#and I'm like “well... you need to go up or down...?” and she's like “I need to go down but I don't wanna get into the elevator with you..”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##06

James Potter x f!muggle!reader word count: 1181 warnings: none? annoying brother... bad writing a/n: im ashamed at how long its taken me to write this and its still ass but I'm back baby! series masterlist main masterlist

“James?” he could hear the hesitation in your voice, his name rolling softly off your tongue. it made the tips of his fingers buzz 

“Yes love”

“What do you look like?” you sounded almost ashamed for asking. He would be lying if he didn’t wonder the same thing

“Why d’you ask sweetheart?”

“Was just curious…” you said, James took a deep breath “but we don't have to talk about it at all-”

“I have brown hair… I’d like to think I’m a very normal-looking bloke,” he said, you listened intently. “my mother says I’m a dashing young man, however”

“I don’t think she’s an unbiased source of information.”

“Yeah… i fear she isn’t-“James said with a chuckle, you laughed along, “My eyes are hazel, well they’re brown i swear they’re shit brown but Sirius says they’re hazel”

“whatever the hell that means”

“right? anyway, ummm i’m pretty tall, my hairs a mess always, I wear glasses”

“really?”

“yeah, they’re round, shitty little glasses i reckon-“

“didn’t know you wore any…”

“Yeah I’m blind as a bat,” James couldnt help the smile that spread through his lips as you laughed on the other side of the line. “Can I ask what you look like or is that forbidden?”

He heard your breath hitch before a couple of giggles left your lips. 

“It’s okay to ask, I just don’t really know how to describe myself”

“That’s quite alright— we can go step by step, what color is your hair?”

You answered with a laugh, and James continued. He asked about the length of your hair, the color of your eyes, if you smiled with teeth or pressed lips, he asked if you had long nails or kept them short, he asked everything he could, itching for a clearer image, itching to see you.

“Satisfied?” you asked when the questions died down, James simply hummed in response. He thought about it deeply, the curve of your face, the bow of your lip, his mind filled in gaps or left them in blanks, he couldn't finish clearing up the hazy figure of you. But he was determined now, he needed to see you, he needed to touch your skin, and to have you be more than just a voice on the machine.

He hadn't noticed you had started talking again,

-

You snatched the cigarette from your brother’s fingers, it hadn't even been two days of him staying at yours, and Charlotte was already a terrible influence on him.

“He’s a child, Charlotte, don’t give him this,” you scoffed as you crushed the cigarette under your shoe. 

“I’m sixteen-” your brother retorted, the dumb teenage drawl of his words making him sound more annoyed than he truly was

“Don’t care”

“My friends do it-”

“Don’t care”

“You do it!”

“Who said that?” You turn around this time, your brother stopping in his tracks. Charlotte lights another cigarette for herself behind him. You narrowed your eyes. Flickering back and forth between your brother, who had a sheepish smile, and your roommate, who didn’t dare meet your eye.

“No smoking, at least not while you’re with me”

“Deal,” you smiled, “but… I have a favor to ask.” Your brother’s grin widened even more as yours dropped. 

You should’ve known there’d be a catch.

-

“He’s a terror- truly” You said into the phone, whispered words while Charlotte distracted your brother with some crappy late night TV. 

“Surely it’s not that bad…” James laughed on the other side, breathless and excited to talk to you. 

“No it isn’t, I love the little brat but you know…” You picked at your cuticles, sighing into the phone, “It’s hard when they start growing up, it's different.”

“Different how?”

“Different like… I can’t accept he is growing older and is his own person, he’s my baby” James hummed in acknowledgement. “I don’t know… it’s silly”

“It’s not silly love, you’re allowed to be upset about it, that’s valid,” James was often this way, caring and sweet. You appreciated how in tune with your emotions he was. Sometimes you felt as if he had been made up in your mind. A figment of your imagination.

“Thanks James”

“Of course love-” a knock rang from your door, and your brother poked his head through the slightly opened door. 

“What’re you up to?” He narrowed his eyes “Who are you talking to?”

“None of your business twat, go back to the tv”

“Is it your boyfriend?” James tried pressing his ear further into the phone, praying he’d hear better

“It’s just a friend,” you whispered, tightening your lips into a thin line

“At least tell me its not that horrid man-“

“Alright enough said, i’ll talk to you later friend” you said into the phone

James said goodbye with a breathless laugh.

-

“So about this favor…” Your brother smiled, eyes filled with mischief. He had grown taller in his time at school, his hair had been cut short by your mother, probably against his wishes and the smirk that painted his lips was a newfound one. 

You raised an eyebrow, pushing your plate towards him so he could serve you food. He obliged reluctantly. A game of how much he could do to butter you up had started.

“There’s this event, a tournament, and all of my friends are going-”

“School friends or old friends?”

“School”

“Proceed-”

“There would be a parent coming, he has a government job, very responsible.” he nodded, you rolled your eyes playfully

“Right…”

“It would be just a weekend trip. Thursday to Sunday”

“That's…” You stared at him. mouth slightly ajar, “You know Mom’s going to kill us both.”

“That’s why she doesn't have to know, du.h” he said as he got up to get water, grabbing yours as well as you stared at him pointedly. 

“Do we have to pay for anything?”

“Just getting me to the pick up point… in Broomfield,” He said, a sheepish smile growing on his lips.

“Oh you are mental… Let me get this straight, you want me to drop you off in the middle of Broomfield, which is more than an hour away by car” you said, your brother nodded as he shoved food in his mouth, like it all made sense. “even though I have no car, so you can meet up with your friends and an alleged an adult to go… some other place to watch some sports tournament.”

“Sounds about right,” he smiled at you, cheeks puffy from stuffing his face with dinner, almost like he did when he was bright-eyed and eleven. Your heart stirred… Bastard.

“There’s a rugby field not far from here. You can invite your friends,” you said

He shook his head, putting his fork down. 

“You don’t understand, I have to go to this, it's the World Cup.”

“If you want rugby World Cup tickets, I’m sure I can score a pair, but… Broomfield, really?” You toyed with your fork, tracing vague shapes into your mashed potatoes. “You don’t understand. This isn’t any World Cup y/n, this is Quidditch, I have to go”

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby @santaasi @myheroworldandanimes @whimsical-mistakes @lalalandincraz @2dloveshp @loveyouprongs

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters!

[finelinemia]

BEST FRIEND’S DAD ❤️‍🔥

smut ! harry styles x reader

summary: For years now, you've found Mr. Styles, your best friend Sophie's father, quite attractive, to the point of getting wet just by looking at him. Everything changes one night, when he picks you and Sophie up from a party and you stay the night at his house.

word count: 5.2k

cw: smut, daddy issues, daddy kink, masturbation, oral sex, penetration, dirty talk, unprotective sex

author’s note: Hiii, this is my first smut so don't be too hard on me and I hope you like it a lot. I've never done something so "long" so I hope it lives up to expectations. Kisses and happy reading💋

[ dadrry! , dilfrry! ] +18

"Okay, and at tomorrow's meeting we could talk about the new clients we're bringing on," I say to Jeff through the computer screen as I watch him jot down the different things I'm saying in his notebook.

I took the afternoon off because Sophie, my 24-year-old daughter, is coming to my house for the weekend after spending the last week with her mother, and I want to take advantage of my time with her. She recently graduated from college and is about to leave for the United States for an internship, so the more time I can spend with her, the better.

I divorced her mother when Soph was 15. I remember that at first it was hard for her to adjust to her new life with separated parents and having to spend a different week with each one. But I guess everything works out in the end, and she's at her best, enjoying her last summer before leaving for another country far from us.

"You should also look over the paperwork I sent you for-" My words stopped when I heard the front door open, followed by laughter. "Just a minute, Jeff. I think Sophie's home." I took off my glasses and placed them on my desk, then turned to look at my study door. "Soph! Is that you?"

"Yes, Dad!" The door opens and Sophie pokes her head in. "Working hard?" she asks with a smile.

I smile "You could say, how was your day?"

She shrugs, "Hmm... well, we went to the beach." We? "Y/N is here."

Another head peeks through the door and my mouth goes dry. I've never thought about my daughter's friends that way before; after all, the age difference was a big enough deal to be thinking that way, but fuck, you were something completely different.

This all started when you and Sophie met in college. You were roommates, and eventually you became inseparable. You started coming over constantly, to sleep, eat, or just hang out. Seeing you here was already something totally normal for me. And at first, believe me, everything was fine, but then the glances started. The ones you think I don't notice. The way you swallow softly when you see me coming, or the way you bite your lip slightly when you see me in a slightly tighter shirt. A man can't see those things and not go crazy. And that's why every time I see you I go crazy, so crazy that sometimes I need to go to the bathroom to get my hard-on down and even masturbate to relax. You've become something I should stay away from.

I don't want to be misunderstood either. I've never done anything with you, never made the move, never even looked at you for more than three seconds because I don't know what would happen if we held eye contact longer than that. You think I haven't thought about what it would be like to lean you against the kitchen counter and eat your pussy while you moan my name and being heard throughout the house? But I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman has his limits.

"Dad, are you listening to me?" Sophie's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I shake my head. I look back at her. "Y/N's staying over because we're going to a party, okay?" A party?

"Sorry? A party? I thought we were going to spend the day together. I took the afternoon off so I could be with you." At this point in the film, I'm not surprised in the least. I know Sophie loves me, obviously, but she's a very sociable girl and is always surrounded by friends. She's almost never at home. I can at least be thankful she's responsible.

"I know, Dad, and we have all weekend to be together! But this party is going to be one of the best of the summer." She turns to look at you, asking you with her eyes to help her with this.

"Uh... yeah, it's going to be great. Almost everyone from college is going," you say, avoiding my eyes. Are you nervous already? I haven't even had to lift a finger.

"It's going to be legendary, Dad! We can't miss it, please, please." It still tickles me that Sophie keeps asking me for permission to do certain things. It's obvious she doesn't need it; she's 24 and about to leave for another country. But I guess she'll always be daddy's little girl.

I let out a sigh. "I guess I can wait one more day to be with my daughter..." Sophie starts jumping up and down before I can even finish the sentence. "I don't want you to be too late, and be responsible with your drinking. And with the men."

"Ah yes, the biggest problem today," you joke as Sophie continues jumping up and down. That makes me laugh more than it should.

"Oh! I'll see if I remembered to bring the dress from Mom's house." Sophie runs up the stairs to her room, leaving me alone with you.

"Hmm, talk to you on Monday, Jeff. Have a nice weekend." After Jeff says goodbye, I close the computer screen and look up at you. "So, how's your mom?" I ask, though I don't really care that much, your mother and I don't get along that well.; I just want to make conversation.

"Why? Are you interested in her?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe, tilting your head. I can't tell if you're serious or just joking.

I let out a small laugh as well, shaking my head slightly. Your story is quite different from Sophie's. You don't have divorced parents; your father left when you were five, but that story never leaves your mouth. Sophie told me a few months after she met you. I try not to bring it up when you're around because I know it's probably something that affects you quite a bit.

"Although your mother is quite an attractive woman, I'm not interested." I pick up the papers on the desk.

"She's fine. I think she's signed up for a cooking class. She's having the best years of her life, according to her." You glance down slightly, and that makes me tilt my head a little. "She deserves it, I suppose... after 20 years of raising a daughter alone, she needs to rest and have some fun."

The comment makes me purse my lips in disapproval. It's the first time you've spoken about the subject with me, and you seem somewhat upset, even though it's been years since then. I still don't understand how someone could abandon their daughter like that. You'll always be worried that she grew up without a father, and that will stay with her for the rest of her life.

"You look like her." My voice makes you lift your head from the floor. "Like your mother, I mean. You're both very attractive women." Did you really just say that, Harry?

You blush a little and swallow lightly. There it is…

"Thank you, Mr. Styles." you murmur.

“You know you can call me Harry, right?” I smirk.

"Yeah, I know, but it's weird calling you by your first name..." Well, I bet you'll moan it out loud.

"A lot of people are going to that party... you say?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.

