you’re exhibit A.”

He chuckles and we slowly start to lean in in unison.

Second time’s the charm?

“Check check!” Jon’s voice echoes throughout the yard.

Fuck.

I let out a quiet sigh as Josh pulls away, throwing his head back.

“Ain’t no way I got cock blocked for a second time,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “And by the same dude.”

I shake my head smiling and rest it on his chest again.

Our focus goes to Jon, who’s stood on the deck with a microphone in hand.

“It’s karaoke tiiiime,” he announces, in a goofy tone and follows it up with a dance.

Everyone laughs and cheers in unison.

———————————————————————————————

It’s now 10pm.

The past couple hours have been spent singing, dancing, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company.

You’d never guess I met these people less than 12 hours ago.

From the second I let out a yawn, Josh is on my case.

“You tired, baby?” he asks, sliding an arm around my shoulders and rubbing my arm.

I smile, leaning into his touch and rubbing soft circles onto his back. “I’m getting there.”

He smiles back and presses a deep kiss onto my temple. “Let’s get you home then, yeah?”

I nod and kiss his shoulder before getting up.

“You guys headin’ out?” Jon asks from the far end of the table, placing his beer bottle down.

“Yup,” Josh replies, holding out my jacket, allowing me to slide my arms into the sleeves. “She gettin’ sleepy, uce.”

I whack his arm playfully as we all laugh in unison.

“It was so nice meeting you,” Almia exclaims, getting up and reaching over the table with her arms wide.

I smile, accepting her offer and squeezing her tight. “You too, girl. Thanks so much for having me.”

“Anytime!” she replies sweetly, as we let go and I head over to Galina.

“Let’s all plan something soon,” she suggests, rubbing my back during our embrace. “A little spa day or something.”

We all agree and I head over to Trin.

“I’m so glad you came boo,” she says, pulling me into a hug and squeezing extra tight.

I chuckle and hug back, rocking us back and forth. “Me too, girl. Thank you for everything.”

We give each other sister-like kisses on the cheek before separating.

And finally, Jon.

“Real nice seein’ you again girl,” he says, embracing me in a warm bear hug. “Quit bein’ such a stranger.”

I chuckle, hugging back. “I’ll do my best.”

He laughs and, directly after, daps up his twin brother.

On the way out, we say goodbye to all the husbands and cousins as well and, eventually, we’re ready to go.

“Do you mind if I just run to the bathroom quick?” I ask as we head back inside.

“Not at all,” Josh replies, pulling his car keys out of his sweatpants pocket. “I’ll go start the car.”

I smile and kiss his cheek. “Sounds good. I’ll be quick.”

** Josh’s POV **

Just as I’m about to head out to the driveway, the sound of a throat clearing behind me grabs my attention.

I know that tone from anywhere.

And sure enough, when I turn around, my mom is stood in the kitchen, arms crossed.

When we make eye contact, she crooks her finger, signaling for me to come over.

“Ma you ain’t done this since I was in middle school,” I exclaim, walking over. “The hell I did?”

She rolls her eyes and leans her elbows on the island, as I take a seat on one of the stools.

“I just wanna talk to you,” she replies, taking my hand. “About Gianna.”

Here we go.

Don’t tell me she doesn’t like her.

“Ma-“

“Shh,” she continues, cutting me off. “It’s not what you think.”

I immediately shut up and take a deep breath, letting her continue.

“She’s a sweet girl,” she exclaims. “Very kind and friendly. And she loves my cooking.”

I smirk as she tosses her braid to the side while saying that last part.

“That’s the most important part, huh?” I tease.

She nods. “Boy, you got no idea.”

We share a laugh and, shortly after, she speaks up again.

“But forreal, my love. I adore her. I have from the moment I met her.”

I smile, hanging onto her every word.

To have my mom’s approval? This shit means so much to me.

“I guess what I wanna know is…..do you feel the same way?”

My breath hitches.

The muffled sound of my brothers and cousins bursting into laughter, probably in reaction to something Jon did or said, takes over.

“What?” I ask, partly in disbelief, the other part in shock.

She takes a second before asking again.

“Son, I don’t mean to overstep. But I’ve seen this with you and your brothers before. And before anyone gets hurt, I just wanna do my part as your mother.”

I blink, still speechless.

Not because I don’t know how I feel.

God, that’s the least of my worries.

I love her. I know I do. With all my heart.

It’s just expressing my feelings - to my mom no less - that scares the shit outta me.

“Do you love her, Joshua?”

A glint of hope appears in her eyes from the second I open my mouth to reply.

And finally, when a well needed wave of courage comes over me, I give her what she wants.

“I do, Ma. I really do.”

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