"Yeah, we're planning on meeting up with our friends. Have a drink... hang out, you know, and then head home."

It's obvious that both you and my daughter want to hide what you're really going to do at those parties, but I guess you're both adults and it's none of my business, right?

"Hmm... I'm sure you both have a lot of guys after you." i murmur, and you tilt your head slightly. "Oh, I'm just asking. You know I care about Sophie."

"To Sophie, huh?" This time you're the one who lets out a smirk. “Yes, I suppose there will be some boys.”

"Hm... do you have a boyfriend?" Harry, shut your mouth before you regret it.

You shake your head. "Why? Are you interested?" I know you're joking, but I really want to say yes.

"Y/N! Come get ready! Time's running out!" Sophie yells from upstairs.

"Saved by the bell, I guess," you say, moving away from the door frame and turning toward the exit. "See you later, Harry."

I watch you sway your hips as you head for the stairs, and I let out a long sigh. Why the hell does my name have to sound so good on your lips? Fuck, on top of that, you were clearly hitting on me.

I open the computer again and start reviewing documents, trying to think of something other than my name on your lips, trying not to think about what it would sound like if you moaned it.

"Fuck-" I get up from the desk and walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I pull down my pants and boxers and lean with one hand against the wall, the other going straight to my cock without a second thought. Am I seriously jerking off thinking about my daughter's best friend?

I move my hand quickly as I throw my head back. My name on your lips keeps echoing in my head over and over again. I breathe raggedly as I increase the pace. If you've achieved this with just a word, I don't want to imagine what it would be like if you were touching me. If it were your hand right now giving me pleasure.

"Shit- shit, shit, shit..." I grab a piece of toilet paper, continuing to pump myself, and place it right on the tip, cumming on it almost instantly. "You're fucked..." I mutter to myself as I throw the paper into the toilet and flush. I wash my hands and face and head back out to my study, hoping I can work better this time.

•••

"If you need anything, just call me. If anything happens, please don't hesitate-" I say to Sophie as she finishes touching up her lipstick in the entryway mirror. "Sweetheart, are you listening? I can even go pick you up, okay? Wake me up if you have to."

"Dad, don't worry. We'll take a taxi back. Don't wait up, I know you." she gives me a look through the mirror. "We are going to have fun for a few hours and then we'll come back, okay?"

"Don't get into anyone's car, Sophie, please, especially if they've been drinking." I run my hand through my hair. I've always been pretty protective of her, but I still get rapid heartbeats every time she goes out partying.

"Believe me, Dad, there's no way I'm crazy about getting into anyone's car." She finishes applying lipstick and turns to me, but her gaze wanders to something behind me. "Oh my God, you're so hot!"

I turn subtly and our eyes meet. Remember the three-second rule, Harry. But then I glance down slightly at your dress. It's so fucking short, and tight, and red, and I need to get it off you asap.

I clear my throat and look away, returning my eyes to Sophie. "Well, have a good time, don't be back too late, and call me if-"

"If there's any problem. Yes, Dad, I know. Let's go. The taxi is waiting outside." She grabs her bag and opens the door, you following behind her.

"Goodbye, Harry," you say, maintaining eye contact with me, closing the door behind you.

"Fucking hell" I mutter to myself.

How do you expect me to behave after that? I couldn't even get to sleep. You went to a party full of college boys dressed like that and I'm not even thinking about my daughter getting drunk anymore. It's obvious you're going to attract a lot of attention tonight, and I can't help it. I'm not going to be there to stop it. I just can lie in bed and wait for this night to be over. Tomorrow you'll go home, and everything will be back to normal.

My phone starts ringing on the nightstand, and I frown. The clock marks three in the morning, and you don't usually get calls at this hour, unless it's your daughter calling you from a drunken state. Sure enough, when I grabbed my phone, the screen lit up with a picture of Sophie and her name. I picked it up after the third ring.

"Soph? Are you okay?" I ask while rubbing my eyes.

"Hi... it's Y/N." Your voice makes me sit up in bed. "Hey, I think you're going to have to come pick us up..."

"Did something happened to you?" I ask as I get out of bed and put on my slippers.

I can hear how you let out a sigh. "Sophie's had too much to drink... I can't even hold her. We're sitting on the sidewalk and she's practically unconscious."

"Fuck, Soph..." I run my hand over my face, trying to think clearly. "Okay, don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can. Send me the location, okay?" I hang up, throwing the phone on the bed and starting to get dressed. My phone rings again, this time with the location of the party. I finish putting on my sweatshirt and head down to the garage.

I get in the car and start it as quickly as I can. I don't even let the garage door open all the way before accelerate at full speed, leaving the house behind and heading toward your destination. The night my daughter had to prove to me she's responsible so she could leave for another country, she goes and screws up. And you haven't done anything to stop it.

I arrive at the house where the party is being held in less than 15 minutes and see you both sitting on the sidewalk, you with your arm around Sophie as she rests her head on your shoulder. If I weren't so pissed off, I'd actually think it was a cute scene.

I get out of the car and approach you. You raise your head to look at me. "How much has she had to drink?" I bend down to grab Sophie's head and try to get her to react. Her head is dead weight and her eyes are swollen.

"I think two drinks..." I look at you, not believing a word, "and maybe ten shots..."

"For God’s sake, and you let her do that?" I ask, frowning. "I thought you were more responsible."

"I wasn't paying attention, we separated for a moment, I was-" you cut off the sentence before you can say anything else.

"You were what?" I raise my eyebrow as a signal for you to continue talking.

"I was with someone else," you say simply.

"Oh, great. You were showing some college student how great that dress looks on you, weren't you?" I scoop Sophie up and head out to the car.

You follow me behind "I haven't even told you and you're already jumping to conclusions? I don't understand why you're so angry"

“Maybe because my daughter can’t stand up and instead of being with her and making sure she doesn’t do anything crazy, you’ve been making out with a boy.”

"Hey, Sophie isn't my responsibility. Yes, we came to the party together, and yes, she's my friend. But she said she'd be fine on her own and that I could leave without a problem, and she was surrounded by all our friends!" you reply, throwing your hands up in the air.

"Well, it seems your friends didn't give a shit that she could have ended up in the hospital!," he sighed, putting Sophie in the car. "Look, I want to take her home. You can stay with your friend if you want."

I see you roll your eyes. “Oh my god, that’s all you’ve got left with, right? What’s going on? are you jealous?”

I look at you in disbelief, "Jealous? me? For God's sake, you should listen to yourself for a moment. You could be my daughter."

"Exactly, I could be your daughter but you always look at me with those eyes and you don't stay looking at me for more than three seconds because you're afraid something will happen!" you say and I open my eyes wide. "Do you think I haven't noticed? You were drooling today when you saw me in this fucking dress. And now you're incriminating me more for being with someone than for not having paid attention to Sophie."

My jaw tightens and I can't look at you for a second longer. "Get in the car, Y/N."

“What?”

"Get in the fucking car. Now." Without another word, you get in the car, and I walk around it, climbing into the driver's seat.

The ride home was completely silent, aside from Sophie's babbling in the back seat. I check to see if she's okay through the rearview mirror; she's so out of it, it makes me even angrier. I shift my gaze to you and watch for a few seconds. You're staring out the window, completely ignoring me. Bad choice.

We arrive at my house and I put the car in the garage. Without saying a word, I get out and grab Sophie from the backseat. You get out slowly and watch me silently as I walk inside. You follow with small steps behind me and we go up the stairs to the bedrooms. I go into Sophie's and gently place her on the bed, turning her so she's on her side, in case she throws up and chokes and we don't have a bad time. When I'm sure she's okay, I turn around and see you waiting in the doorway. You obviously want to say something, but my face doesn't give you the opportunity to do so. I walk to the door, and you take a few steps back while I close it behind me, watching you silently for a few seconds. By my count, it's been more than three. Shit.

"Say it again," I say, approaching you. You take a few steps back and hit the wall.

"Say what again?" you murmur, looking up into my eyes. You look so vulnerable from here.

"You know what" I lean closer to your ear, brushing my lips against the thin skin. "That I'm jealous..."

I can feel you swallow and part your lips. "Are you?"

"Am I? Fuck..." I look down at your dress. "How could you wear that and let others look at you?" I look up into your eyes, which are burning with desire. "You know you've been only mine for a long time..."

My hands move to your legs and I begin to slowly raise them, pulling your dress up until it rests at your waist. You're wearing a red lingerie thong, and that drives me even further crazy.

"Who did you wear that for, huh?" My fingers play with the straps of your underwear. "Did you wear that for him... or for me?" I murmur, looking into your eyes.

You let out a light sigh, I've barely touched you and you're already going crazy "For you... always for you..."

That makes me smile and my fingers slowly slide the thong down your legs, and like a good girl you lift each foot for me so I can pull it all the way off.

"You learn quickly, very well." I take the piece of fabric in my hands and look at it. "Hm, just a few words and you're already wet?" I say, feeling the damp fabric between my fingers. "Fuck, I can't wait for my cock to be inside that pussy..."

I bring the fabric up to my nose and sniff it a little. "But... not so fast. I want to taste you first." That makes you let out a small moan, and I bring my index finger to my lips. "No, no, Sophie's on the other side of that door, she can't find out." I look back down at the thong. "Actually... I had a thought." My gaze returns to yours. "Open your mouth." It's more of a command than a request, and without hesitating for a second, you open your mouth. "Good girl..." I gently fold the piece of fabric and place it in your mouth. This makes you roll your eyes. “You like it? You like tasting yourself, hm?" You nod slightly, and I smile. "Good, be quiet, and Daddy will make you feel like you're on cloud nine, okay? Now it's my turn to taste you."

I bend down until my knees touch the floor and open your legs with my hands, giving me better accessibility and visual of your juices soaking your intimate area. I run a finger through your folds, and it makes you twitch, making me laugh. "So responsive, huh?" Your sounds are muffled by the piece of cloth in your mouth, but it's perfectly clear you're losing your mind. "You want my tongue in your pussy, right? In that tight, wet pussy... I'm sure it's so tight you won't even be able to take me all the way in." You move your hips toward me, letting me know you can't take it anymore. "Okay, okay, you're desperate, I get it... don't worry, sweetheart, I'm going to make you feel so good."

With nothing else to say, I sink my tongue into your folds and you let out a strangled cry. I manage to open your legs further and sink my mouth into you, savoring every inch. I pass over your clit and your legs tremble with pleasure. "Have I found your spot, sweetheart?" My mouth begins to work on it. I circle it with my tongue, sucking and applying pressure while holding you with one of my hands so you don't fall. With the other, I decide to move up the inside of your thighs to your pussy and without warning, I insert a finger, this makes you jump and grab onto my hair, sinking me deeper into you.

My finger moves at a fast pace as you throw your head back, if it weren't for the thong in your mouth I swear you'd be screaming right now. You're holding up well so I decide to slide another finger in, curling them inside you and making you cry out in pleasure. "Can you handle another one, sweetheart?" I murmur, looking slightly up. You look down at me and nod eagerly, so I don't wait another second to slide in a third finger. Fuck you're so tight my only thought now is how are you going to handle my cock.

I feel your walls start to clench around my fingers and decide to pick up the pace. "You're doing so good, hold on a little longer for me." I murmur before sinking my mouth back onto your clit, sucking on it vigorously. I run my tongue gently over it and then pull away, standing up while I still working on you with my hand. I continue to hold your hip with the other as I stand and look down at your eyes. "I wanna see your face when I make you cum, hm? Don't take your eyes off me." Your eyes are watery and full of lust, your moans echoing against the fabric of your thong. "Cum for Daddy, sweetheart."

My thumb joins the work, massaging your clit with good pressure and at a fast pace. You try to tilt your head back again, but I grab your hair with my other hand, making you look at me. "Eyes on me," I command as I slide my last finger in with difficulty, your walls tightening more.

Your legs start to shake, and the fabric can't suppress your sounds in any longer. Your eyes roll back into their sockets, and you can't hold it in anymore. You come hard, cumming into my hand, and I can't stop watching as you sob in pleasure. "Good girl..." I murmur as I continue pumping inside you, prolonging your orgasm as much as I can.

I catch you just as you're about to fall, putting an arm around your waist and holding you against me. I withdraw my fingers from inside you, and you let out a complain, making me laugh. I watch them for a moment, then look back at you, removing your thong from your mouth and replace it with my fingers. You close your mouth around and suck on them, tasting your juices. That makes me let out a little moan and i keep looking down at you, letting you take all the leftovers from my fingers.

"Come on, I'm not done with you yet." I take the fingers out of your mouth and grab your legs, throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you downstairs to the kitchen. I place you on the floor and push you towards the counter, making you lean over so your torso is on it. "You have no idea how many times I've pictured you here, bent over for me." I slide my hands over your ass and give it a squeeze, making you let out a little squeal. "Do you want my cock in your little pussy?" my hips come closer to your core, rubbing myself against you, making me moan. You nod quickly and I let out a small sigh. "The cat got your tongue, sweetheart? Words, I want words."

"Yes, please fuck me..." you murmur with your cheek on the counter, looking up at me with little eyes.

"Oh baby, I'm going to fuck you so good you won't even remember your name. I'm going to make you forget every fucking man who's ever been inside you, and your only memories will be of me..." my hands part your legs further, giving me a clear view of your pussy. My hard cock is straining against my pants, aching to be inside of you. I unbutton my pants and pull them and my boxers down to my feet. My cock is already at full strength and ready for action. I grab it with my hand while I continue to grab your ass with the other. Your juices run down your legs and it's the most beautiful scene I've ever seen in my life. "I don't want you to think about anyone else, just me... Who do you belong to, sweetheart?"

I run the tip through your folds and you let out a moan "To you... I belong to you... please..." you beg.

"Only I can fuck you, right?" I say, positioning the tip right at your entrance.

"Yes, only you, you're the only one for me, please Mr. Styles." you beg again and I smile.

"No, no, baby. What did I tell you to call me?" My hand squeezes your ass again and you jump a little.

"Harry... Harry—please," you moan, and I bite my lip at the sound of you. I knew I'd love the moment your lips moaned my name. I might even come just hearing you.

"Good girl… you sound so hot when you moan my name." Without warning, I thrust into you in one swift thrust, and you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks. I raise my free hand to your mouth, covering it. "Remember Sophie's home... moan into my hand."

I begin to slowly move in and out of you, giving your pussy time to adjust to my length. You're so tight I'm afraid you might break at any moment, but you feel so good... fuck, I didn't even remember what this was like.

I increase the pace as our moans intertwine. The hand I had on your ass moves up inside your dress and I grab your breast, pinching your nipple with my fingers. My hand muffles your moans, and for a moment I don't care if anyone can hear us, so I withdraw it, letting you moan freely.

On top of that, you're the kind who likes to scream…

"You feel so good... so tight, so hot, and so wet, fuck, sweetheart, I could get used to this." I say between moans while I fuck you against the counter.

I move further in, trying to get you to take my full length. You let out another moan and grab onto the counter. "That's it, baby, take all of me, you're doing so well."

I throw my head back as I manage to fit my entire length inside you. I let out a sigh, giving myself a few seconds to compose myself, and then I continue with a measured rhythm.

I start to increase the pace again, my thrusts getting harder and faster, driving you to your edge. Your moans are the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, and I need more. One of my hands is still on your breast, the other gripping you right where I want it. The sound of our bodies colliding can be heard throughout the kitchen, echoing off the walls. If Sophie wakes up now, we're dead.

"We shouldn't do this..." you moan and I laugh a little.

I lean down close to your ear and whisper, "Then ask me to stop." With this I give another harder thrust and you moan louder, gripping the counter tighter "That’s what I thought...”

I start to feel your walls tighten around me again and your moans start to get louder and louder. "You're so loud... too loud. But I like it, I want to hear you scream for me. Tell me how much you like it, sweetheart. Tell me no one has ever made you feel like this."

"No one... you're the only one." Your breathing is ragged, you gasp for air with every thrust I give you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, take my cock in that little pussy of yours.” The hand holding you in place grabs your hair and pulls it back as I increase my pace. I lean in slightly to kiss your neck, while my other hand continues to pinch your nipple.

You cry out in pleasure as I continue to move inside you, your walls squeezing my entire cock. "Are you close?" I whisper in your ear, and you nod slightly. "Then come for me, sweetheart. Soak my cock with your juice."

Your body tenses at my words, and your back arches with pleasure. Your legs tremble, but I manage to grip your hips with both hands to keep you from falling. You remain clutching the counter as you come for the second time, your juices running quickly down your legs, soaking my cock. You let out a loud moan and collapse onto the counter. I continue moving inside you, prolonging your ecstasy a little longer.

"Fuck—" A few seconds later, I notice I'm coming too, and I withdraw my cock from inside your pussy. I grab it with my right hand and pump it for a few more seconds, finally reaching orgasm and cumming on your back. "Damn."

I lean against you, breathing fast, trying to return to normal. I move my hand up to your face and brush back some strands of hair that are covering your eyes. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You just laugh, making me smile. Now is when I should feel bad, but quite the opposite. I've felt so fucking good that I want to do it again and again, I want to feel you again.

"Come on, let's see what you can do with your mouth besides scream..." I say, slapping you on the ass and making you stand up. This isn't even close to over yet.

.

.

.

If you liked it, you can leave me a like and reblog it so it reaches more people. Thanks!🩷

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[karaaeilish]

Heyy, hope you’re doing well. :3

I was think abt an idea for a Billie fic. So basically her and reader are cocking together and then reader cuts herself kinda badly (not bad enough fir hospital though) and Billie just completely freaks out whilst Reader ist just Like 🧍‍♀️ im Fine. Just completely unfazed and fixes herself up w Billie still panicking XD

Feel free to ignore if ya uncomfortable or whatever w that request. :)

i love this omgg !!

soft melodic music plays in the background of the cinnamon and bun smelling kitchen, your bodies moving in unison, hips swaying, fingers intertwining, the air filled with eternal giggles and room-lighting smiles that were brighter than the soft rays of the setting sun.

"baby, we need to finish these cinnabons!" you laugh as billie smears flour all over your face once again, making you cough slightly. wanting to cut the dough as quickly as possible, you grab the knife blindly, not noticing that your hand is wrapped around the blade, not the handle. it sinks deep enough into your palm to make you jerk your hand back with a loud "fuck!", the knife falling to the floor, barely missing your leg.

the cut is deep enough that the blood begins to pool in a small puddle, then slowly trickle down to the floor.

billie's face was written in horror. pure horror. she stood there dumbfounded, then suddenly she shot up, grabbing your hand tightly, and for a few seconds you were sure that she was either going to pass out or die.

"oh god—there's so much blood!" her eyes widen enough to make you giggle despite the pain. "why are you laughing? oh my god, i'm gonna…"

you gently cover her mouth with your other hand, urging her to be quiet. billie does, now silently looking at you as if you were already dead.

"my love, get the first aid kit," you whisper, and she nods a few times, quickly walking to the living room cabinet to get a box of medicine and bring it to you, leaving it on the kitchen counter.

you deftly take out the hydrogen peroxide and a couple of bandages, cleaning the wound in a few minutes and wrapping it tightly with a sterile bandage, stopping the bleeding completely. the pain is almost completely gone, except for the unpleasant throbbing that you got used to after a couple of minutes.

finally looking up, you notice how billie is still staring at you like you're a ghost.

"bils?" you giggle, cupping her face in your hands to get her attention. she looks down, meeting your eyes, swallowing hard.

"i can feel my heart beating in my throat" she admits quietly, and you smile softly, leaving a kiss on her lips.

"you're silly."

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay

[chaoticwriting]

Old Friend 2

Part 1

In the car

Vlad: So, young Daniel. I'm not really trying to pry but may I know how you know young Cassandra?

Danny: *Grunts* We met a long time ago. Way before I became Phantom. I was kidnapped when I was young by a group of cultists.

Vlad: What!? I never knew any of this.

Danny: Of course you don't. My family never dares to bring up the topic since they are afraid it will trigger my trauma or something.

Vlad:.......

Danny: And for the longest time, they are not wrong. Imagine, you are 5 years old, waiting for your parents who go out to hunt some ghosts when suddenly a group of men in fully black clothing cover your face with black clothing and knock you up. Next thing you know, you are standing in the middle of a group of children. Scared just as much as you while being surrounded by a group of assassins.

Danny releases a sigh as he remembers his past.

Danny: It is not easy to survive. They train you like you are a robot. If you don't complete your task, they will either punish you or ignore any of your needs. Sometimes both. For them, kids who fail to complete tasks are as worthless as a grain of sand.

Danny: I stayed there for a full 4 years. Training, fighting and killing. I do whatever it takes to survive. Just to see mom, dad and Jazz again. It was there I met her. She's just like me although her circumstances are different.

Danny: A kid who is raised unwillingly as an assassin. We used to escape our observes eyes and meet up in a forest. For the longest time, it was like that. Sometimes we talk about escaping. But most of the time we just talk, or show each other things that we found interesting while we were out on a mission.

Heavy silence falls in the car as Danny stops talking.

Danny: However, things changed one night. I waited and waited in the forest. But she never came. When I returned back to the base, I heard a commotion. "The Perfect Weapon has escaped". I don't know what to feel then. It felt like I was betrayed and yet I felt relieved and happy to know that she was no longer there.

As Danny stops speaking, they arrive at the hotel Vlad booked. Vlad is not good at comforting people but he knows from Jazz that sometimes giving people time alone is a good way to comfort them.

They eat dinner from the room service and decide to go to bed early tonight. As Danny lays on his bed, visions of the past return to him. The bitter and the sweet. Looking at the clock that is past midnight, Danny gets out of bed and takes out a long coat. If he can't sleep, might as well get rid of this excess energy.

---Wayne Manor---

Bruce silently nods as he hears his daughter's story. Honestly, it frustrates him that such a thing could happen and yet he cannot do anything about it. Sometimes, he wonders if he should really just kill all his rogues.

No. He shouldn't think like that. Returning his focus to his daughter, Bruce calmly rubs her head.

Bruce: It's fine. I'm sure you could talk it out with him. From what I see, he is not fully hostile to you. I'm sure he would understand if you explain it to him.

Cass: Hmmm.

Bruce: Do you still want to go on patrol tonight? I think Tim is free to fill in your spot if you don't feel like it.

Cass: No. I'm okay and will be. Just need to process my thoughts.

Bruce: Alright sweetheart.

Suddenly, his phone starts ringing.

Oracle: Hey, Bruce.

Bruce: Yeah?

Oracle: You might want to check in soon. There have been reported shootings at a factory near Scarecrow's territory.

Bruce: Alright. Inform the others to get ready.

As the call is cut off, Cass quickly goes down to the Batcave. She will think about how to contact Danny later. First, there is a shooting to quell.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it. But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

To be ached and carved for 🤭🥰

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is. What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours? Impossible, but a man could dream.

Sometimes dreams do come true 😌

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Yelena instantly clocks it

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

How he remembers the exact day 🥰🥹

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?” “Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

Love Bucky as a wingman 🤭

Bob wonders what others think you are to him. He wants them to know you’re special. He hopes you know, too.

He is so precious 🥹

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

Of course Alexei would argue like that (fair tho🤷🏻‍♀️)

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again.

Love a desperate man

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain. Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

Period👏🏻

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

Oh I'm sure he would

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?” Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. But he can spiral later; you need him now.

He is so soft for her 🥺

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower.

Urgh that's rough...

But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

...and that certainly doesn't help

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.” He’s just found you. He can’t lose you now. “I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

🥹🥰🥹🥰

ROBERT “BOB” REYNOLDS x F!READER: Four times Bob let’s his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t [3.3k]. » CONTENT WARNINGS: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, bob’s sadness and self-deprecating thoughts. » NOTES: didn’t feel like my usual formatting today, it’s actually so much work?? why do i do this to myself? 😭 anyway, whatever lol. i was actually gonna take a break from writing (again, i know, i’m sorry) but i somehow managed to bang this out today at work so here you go, my first ever bob fic 🫶🏻 happy wednesday!

« truth be told »

The first time he touches you, he does it almost without hesitation.

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it.

But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

He’s restless with it, his palms itching as though something was missing. He wants to know what your skin would feel like under his fingertips, whether your eyelashes would flutter under his touch, and if you’d sigh just the way he would whenever he imagined closing the distance between you.

So before he knows it, Bob’s already reaching for you.

His heart leaps to his throat the moment he makes contact, turning his hand over, using the blade of his finger to brush away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

You look up from your plate, the box of pastries you’d bought for the entire team as an early afternoon pick-me-up still laying open on the table, your eyes widening a fraction when they meet his.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” he trails off, not really caring or even knowing what it is. Bob’s never had much of a sweet tooth, but right now, you smell like almonds and raspberry jam and a touch of something that’s uniquely you… and he suddenly wants nothing more than to taste.

“Oh,” is all you say, staying still as he lets his hand linger instead, his knuckles brushing along the curve of your jaw. You smile, your eyes softening, and for a fraction of a second Bob swears you lean into his touch. “Thanks, Bob.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice or the temptation of your name on his lips, before very reluctantly breaking the connection. His fingers are already twitching with the need to touch you again by the time he puts it back down onto the dining table.

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” he’d say, pointing to his own face, his lips twitching with the fib, and you’d simply lean forward at the same time he did, allowing him to swipe the tip of his finger down your cheek. Trusting, unsuspecting, and oblivious to the yearning expanding like a balloon in his chest.

What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours?

Impossible, but a man could dream.

But sometimes there isn’t anything there at all, but he still dips slightly at the waist, beckoning you with his hand before removing the imaginary thing from your cheek, your nose, or the aching perfection that is your cupid’s bow.

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

—

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

It’s unseasonably cold for the time of year, and Bob’s shivering under his sweater. You have been sent out on an errand to restock the Tower with food and supplies, and Bucky insisted that Bob go with you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?”

“Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

“Plus Bob can help carry your bags,” Yelena joined in, not looking up from the game of Scrabble she was playing with Alexei. “Dad, that is not a word!”

“Says who?” He said, gesturing to the gibberish he’d placed on the board, full of X’s, M’s, C’s, and V’s, but not a single vowel in sight.

Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

But then John nudged her, maybe a little too hard, almost sending her tumbling out of her chair. She glared up at him, before she caught the meaningful look on his face.

“Oh… yeah… erm, nighttime in New York is practically the Purge. Might as well take him with you.”

You gave them all looks of thinly veiled suspicion, but then you just shook your head and turned to Bob as you were winding a scarf around your neck. Smiling, you asked him, “Do you mind, Bob?”

As if he would.

Venturing outdoors is still rather daunting, which is probably another reason why the team’s been so eager to get him out of the Tower. The thought that someone might recognize him makes him sweat, despite the mid-morning chill.

And then the two of you approach a particularly crowded spot on the sidewalk, and Bob’s footsteps falter slightly. You stop as if you sense his hesitation, turning to him just before disappearing into the throng of New Yorkers. As naturally as breathing, you hold out a hand.

“Come on,” you prompt with a shake of your hand when he just stares for a few seconds.

Bob holds on quickly before you can change your mind. You tug him along, squeezing his hand tighter as you reach the thick of the crowd. Bob emerges on the other side of it with pink cheeks that should be almost numb from the biting wind, but instead they are warm with something else.

And even as the horde dissipates, the sidewalk opening up with more than enough space for the two of you to walk side by side, you don’t let go.

He catches your reflections in the glass windows of the nearby shops, you with your head turned away to admire the displays of a flower shop, but your hands still joined together.

Bob wonders what others think you are to him.

He wants them to know you’re special.

He hopes you know, too.

—

The first time he falls asleep next to you starts with him sitting in the dark of his room, his shoulders slumping a little further forward with each passing minute. The others have left on another mission without him, and Bob just wishes he could do something to help.

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

He is hopeful when Yelena says he’s improving, slowly but surely, tries to believe it when Bucky tells him that it will happen soon. He just needs a little more time.

But Bob can’t help but feel like a burden, someone they have to take care of rather than a part of the team. The voice in the back of his mind comes back, a few notes lower than his own, that slight taunting lilt of it latching onto the edges of his subconscious.

You’re worthless, Bobby.

You think they care about you?

You will always be alone.

It will always be just you and me.

He doesn’t know how long he's sat there like that, but the room remains dark now even though someone draws the curtains. Bob shrinks back, as though the beam of moonlight spreading across his lap hurts him, doesn’t even look up when someone calls his name.

“Bob?”

He sighs, closes his eyes against the habitual burn of shame, that familiar heat creeping up his neck. Because he’s never wanted you to see him like this—so sad, so pathetic, wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he hears you kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him gently, patiently, so kindly, “do you want me to leave?”

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again. Despite himself, he’s somehow relieved when he feels the mattress dip slightly next to him, the warmth of your thigh dangerously close to his.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees in the periphery of his vision is your hand, lying face up on your lap. It’s an invitation that’s too sweet for him to deny, and he slides his hand into yours, watching with a strange mixture of disbelief and euphoria as your fingers close around him.

That you would still want to touch him after seeing him like this. That he would find such comfort in the simple meeting of your palms.

His chin lifts when you turn, your other hand coming up to tuck a curtain of his hair behind his ear.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Bob nods, and for one treacherous moment he lets himself believe that you unconsciously seek him out too, that your hands itch to touch him just as his own do for you. And then you’re gathering him into your arms, and he follows without hesitation, falling into your embrace and burying his face into your shoulder.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep but when he wakes, you’re still there.

“Hi,” you breathe, as though afraid you’ll disturb this peace if you speak any louder. Bob doesn’t tell you that he thinks he’ll only find peace if you’re around.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a smile lifting his lips as though you’re breathing life back into him. “Thank you.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Anytime.”

—

The first time you undress in front of him is, well, it’s not like that.

Because the entire time, Bob is furious. He wants to break something, feels the frustration crowding his lungs and resists the urge to just scream it out.

The whole team had frozen when he appeared in the doorway when they got home, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you. One of your arms was slung around Ava’s shoulders as she propped you up, and your other hand was pressed gingerly to your ribcage.

There was a bruise blooming along your temple. Your lip had split in two places, and there was dried blood along your hairline. He could smell fresh blood in the air, even though he couldn’t see any open wounds.

John took a step toward him, one hand up in what seemed to be a placating gesture. “She’s okay, Bobby.”

“Okay?” Bob asked shakily, “she can barely stand.”

“She made it home alive, that’s all that matters,” Yelena reminded him, and while it was somewhat reassuring, it did little to quell the fire in his throat.

“She just needs to rest now,” Bucky told him, inhaling sharply when Bob’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain.

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

For the first time, he wanted to see something burn.

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?”

Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And now, as he stands in your room, his hands are shaking as he pulls a clean set of clothes from your dresser. You limp toward the en-suite bathroom, leaning one hand on the counter and breathing deeply through your nose as you try to peel off your soiled tact-suit.

The second you let out a hiss of pain when the movement tugs at your stitches, Bob is at your side in an instant. He pushes down the panic clawing at his throat, the one that won’t quite settle down even though you’re right here, alive and breathing.

But he can spiral later; you need him now.

Bob gently, so gently, brushes your hand away so he can reach for your zipper. You make eye contact with him in the mirror, nodding, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he slowly helps you out of your bloody clothes.

“I’m going to be fine, okay?” You repeat and he just nods, his hands skimming over your shoulder blades, down your arms, as he helps you undress. His breath hitches as your suit falls into a heap around your feet, when he finds the square of gauze taped over your midsection with a spot of dreaded crimson seeping through. There’s a matching one on your opposite side. “It was a through and through. Missed all vital organs, the doctor said. It’s basically a flesh wound.”

“I should have been there,” Bob finally says when he finds his voice.

“Hey…” you turn to face him, “this happens. It’s part of the job.”

“I can help,” he almost pleads. He presses your hand to the side of his face, trying to hide the sting of tears. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. None of you ever would.”

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower. But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.”

He’s just found you.

He can’t lose you now.

“I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

Bob’s never doubted you before.

He won’t doubt you now, either.

—

The team never leaves Bob behind after that, and when he first tells you what’s in his heart, it’s a quiet, almost unassuming thing.

He hadn’t intended to, although he’s always wanted to.

He wanted to tell you when you all boarded the jet, full of nervous but cautiously optimistic energy now that Bob was with you. He found his spot next to you, ignoring John’s teasing quip and Alexei’s beaming smile, his arm pressed to yours on the armrest between your seats.

He wanted to tell you just before stepping off the plane, when you gave him a reassuring smile and a confident nod, like you were saying you’ve got this. He wanted to call it after you as you rushed into the fray, weapons raised and ready, the others following closely behind you.

He wanted to tell you when he stepped in front of you, absorbing the impact of a bullet aimed straight at your forehead. It bounced harmlessly off him with a high-pitched ping, didn’t even leave a single dent or red mark on his skin, but you still gasped behind him and cried out his name.

But he couldn’t think straight in that moment, could only think about eliminating anything and anyone who’d try to take you from him.

He wanted to tell it to you on the plane ride home, when you brushed his hair back to double and triple check the spot where he’d been hit, undeterred by the splatters of someone else’s blood on his suit.

Bob thought about the man it belonged to. He hadn’t set out to kill anybody, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep you alive… well then, he’d pay it again and again.

“It didn’t hurt at all?” You asked. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, full of affection, exhaling on something of a laugh, “I’m invincible, remember?”

“That we know of,” you didn’t return his smile, “please, don’t do that again.”

Bob didn’t answer, because he knew he couldn’t promise that. Even if he could, it’s not like he ever would.

He wants to tell it to you when you pull him into your room the second you get home, standing close enough that he can count the stars reflected in your eyes.

He wants to tell you everything right now, everything he’s held onto so tightly all this time because he didn’t think that he ever deserved this.

Bob’s been made his whole life to think that this was never in the stars for him. The Void in his chest, the one that he manages somehow to keep at bay most days, still whispers it to him. Still sneers at him for even entertaining the idea he could ever have it, let alone with someone as good as you.

Then you kiss him. Just a peck, the briefest meeting of lips at first. You look up at him searchingly, waiting for him to push you away or say this is a mistake, but he would never. So long as you want it, he’d give you anything.

He’s the one to initiate your second kiss, more firmly this time, with the reverence of a man who believes he would never get to do this again. You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer and closer until your chests are touching.

“Invincible, maybe,” you whisper once you pull away, your voice wobbly as you breathe the words into the quiet space between you, “but not replaceable. Not to me.”

Bob feels something crack open inside him then. He buries his nose in the junction of where your neck and shoulder met, hot tears dripping down the delicate curve there and soaking into your shirt.

He wants more, to let his body tell you what he can’t yet bring himself to say, but finds himself almost afraid of it. It has been a while since he’s been this close, this intimate, with someone he genuinely cares about. Maybe even longer since he’s done it with a clear head.

But you seem content to just hold him, like that first time, as though it doesn’t make him near desperate with want and weak with affection all at the same time. And later, before sleep can claim the both of you, he carries you to the bathroom to wash up. The two of you stay in the tub long after you are clean.

Steam curls into the air, hot water rippling as Bob sits behind you, caging you between his arms as you lean back comfortably against the sturdy planes of his chest.

He says it to you then, murmurs into your skin that he’s found love here.

Bob almost can’t believe it when you say it back.

That night, he falls asleep in your arms again, the side of his head pressed to your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart against his ear.

The darkness in his own begins to recede that much further with each reassuring thump, as though chased away by the dawning of the morning sun.

And you.

Always you.

fin.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: age gap, cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a guy who's decades older than you??"

You sigh. Of course she’s only focusing on that part.

"Just one decade and a half—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name. 

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

--

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

[wosospacegirl]

Stuck with you - part 9

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: y/n's sulking, Kika disappeared from training, Alexia's noisy, and Vicky's really bad at signalling with her hands.

Word count: 4.8k

a/n: Sorry it took so long to update. The last few weeks were hard, but not harder than Y/n and Kika's relationship, so let's go.

..

Y/n woke up the next day.. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and for exactly thirteen seconds, she didn't remember what had happened the other day with Kika.

It was the best 13 seconds of her life.

She went down to have breakfast, but god forbid they had a normal, casual breakfast in the Putellas household;

Y/n was stabbing eggs, a frown on her face, remembering Kika's words over and over again.

Across the table, Olga and Alexia were staring at her, not saying anything, just staring pitifully at her.

She hated it, of course. It mmade her feel vulnerable, and it wasn't even 7 am yet.

"What?" she snapped, glaring up from her plate. "Why are you both looking at me like that?"

Olga reached over to squeeze her hand gently. "Cariño, please. Just tell us what happened."

"Nothing happened," Y/n said, pulling her hand back and grabbing her juice, as if the glass could shield her away from Olga's interrogation.

"Eso no es justo," Alexia huffed, taking a bite out of an apple.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "What's not fair?"

Alexia leaned forward, her mouth full. "We always tell you about our relationship, when we argue…when we make amends, it's just fair that you do the same with us and tell us what happened at the book club!"

Y/n lifted her eyebrow. Alexia was never this much interested in her personal life in general, she would only ever intrude in Y/n's business if it was impacting her physically; normally, she would just leave the emotional part for Olga to deal with.

So for her to almost beg to know what happened between Y/n and Kika only meant one thing: it was eating her alive. Curiosity got the best of Alexia Putellas.

"You lie! You guys never tell me anything," Y/n said, waving her fork at them. "You two are, like… weirdly secretive… You went on a date last week and didn't even tell me! I was worried that someone had kidnapped the two of you for money!"

"Okay, now you are being dramatic," Alexia said. "We didn't tell you because we just didn't think it would be a big deal, not because we wanted to keep it a secret."

"I called the police," Y/n said flatly.

"I know," Alexia replied stoically. "I remember the police lights."

"Forget the police," Olga said, waving her hand. "That does not make us secretive, we just had a… communication lapse."

"I still don't know when your anniversary is!" Y/n said. "And I've been living with you two before you got engaged, don't you think that's a bit weird?"

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Our anniversary is on October 31st."

Y/n tilted her head, confusion on her face. "Halloween? Who asks somebody to marry them on Halloween?"

"Alexia does," Olga murmured, spreading butter on her bread. "Ever the romantic."

"Oh, come on, Olga," Alexia turned to her wife, a slight pout on her face. "You said yes!"

Olga ignored Alexia, turning her attention back to Y/n, her voice soft. "Nena, we're just worried. You've been off since yesterday."

"It looks like you're more nosy than actually worried," Y/n said, deadpan.

"Well… maybe a little," Olga admitted, shrugging. "But can you blame us? You haven't dated anyone since Laura, and that didn't end up well. We just wanna make sure you don't get hurt again."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I haven't dated anyone and I'm not even close to that with Kika, so you don't need to–" she made quotation marks with her fingers, "–worry about me."

"Well, I would say you two are almost dating," Olga corrected, holding up a finger. "She came to have dinner here a few months ago, you guys talked, you bought her books, you two went on a date, that's practically dating."

"We're not dating," Y/n said firmly. She really couldn't keep having this conversation, not when she knew Kika had no interest in her. "Nothing happened yesterday. And I don't want to talk about it."

Olga opened her mouth, probably to push again, but Alexia beat her to it; her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed in that same determined way Y/n had come to know.

"I'm going to find out," her captain said. "Even if you don't tell me… I'll get Kika to spill it, she's too nice not to."

"I think that's some sort of abuse of power," Y/n groaned, letting her head fall down against the table.

"It might be… it might not," Alexia said, chin up. "Who would know?"

"I need new guardians," Y/n murmured.

"Oh, come on, you love us," Olga said cheerfully. "Plus, we're kind of the only ones you got, so…"

"That's comforting," Y/n said, eyes back to her plate. She had barely eaten anything.

She thought about threatening Alexia: if she tried to pry information about the date with Kika, Y/n would never speak to her again. 

But deep down, Y/n knew it wouldn’t matter.

When Alexia wanted to know something, she would go to hell to find it. God forbid La reina not know something about her teammates, or else, about her kind-of-adopted-sister…?

…

Monday

The next day, Y/n noticed Kika wasn't at training.

At first, she felt a wave of sadness, which she guessed was how her body physiologically reacted to the absence of Kika, but then her conscious mind reminded her of everything that had happened at the book club, and then she convinced herself that Kika being gone for the day was probably for the best.

Her ego was still too bruised to face Kika right now. If she was being honest, she didn't know when she would feel ready to see Kika again. It would be too much of a reminder that she wasn't wanted in the way she envisioned herself to be.

The whole "I've only invited you so you wouldn't feel alone" hit her deep in her chest, hurting her in a way she didn't allow Kika to.

That's why she didn't let people get too close. It hurt.

Vicky and Salma, blissfully unaware of the tension, cornered Y/n in the locker room after practice once everyone else had already made their way to the pitch.

"So…" Vicky wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "Tell us everything. Did you hold hands?"

"Did you kiss?" Salma asked, way too casually for Y/n's liking, as if it was her right to know what happened.

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying to wriggle out of the circle they had her in.

She wasn't in the mood to entertain their teasing or to remember everything once again. Olga and Alexia were annoying enough at home, she didn't need that at training as well.

"Just… not now, girls," Y/n said in a low voice.

The tone in her voice surprised even her. It was soft, not the usual grumpy way she had grown accustomed to. It wasn't a bark. She was tired… sad. She wished people around her would understand that and just leave her be.

Vicky and Salma exchanged a knowing glance before the realisation hit them. They had stepped over a boundary. 

"Oh," Vicky said, tone shifting as she caught on. "Uhn, maybe it didn't go well, then…"

Y/n didn't answer; she just got her boots and left for the pitch. The ball wasn't going to ask her to make a podcast about her failed date.

The rest of the day, Y/n didn't see Kika. Although when she was on her way to the bathroom, she heard a conversation between Esmee and Alexia. She didn't stop to listen or anything, it just happened that the laces to her boots untied at the same time.

She bent down and listened through the corner of the wall.

"She's not coming?" Alexia asked. Y/n could picture her face, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. "I heard Romeu saying something like that, but when I asked, he told me he couldn't say… Is it private?"

"Yeah," Esmee told her, in a voice that sounded like she didn't want to have this conversation. "She's not feeling good."

"What's wrong with her?" Alexia asked.

"Uhm, well–"

"Is it the flu? I can take her to the hospital if she wants, Olga can make some soup and bring it to her house or–"

"No, it's not the flu," Esmee replied. "She's just not feeling well… emotionally."

"Oh," Alexia said in a knowing tone. "Do you know if it’s because of what happened in the park? I'm not sure if Kika told you about that?”

Oh, for god's sake. Alexia was going out of her way to find out about her date. 

She was even interrogating poor Esmee, who had no idea of what happe–

"Yes."

Yes?

"I don't know much about it," Esmee continued. "She just told me she messed something up and that she wanted to give Y/n some space."

Y/n must have gasped, because Alexia’s face appeared around the corner immediately, uncovering Y/n's hiding spot.

"Y/n?" Alexia said, eyes squinting. "What are you doing on the floor?"

Y/n froze, but her brain tried to come up with something, anything, that wouldn’t make her seem like an idiot.

"Hm, just tying my boots," she said. "So I don't fall and… hurt my face, you know?"

Alexia didn't answer. Instead, she turned around and said goodbye to Esmee, who had a confused expression on her face, but also didn't say anything. Then she helped Y/n off the floor. 

The two walked to the locker room in silence. Alexia opened the door, checking that they were alone, before she made Y/n sit on one of the benches.

Y/n rolled her eyes. 

Not the bench talk again.

"What happened?" Alexia asked seriously, her arms crossed tight on her torso. "And what did Esmee mean about Kika wanting to give you space? Did you two fight? Can you fight in a book club?"

Y/n dragged her hands down her face. "Alexia, if you keep pressing on this, I swear to god, the vein in my head is gonna burst."

Alexia leaned over, touching Y/n's forehead. "It does look a little weird. You should check it out."

Y/n pushed Alexia's hand from her face as she got up from the bench, walking to her cubby. "Just… let me deal with this."

They didn't share a word as they left the training centre, but Alexia kept sighing, as if it was oh so inconvenient that Y/n hadn't shared what happened with her.

Y/n ignored her, as always. 

She spent the drive home thinking about Esmee and how she knew about the park, about her and Kika's date–how Kika had told her.

Had Kika told her everything? Had Kika told Esmee what she told Y/n? About the whole wanting to hang out with her because she didn't want Y/n to be left out?

Probably not, Kika wouldn't do that. 

She wouldn't disclose it, right? It was a rather…private thing to talk about, no?

Perhaps Kika only told her vaguely that they went on a date and it didn't work out.

Y/n hoped so, at least.

..

Tuesday 

It was lunchtime. And once again, no sign of Kika.

Esmee, Jana, Vicky, Salma, Sydney and Y/n sat together at the table. The conversation was flowing nicely, but Y/n was quiet, just sharing bits here and there, but not really engaging in any topic.

"And then she said I should be the one to text first," Jana said, her voice filled with frustration. "Which is ridiculous, right? Why would I reach out first after the date if I was the one who invited her?"

"Yes, you're right!" Salma agreed.

"It just seems like she's always waiting for you to do something,” Vicky chimed in, her mouth full of food.

Jana was talking about one of the girls she was going on dates with, but Y/n didn't remember which one it was this time.

The only thing on her mind was a certain Portuguese girl, and how she didn't want anything to do with her.

She had truly believed Kika wanted to spend time with her–wanted to be around her because they clicked. At least Y/n thought they clicked. Obviously, Kika didn't think the same.

That date's only purpose was to remind Y/n why she kept her feelings at arm's length. They hurt. They always hurt. It was so much safer to have nothing, to shut it all out, than to open yourself up and risk being disappointed.

Her spiralling thoughts were snapped away as she felt a hand on her wrist.

"You're gripping the knife too tightly," Esmee said quietly. "Your hand is all red… messing with your circulation."

Y/n blinked, looking down at her hand, realising she really was unconsciously gripping the knife too tightly.

"Oh," she mumbled, "Didn't notice it." She released her grip, holding it properly now.

Vicky leaned forward, pushing her plate out of the way. She rested her elbows on the table.

"Okay," she said, looking at Y/n, "You seriously need to tell us what happened at the park. You've been sulking ever since! We've been giving you space, but… You can't hold it all in."

Y/n flinched at the word. 

Sulking.

It was a pathetic word. She felt pathetic.

"I'm not holding anything in," Y/n told them, eyes on everyone at the table. "This is just who I am, I don't like to talk about feelings."

"But you need to!" Vicky rolled her eyes. "We've had this conversation a dozen times already."

"You know people get sick, right?" Salma chimed in. "Like with real diseases because of suppressed emotions?"

Now it was Y/n's turn to roll her eyes. 

"Suppressed emotions? Please! You guys are talking like I have some sort of PTSD. I just went on a date that was clearly a disaster."

"But why was it a disaster?" Sydney asked. "Did Kika punch a dog or something? I can't really think of her doing something wrong or bad."

Y/n turned to Sydney, her eyebrows raised. "How do you even know what we're talking about? I haven't told you anything about Kika!"

"Vicky told me," she said casually. "Now, are you going to tell us or not? I have physio in like thirty minutes, I don't want to be left hanging."

Y/n ignored Sydney, just giving Vicky a very sharp glance. She really needed to stop sharing her secrets with Vicky. The girl couldn't keep her mouth shut for more than two seconds.

"Did she find out you didn't read the book and got mad?" Salma questioned, drinking her juice. "Because if that's what happened, then it's a very dumb reason."

"Yeah," Vicky agreed vehemently, as if she hadn't just told Y/n's secret crush to another teammate, "That's dyslexiphobia."

"That's not even a word!" Salma said, turning to her.

"And that–" Vicky said, arms crossed, "–is erasing somebody's identity, Salma. We should call it for what it is: dyslexiphobia."

Vicky said the last part aloud, so in a matter of seconds, every player turned to their table, faces filled with confusion as they heard the made-up word falling out of the young girl's mouth.

Y/n's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She looked angrily at Vicky."Can you shut up?!"

Vicky looked around her, realised she was the centre of attention. She looked down at her plate, hands up on her chest in surrender.

"Sorry! I just wanna know what happened!"

"Me too!" Salma said.

"Can you guys stop?" Jana said angrily, putting her fork down. "We should respect Y/n's decision to not say anything!"

Salma rolled her eyes. "Oh, that’s easy for you to say! You already know what happened, that's not fair to the rest of us who were left in the completely dark"

"Yes! I totally agreed," Vicky said, or maybe it was Sydney.

Y/n wasn't sure anymore, since the whole table continued to create assumptions about her date, and it got to a point where all of their voices blended into one another. All of that while they were eating.

Clearly, none of the Barcelona girls were gracious.

Y/n dragged her hands down her face, completely hopeless.

"Maybe Y/n tripped and fell in a very embarrassing way, and Kika got the ick?"

"What if Kika stood Y/n up?"

“Once a bird pooped on my head during a date, maybe the same happened with Y/n ans Kika and they just couldn’t recover.”

"Oh god, you three shut up!" Esmee said while scrolling on her phone. "None of this nonsense happened! Kika told Y/n she wanted to hang out with her because she felt bad and didn't want her to feel left out, that’s why Y/n is upset.”

It was like the entire table went quiet in sY/nc.

Forks paused mid-air. Sentences were left unfinished. Even the chatter of the other tables seemed to hush for a second too long.

Y/n sat frozen, like her brain was struggling to catch up with what Esmee had said.

Y/n knee, Esmee was aware of the date because she overheard that conversation yesterday… she just didn't expect Kika to talk about it in so much detail.

Kika had explained to Esmee how pitiful she felt for Y/n. So much that she called Y/n out on a date because of pure pity.

Great, everybody knew how pathetic she was.

"What did you just say, Esmee?" Salma asked sharply. "What the hell?"

Vicky straightened in her seat, caught between confusion and disbelief. "What did Kika say? Are you serious?”

"That's so bad…" Sydney said, incredulous.

Everybody but Esmee turned their eyes to Y/n, guilt and empathy in their eyes. It was the same kind of look you would give to someone who was absolutely helpless.

Y/n hated that she was that person now, that her friends saw her like that.

Y/n slowly turned her head to Esmee, who was now finally looking up from her phone, realising the weight of what she had just said.

"Esmee, did Kika really tell you that?" Y/n asked, her voice was low, but controlled, as if trying to hold every emotion in.

She still had hope that maybe Kika said that without meaning to. 

That maybe it was just the awkward way she had of expressing herself, but now that she found out that Kika had told Esmee…then it was probably a hundred per cent real.

That Kika really felt nothing, not even some sort of platonic feeling for Y/n.

Esmee's face went pale. Her fingers tensed around her phone. She looked at Y/n, then the others. "Oh. Um… okay," she stammered, "I guess I… probably shouldn't have said that."

Y/n groaned softly, pressing her palms to her face. "Oh god, I hate this whole fucking situation. Why did she even tell you?"

Esmee shrugged, a little defensive, a little unsure. "Hm… because I'm her friend? I guess? Look, I'm not trying to insert myself into whatever's going on between you two, alright? I just–ugh, sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

Y/n wasn't upset that Esmee knew. She was upset that anyone knew.

She hadn't even told Vicky or Salma what really happened in the park. Not really because it was a secret, but because it was hers.

Because it had been humiliating and vulnerable, and even if Kika hadn't meant to hurt her, she had… and now it felt like the whole thing was a story being passed around behind her back.

Like it wasn't hers anymore.

"Look–she really didn't mean it like that," Esmee said, voice gentle. "She just got nervous, and, honestly, I can't even explain it. Just… talk to her, okay?"

Y/n didn't respond.

She wasn't mad at Kika. Not really. She was just a little disappointed. Feeling like a line had been crossed, even though she hadn't asked Kika not to say anything.

In the end, she also told someone what happened. So in a way, they were even.

Y/n had told Jana. Kika had told Esmee.

The table stayed quiet for a while. An awkward and uncomfortable silence was thick in the air.

Then, Y/n began to eat again, pretending nothing had happened, not saying a word. The others followed her.

Across from her, she noticed how restless Vicky, Salma and Sydney looked, almost as if they were resonating with the urge to ask questions.

She could feel it in them. But every time one of them opened their mouth, Jana shot them a sharp look.

A silent ‘shut up. Not now.’

Y/N didn’t have it in her to speak, but she caught Jana’s eye and gave her the smallest, grateful smile.

Her friends were a little out of touch sometimes, but Y/n would’t change them for anything.

..

Wednesday.

Romeu had decided to do a split training session during the afternoon: midfielders on one end of the pitch, defenders on the other, and forwards in the middle.

Something about improving intra-position dynamics, sharpening communication and developing better passes throughout the whole pitch… It was definitely something important.

Y/n barely heard the explanation or what they were expected to be doing, and judging by the look on Jana's face, she was rather lost as well.

Y/n and Jana were supposed to be working on positioning and defensive transitions, but right now? They were both standing still, unenthusiastically stretching while staring across the pitch.

On the other side, Alexia and Kika were talking.

Yes. Kika had finally come to training after two days of not showing up.

They weren't just talking, though. They were deep in it, heads tilted in that serious conversation kind of way. Their brows were slightly furrowed, arms occasionally gesturing like they were trying to get a point across.

"Oh god," Y/n muttered. "Why does it look like they're talking about something serious?"

"Because they probably are," Jana replied, arms crossed, not even pretending to stretch anymore. "Do you think she's asking about what happened Sunday between you two?"

"No," Y/n said calmly. "I don't think Alexia would get herself and Kika distracted during training just to get some gossip."

Next to Alexia and Kika was Vicky.

She kept glancing back at the two of them and making increasingly unhinged hand gestures.

She pointed at Kika. Then at Y/n. Then she made a motion that looked like either a broken heart or… a butterfly? Y/n wasn't sure.

"What the hell is she trying to say?" Jana asked.

"Okay, okay…" Y/n squinted at Vicky. "She pointed at Kika. That's definitely Kika. Then at me… oh god. Fuck–"

Y/n looked at Jana desperately. "You were right, Jana, Alexia's definitely talking about me and Kika."

"You should go over there and make it stop," Jana said deadpan.

"I'm not going over there." Y/n's stomach twisted. "Kika is probably over-explaining herself right now."

"Then at least tell Vicky to stop signalling like that… she looks like a mad woman. Oh--" Jana nudged her lightly. "Wait, now she's… sliding a finger across her throat? Y/n, I think Alexia is threatening Kika's life."

"Shit, Alexia can just go straight ahead and plan my funeral if she wants to see me die of embarrassment," Y/n mumbled. "Seriously, tío, why does she have to always be in my business?"

"Well…" Jana said, turning her head slightly. "Maybe you should start opening up to her and Olga a bit."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Not this conversation again."

"I'm right, though!" Jana continued persistently. "They're always there for you, I think it would do you some good to get their perspective about this whole thing."

"It's not like I kept it all a secret," Y/n tried to defend herself. "They know I like Kika, I told them that… hell, I even cried! It was humiliating!"

"If you think crying is humiliating, then you should get back to therapy," Jana said stoically.

"Forget therapy," Y/n tied her hair tighter, for no reason, maybe she hoped that it would keep the blood flowing to her brain better. "Plus, I kind of told Alexia a little bit about what happened at the park."

"Did you tell her, or did you just groan and go to your room?"

Y/n opened her mouth. Closed it. "...I groaned and went to my room."

"Exactly." Jana shook her head. "You are hopeless."

Y/n let out a miserable noise.

"Like… Vicky, signalling with her weird hand signs is better at communicating than you are," Jana said as they watched the young girl continue her attempt at communicating what Alexia and Kika were talking about. "-And that's honestly sad."

Now, Vicky was dramatically miming wiping tears from her cheeks.

"Oh my god," Y/n muttered, dragging her hands down her face. "I'm never leaving this side of the pitch again."

Y/n and Jana were focused again, ready to decode Vicky's latest hand gesture, when suddenly, Alexia turned to Vicky with a sharp look and gave her a light slap on the top of her head.

The slap wasn't hard, but the sound echoed across the field, and Y/n could hear what Alexia said.

"Vicky, stop being an idiot and go away."

Vicky froze, her mouth forming a small pout as she blinked rapidly, clearly caught off guard.

Y/n could see her expression fall, all her elaborate signals crumbling into confusion.

"She's telling her to go away," Y/n muttered under her breath.

"I know, we all heard," Jana snorted. "Damn, Alexia doesn't play around."

Vicky shuffled away from Alexia and Kika's side, her shoulders slumped, and her face in a pout. She moved to stand next to Esmee, still visibly mad.

Y/n couldn't help but smile. Alexia normally would baby Vicky around–a lot– so it was funny to see the contrast with what happened today. 

But that also only meant one thing: Alexia was having a serious conversation with Kika, or else she wouldn't mind Vicky's silliness.

Jana and Y/n still had their eyes glued to Kika, Alexia and Vicky, but it didn't last long.

There was a loud, very deliberate noise right between them.

"Hello, ladies," came a voice that was too cheerful for this moment.

Both Y/n and Jana froze, their eyes wide. It was Romeu. They hadn't even seen him approaching.

"Is there something wrong here?" he asked, his voice filled with mock sweetness.

Y/n and Jana exchanged panicked glances, immediately straightening up.

"No, nothing's wrong!" they both blurted in unison.

Romeu raised an eyebrow, a sly grin on his face. 

"Oh, I thought there was something wrong, because surely my number one defenders aren't just standing around gossiping, right?"

"Uhm, no, of course not, we're trainin,g–"

"I better not catch you two standing still for no reason," Romeu cut in, his tone hardening. "If you're not hurt, then you're supposed to be training. No excuses."

He paused for a moment, scanning the two of them, before his eyes narrowed.

"I don't want to see you standing still on a pitch unless you've got an injury to justify it, got it?"

Y/n and Jana exchanged another look and nodded at their manager. They had no choice.

Quickly, they grabbed a ball and began a series of quick tackle drills to show they were definitely not slacking off.

As they sprinted to position, Y/n shot a glance over at Alexia and Kika, who were still in their conversation, only to catch Alexia's eye for a second.

And then Kika's.

Y/n turned to look away. Less than a second later, she wasn't ready for that.

But still, she could feel Kika's eyes on her back. People often described others’ glances as a burning sensation, but Y/n didn’t feel that. Kika’s watchful eyes felt like a weight.

 Y/n didn't like it. The growing tension between them was not something she had expected to happen.

They couldn't stay like this forever. 

At some point, they would have to talk. Not about the park, necessarily, just…talk. greet each other, say Bon dia.

Ultimately, they were teammates first; they needed to have at least a somewhat professional relationship.

And if Kika didn't like her… well, fine. It wasn't like Y/n hadn't survived without her before.

She had lived almost twenty years perfectly well without Kika's attention or her smiles or the way she made everything feel a little better, brighter.

She could do it again.

At the end of the day, they hadn't even dated, kissed or held hands. It shouldn't hurt this much.

She just hoped, really, really hoped, that whatever this was between them, that Kika didn't see her as some obligation. As someone to pity, to look after out of kindness or guilt.

If Kika didn't like her, that was one thing. But if the only thing she felt for her was some sort of pity? Well… that would be worse.

a/n: hope you guys liked it <3

[pricegotmedickmatized]

I just got a new jumpsuit and didn't realize anytime I need to use the bathroom I need someone to untie me because of the way it lays on my back. (It's stupid and annoying but it was my first time wearing it so I didn't know)

Now I'm just picturing a pretty bird going up to the 141 and asking them to undress her (because she's tipsy, can't find her friends, and needs to use the bathroom but her own outfit is holding her hostage lol) what would the boys reactions be?

YELLING I HAVE TO YELL OMG I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE!!! (also bestie that sounds so annoying it would have to be the CUTEST jumpsuit for me to want to keep it once i had that realization)

ok here we go:

price: he's been aware of you, dancing and singing along to the songs over head across the club that he only agreed to come to because soap and gaz threatened mutiny if he and ghost didn't come along. (and to prevent possible crimes. it's happened before when they're unsupervised.) he's been enjoying watching you dance, but hasn't made a move to interrupt you. it's not his scene and he's got a great view. figured when you needed a breather he could swoop in and introduce himself. but then you glance around the club, frowning and swaying a little, and when your eyes find him you beam and beeline right for him. you're obviously a little tipsy, a little handsy, giggling with slightly glazed eyes and a flushed, pretty face (he wonders if you look like this when you've just been fucked, hopes he can compare from personal experience) and you ask him for some help in the bathroom. and he would say no, he's a gentleman and much as he'd like to you're in no state, but then some asshole sitting beside him tries to swoop in and he has to shut that shit down fast. he takes you in to the staff bathroom after speaking with the bartender (and exchanging a little money), and is a perfect gentleman about it. really. (there were like three mirrors in the bathroom and he got a good fucking view when he was leaving to guard the door from the outside while you peed, and he was definitely looking through his hand shielding his eyes when he came back in.) and if he lets his hands linger a little as he laces you back up, if he kisses your shoulder and lets his hands drop to squeeze your waist - well then who could blame him, really? he drops you back with your friends with your number in his phone and a kiss to the cheek. "See you 'round, pretty bird."

ghost: like price, he'd been dragged to the club against his will. soap has been begging him to be his wingman (why is anyone's guess, it's not like ghost's great at. like. talking to birds.) and he finally gave in and agreed just to shut him up. he's having a rough time, honestly, it's loud and crowded and not his scene at all, but what's making it bearable is the pretty bird in a jumpsuit having a ball out on the dance floor. he's trying not to be obvious about watching, but soap's caught him a couple times, enough to tease him (annoying little shit, he'll have the fucker run drills til he pukes), enough even for you to notice, flashing him smiles and even waving at him across the floor. (he froze for a full minute before his hand twitched, raising halfway before he realized you weren't even looking at him anymore and he put it down.) he watches you look around, craning your neck, trying to find something, and is arguing with himself about his instinct to walk over and ask what you need when suddenly you're walking over to him. his ears and face burn with heat as you brace yourself with a hand on his upper thigh to lean in and ask sweetly against his ear if he'll help you out of your jumpsuit, and he can't speak for a long moment, his brain just static. until soap (he knows how to get the LT back online) tries to offer to help and ghost surges to a standing position, bristling like an angry cat "sit the fuck down, sergeant. i can handle this" he walks you into the mens bathroom like it's nothing, and one barked order has all the drunks scattering like rats. he locks the door behind the last of them and ensures the bathroom is clear (and selects the cleanest stall) before his shaking hands get you out. he spends the time you're in the stall firmly telling himself not to get hard, that it's just being a good samaritan or whatever. it's no big deal. but then you come out, batting your eyes and asking for help, one hand holding the waist of the jumpsuit up and the other covering your tits, and he nearly falls to his knees. yeah, he decides as he fumbles to try to get you redressed, he's gotta get your number or something. "So love. Where do you live?"

gaz: this is one of his favorite bars. not too overpriced, not too 'hole in the wall', frequented by people his age rather than just the old locals who's grandparents went and sat in their same chairs however many years back, and yet it's not totally overwhelmed by tourists. it's really the perfect bar. it's his go-to when he wants to blow off steam or get a good old fashioned or, like tonight, dance. he saw you come in with your friends, huddled together like a pack of lionesses on the hunt, all dressed up and ready to swoop in for the kill. he took one look at you and groaned out loud, enough for the bloke next to him to look over at you and your friends and whistle softly. he swooped in before anyone else could get a chance to, glad to escort you over to the dance floor, supervise your trips to the bar, one eye on the bartender and any other man who dared try to get close, his other eye on you as you talked. you're a lightweight, that much is for sure, or maybe you just don't drink that often if all it takes for you to get all cute and tipsy is two vodka crans and a few sips of his beer from the bottle he keeps dangled between his fingers while his arms are around you. you smell and feel like heaven, and he'd originally been planning to take you back to his, but he's not sure that's on the table anymore when you stumble back, giggling against his chest. and then you lift that pretty face and ask him so sweet to help you find your friends because you 'need help' in the bathroom, and he swears he nearly goes blind as arousal hits him hard and fast. he plays the gentleman at first, offering gallantly to help you find your friends, but would you look at that, nowhere to be seen? oh well, he's happy to help if you'd like, baby. he takes you to the ladies' room, a charming smile and a short explanation preventing any alarm from rising as the bathroom empties. he keeps his eyes closed ('fumbling' or really just groping and feeling up your hot skin and the perfect give to your body under his hands), babbling apologies when his hands 'slip' as he unties and then reties you. by the time you're all laced up again your hands are running over his chest, your thighs pressing together and a needy look replacing the tipsy gaze in your eye. he cups your chin, smiling charmingly. "I think I'd like to do that again sometime. But maybe at my place, and not a bathroom. And you'd take it all the way off...and keep it off."

soap: he fucking loves going to clubs. gay clubs, strip clubs, german clubs, overpriced nightclubs, hole in the wall barely staying afloat clubs, underground punk clubs, whatever, he loves them all. and while he loves dragging his team out with him whenever he can, he doesn't drag them out every time he goes, think how much work that would be to make sure they have a good time while he's working his magic with a pretty hen. so he's alone when he sees you across the dance floor, and he's instantly in love with the way your hips move. he's never been shy about wanting a lass a day in his life, and you're not different in the least. you move against him like a goddamn dream and he's been half hard for the last few dances, his hands on your hips and his mouth on your neck, and he would press for more but he's admittedly had a few drinks and so have you, so he's trying to keep a clear head and at least pretend to be a gentleman (even if he's already put a hand on your tits and squeezed when they put Buttons on earlier, smirking when it made you shiver). but then you turn around, crowding close, and manage to convey to him that you have to find your friends for some 'help in the bathroom'. he grins like a wolf and says he can give you everything you need. admittedly his mind is in the gutter and he doesn't even care about the women gasping in shock when you tow him inside, just smiles and waves at them all. and of course he's disappointed when you reassure them that you're not having sex, he's just helping you with the back of your jumpsuit. (he thinks it's fascinating how all the women take one look at the back and immediately nod, empathetic noises coming from them) no one leaves and he's all smirks and wandering hands, praise pouring out of his mouth at your dancing skills, how good you smell, how pretty your skin is, hen, wow, look at that when the top slips and he gets a good peek over your shoulder at your tits before you cover them. the other girls giggle as you playfully smack him before ducking into a stall, and he just smiles and leans against the wall waiting for you. "you're a really good boyfriend" some girl sighs wistfully. "my Tom would never set foot in a ladies room" he doesn't correct her, just thanks her and tells her to ditch Tom, which is met with raucous applause. when you emerge from the stall he plasters himself to your back as he ties you back up, playfully saying "such a shame to cover all this back up, lassie. but i can take you back to mine and get a proper look later." your eyes meet his in the mirror, blushing hard, and you ask, "is that a threat?" "no, hen, s'a promise."

[daughters-of-liberty]

ALL OF THIS. I'm so sick of hearing people compare their fur babies to other people's actual babies. They are NOT the same.

Like, you don't lose sleep with pets like you do with babies. I've gotten probably about 24 hours worth of sleep in the past WEEK. And I'm lucky! My kid sleeps great! But that's not the norm by any means.

And don't say "well my dog has X issue so I have to be up with him every Y hours to let him out to potty/give him a medication/etc." First, hardly the average dog owner experience. Secondly, even if you have an elderly dog that needs to pee every 5 minutes, there's things you can do to mitigate having to be up constantly, like installing a doggy door or laying puppy pads out. I can't do that when my child needs a bottle or his diaper changed, or just wants to be held all night long and will scream the second he's parted from me. I am a slave to my child's needs. And I love it! But it's not comparable to having a needy elderly pet. At all.

Or I see on tiktok all the time people who have a room in their home completely decorated and devoted to the pet. "That's the cats bedroom". Okay, cool. "This is the cats bed." Oh, that's funny. "Yeah, spent $300 on this cat bed." I'm sorry, what? "I like to give my dog massages when she's in heat and do her nails for her. Its a whole day thing and honestly very tiring!" At this point why not just have kids? "They're too expensive and too much work." I kid you not, I have seen people like this on tiktok, and they can't even see that all the time, money, and effort they see as being forced into if they have kids, they're voluntarily throwing into an animal. A domesticated animal, albeit, but a shitting outside/in a box, licking themselves to bathe, animal nonetheless. They don't need manicures and massages and $300 beds. That's stupid. He's not your baby, Sharon, he's a 73 year old man in dog years.

And that's another thing: these fur baby folks will be like "I don't want to be tied down with a kid, I want to be able to spend more time with my dog/cat/chinchilla/iguana/etc." But kids have lifelong fulfillment, whereas that pet is probably gonna die in the next 5-15 years. Hopefully you get to spend the better part of two decades with your pet! But I had a cat that got sick and had to be put down at 4. Four years old. Four years I lavished her with love, attention, and better food than I was eating at the time, to be completely honest. And then she died. I was heartbroken. But part of that heartbreak was feeling robbed of the already short time we could've had together on this earth. I was distraught. But I tell you what, if my kid dies at 4, yall will have to put me on suicide watch, legitimately.

Also, you can't just put down or rehome your kid. Like, if your kid gets sick and you can't afford it, too bad. You're shit out of luck. Time to start a go fund me, take out a predatory loan, or turn to crime, because that's what it'll take to hopefully cure your child. Your dog has to get a radical surgery or you have to deal with giving them expensive meds multiple times a day every day for the rest of their life? Well, maybe we have to make the difficult decision to let him go. You can't do that with kids. If your child has some DEEP personality defects that makes your life a living hell, that's on you to send them to therapy and get the help they need to have that behavior corrected, if it can be corrected and it's not a mental health disorder of some kind, then you just have to deal with it all while still loving them unconditionally, no matter what awful things they may do or say to you or people around you. If your dog or cat makes your life a living hell, yes there are also behavioral specialists that you can turn to, but if that doesn't work, you can rehome them. Hell, if they're violent, you can put them down for that too! In fact, if they hurt someone and that person reports your pet, in a lot of places, the local government might MAKE YOU put your pet down, even if it was that person's fault your dog bit them (acting unnecessarily aggressive/not leaving the dog alone,/threatening the dog's territory, which includes you, btw). Like, your dog could've been defending you and they might still have to get put down because the other person got a boo-boo. You know what the government won't do? Make you euthanize your child.

In fact, if you are not 100% selfless when dealing with your child, even if your mental or physical health is desperately at risk, you are demonized and made to feel like a piece of utter trash. Wanna know how I know? Ask any parent that makes the difficult decision to send their mentally handicapped child to a group home. Ask any parent who's struggling with their mental health and has made the difficult decision to give up their parental rights. Ask any mother thats made the difficult decision to merely stop breastfeeding, for any reason! You are not allowed to be selfish, even a little bit, as a parent. You can totally be selfish as a pet owner.

Wanna go a trip away somewhere? Put your pet in doggy/kitty daycare facility. Can't afford to give your pet the best food? Give them the cheapest slop you can find, they can't tell the difference! I've already touched on not being able to afford proper veterinary care. I could go on, but I think I've made my point clear.

[puma-riki]

You're My Romeo! (Everybody Laughs When I Tell Them So)

I just changed your name, now its Romeo! ── . dork! maknae line x fem! reader

[ - skinship kissing est. relationship loser enha ] Hyung line maknae line

! tw. small mention of drugs

⟡ I need a dork boyfriend before I end it all guys I'm so fr, hyung line coming soon mwahaha

────────────────── ⟢

Sunoo

There's a lot of people Sunoo holds dear to his heart. You and his sister being two of them. He absolutely adores how the two most important girls in his life get along so well and even consider each other close friends.

But right now, the both of you together is irritating his soul.

He was absolutely thrilled for all three of you to go out for dinner tonight. It was supposed to be amazing, there'd be good food, a chance to sit down and catch up after so long, a nice ambience in the background as the night settled over the city, his sister wouldn't be stealing his girlfriend, and you wouldn't let her.

But of course, the universe is cruel.

"Ugh! [Name] you're literally so cute!" His sister's overly cheery voice from across the restaurant booth makes him roll his eyes for the nth time while he sips his drink.

He resists the urge to bang his head against the table.

And then you- his girlfriend, mind you- giggle at her dumb compliment and poke at your food all shy.

This has been happening all night. You and his sister linked arms when you met up at the train station, haven't shut up since, and are now sitting across from each other like you're on a date.

You've been laughing at each other's dumb jokes, sharing bites of your food, and at one point you tucked her hair behind her ear.

What's worse is you're flirting with each other. Shamelessly.

Which, he gets. It's just what girls do with their friends, he guesses. He knows you guys are just messing around with each other and having fun.

He knows it doesn't mean anything

Doesn't mean it doesn't piss him off though.

He can't complain too much though, because all the passes his sister is making on you are true. You are very cute. And very sweet, you have been making an effort to bring him into your jokes and conversations. You remind him every now and then that you still know he's there through giddy smiles and soft touches to his arm or thigh.

You being exceptionally sweet and cute would've made up for every ill fantasy he had of jumping across the table at his sister if it weren't for... that one particular moment of utter betrayal and heart break.

His sister goes to grab a perilla leaf, but as always, its stubborn. The edge tears slightly, folding weird, and holds on to the other leaves below it for dear life. Sunoo watches, eyes narrowing, when she lets out a frustrated "Ah..."

And then you swoop in.

Silently, you reach over with your chopsticks, perfectly poised, and separate a new leaf with practiced ease. You place it on her bowl of rice like you've done this a million times before, so smooth and gentle it might as well be a love confession.

Sunoo freezes. Mid-bite. Spoon hovering in front of his mouth.

In his mind, a record scratches, the light bulbs burst, glass shatters.

Not the perilla leaf. Literally anything but the damn perilla leaf.

He watches you, expression blank but soul spiraling. You don't notice. Instead, your preoccupied with finding the perfect piece of beef on the grill in front of you, and when you do you place it in his bowl.

They always say the one who helps you separate a perilla leaf is The One.

His sister gets the highest level of sought after romantic encounters right in front of his face with the love of his life. And what does he get?

A piece of damn beef!

This is sick. Sunoo's going to be sick.

"Sunoo close your damn mouth. Gosh, absolutely no decorum at all."

~

Later, when the three of you step out of the restaurant into the warm buzz of the night, Sunoo gives his sister a half-hearted hug and a fake smile, still stewing.

You hug her tighter than you hugged him, by the way.

And then she waves, disappears down the block, and the second she's out of sight- you're back.

You loop your arms around Sunoo's, lean your head on his shoulder, and snuggle into his side like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't say anything for a beat.

Then "Oh, nowww you wanna be all cute with me."

You glance up at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugs and keeps walking. "Just thought I was the side piece. Didn't realize I'd be sharing my girlfriend tonight."

You bite back a laugh. "You're so dramatic."

"You helped her with the perilla leaf. And you put it in her bowl." He scoffs, "I mean you might as well have signed the marriage papers with her right in front of me."

You lean closer and rest your head against his shoulder again. "Hey, I fed you too. And I help you with your food all the time."

"Yeah, because I'm your boyfriend. Or was, apparently."

You stop walking, grab his wrist, and tug him gently to face you. With a fond look, you cradle his cheeks in your hands, thumbs brushing the pink tint rising under his skin.

"You are my boyfriend," you say sweetly, pecking his lips once. "And you're my favorite. Always."

He tries to stay mad. He really does. But his cheeks are burning, and your hands are so warm and soft, and when you kiss him again- this time on the tip of his nose- he's a puddle.

"Hmph." He loops his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder. Your body shakes slightly with laughter as your arms move to wrap around his neck. "Still should've been across from you. I would've flirted better."

You giggle, hugging him tighter. "You were sitting right next to me, you dork."

He mumbles against your shoulder, "Didn't feel like it."

Jungwon

Jungwon is acting weird.

I mean- he's always weird, but he's being weird.

You had invited him over after a very long week filled with crammed schedules and work. You're both lounging on your bed watching TV. The room is a bit chilly due to the AC running and the only light in the room is from your bedside lamp and the TV. Theres a comfortable silence laid across the both of you as you lay next to him, knees tucked in and just barely brushing his thigh as he sits up against the headboard of the bed.

It's supposed to be a chill night in after not seeing each other all week.

And it would be if Jungwon wasn't so damn restless.

He's been trying to watch the movie, he really has. But all he can think about is how you've barely touched him since he got here. Sure, you gave him a hug and kissed him when he first arrived.

But that was it and it wasn't enough.

After countless photo shoots, interviews, promotional activities, and many many hours without you by his side, He can't think of anything else but being wrapped up in your embrace. For you to run your fingers through his hair and kiss his cheeks. He's practically vibrating with need next to you and you don't even notice.

You're curled up next to him, all cute and sleepy, and completely content with letting your boyfriend wither away next to you.

You hear him sigh next to you and shift to sit up. You glance over to see him fluffing the pillow he's been laying against.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable, you know." He tries to sound casual as he moves his pillow closer to yours and turns back around. Moving closer to you now that his pillow is moved.

You hum in response, turning back to the TV. Your knees are now laid on his thigh. But it still isn't enough. At this point, He doesn't even think crawling under your skin would be close enough.

You're so close yet so far.

He could just... ask you to move closer to him and coddle him like he desperately wants you to. He is your boyfriend after all, it's not like you haven't been affectionate like that before.

Jungwon is just incredibly bad at showing and receiving affection, even if he is fiending for it. Like he is now. He always tries to pass off affection as a casual thing, like something he's doing only because it's convenient.

Except it's not. And he knows that and hopes you don't pick up on it. But sucks for him, because you do. Every time. Even now.

You clocked his attempt at nonchalance the minute he walked in the door. When you kissed his cheek upon greeting and he followed your lips on instinct when you pulled away. You can practically feel the tension radiating off him as he sits next to you on the bed now. You definitely can feel him glancing at you from the corner of your eye every 5 seconds and see his hands twitching and how he awkwardly fidgets with them like he doesn't know what to do with them.

You could say something, or just initiate cuddling with him and save him from his painfully awkward and you deprived state.

But where's the fun in that.

"It's really cold in here..." Jungwon suddenly announces, lifting the blanket you have draped over your lap and moving under it; even closer to you and closing any gap that there was between you.

"Really? I'll turn off the AC then." You move to get up and Jungwon nearly launches himself off the bed with how fast he sits up.

"No!" You turn to look at his wide eyes. Jungwon, upon seeing your furrowed brows at his sudden outburst, clears his throat. He rubs the back of his neck as he sinks slightly into the pillows.

"I mean- it's not that cold. Just... cozy. Right now. With the blanket. So, like. Don't move."

You blink at him.

He refuses to meet your eyes.

"Right," You say, lips twitching. You shift the blanket off your legs and sit up again. "It's okay. I'll just turn off the AC real quick-"

"No!" Jungwon shoots up again, so quickly you almost thought he would shoot through the ceiling. His hands fly to your wrist as if stopping you physically is somehow more subtle that just admitting he wants to stay tangled up in warmth- and you.

You break out into a smile. "You literally just said you were cold."

"I changed my mind," he says way too quickly. Then he clears his throat and adds with a shrug, "Like I said, it's not that cold. Kinda refreshing actually."

You give him a look.

He avoids your gaze.

With a grin tugging at your lips, you start to get up again anyway, just to mess with him. "Mmm, no. Now that you mention it, it is cold in here. So, I'll be right ba-"

You don't get to finish that sentence because before your feet can even touch the floor, you're yanked backwards onto the bed.

"Hey!" you squeal as your back hits the mattress and Jungwon puts his entire body over yours. He makes quick work of turning his head away into your chest to hide the pink blooming on his cheeks.

"You can't leave!" he says, but it comes out muffled because his cheek is mushed against your chest. His arms tighten around you like a vice and his body weight draped over yours anchors you to the bed. "Please, I missed you all week so just stay here and let me melt into your skin." He says it so fast and quietly you have to take a second to process what he just said.

You smile, affection blooming in your chest. "Why didn't you just say so, silly"

"I don't know... I'm bad with words... and actions." He mumbles.

You snort, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, and he melts instantly. Pressing closer, tucking his face in like he's burrowing for warmth. "You're such a baby."

To be honest, now that Jungwon is finally and completely wrapped up in you, he has no idea what you just said. He can smell your perfume and laundry detergent radiating off you and your nails lightly scratch his scalp. He is gone.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "Sure."

Ni-ki

Ni-ki likes to think he's cool. Calm, collected, unbothered, an untouchable aura with just enough energy to make people double-take. And honestly? He most definitely is. He's tall, walks like he's got theme music playing behind him, and somehow always ends up in the most expensive yet effortlessly "I didn't try that hard" outfits.

He knows his angles, never fumbles his words on camera, and gives off that effortlessly aloof energy like he doesn't even need to try.

But all of that?

Yeah, it goes straight out the window the second he's with you.

Because around you, Ni-ki becomes... himself. Less "cool guy on stage," more "dorky, lowkey clingy boyfriend who trips over his own feet trying to impress you"

And if you so much as laugh at one of his jokes or randomly compliment him? He malfunctions.

You walk down the street, hand in hand with your supposedly aloof boyfriend. You don't say anything as you notice, yet another pair of girls nudge each other and glance his way. You could tell them that Ni-ki, for all his sleek appearances, has been squeezing your hand three times every block just because "it's our secret signal" Or that he keeps brushing his pinky against yours when you're not holding hands, pretending it's an accident.

Or that earlier, when you stopped to look at some jewelry in a window display, he absentmindedly leaned his entire body weight on you like a sleepy dog.

But hey let them, and him, think he's cool.

As your walking a sudden chill breeze blows through and makes you scrunch your nose and shiver slightly. "You cold?" he asks, voice low in your ear. But before you can answer, he's already tugging you into his side, unzipping his jacket so you can fit under his arm. You huff a laugh into his shoulder.

"Was that for warmth or because you missed me?"

He gives you a nonchalant shrug that's completely ruined by the way his hand over your shoulder reaches down for yours and intertwines your fingers. "...Both."

The two of you pass a bakery. Then a claw machine arcade. Then a bookstore. He doesn't say much- letting you do most of the talking (aka letting you yap your life away to him) but every time you stop to look at something, he watches you, not the display. Like he's trying to memorize the way your face lights up when something excites you.

"You wanna go in?" you ask when you catch him eyeing a shop window.

"No," he says quickly. Then,"...Unless you do. Then yes."

You tilt your head. "You're not very decisive, huh."

"I'm very decisive." He deadpans. "I've decisively decided to do whatever you want."

You laugh. Ni-ki beams.

"Whatever I want?" You ask, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The way you look at him makes his brain melt in real time and all he can reply is with an affirmative hum.

"Ah, you really have no backbone. I could humiliate you and you would just stand there and take it." You let out a faux sigh and shake your head. Turning to face the street ahead and resuming your walk with Ni-ki right beside you.

"Yeah." He agrees, making you side eye him with a raised brow. He laughs and takes hold of your hand again. "You can do whatever you want to me. You're pretty."

Oh.

Now you look uncool, muttering a 'whatever' as you turn your head, pretending to look at a store across the street to hide your flustered expression. Ni-ki smiles but doesn't say anything. He starts playing with your hands as you walk, this time comparing them to his.

"Why are your hands so small?" he mumbles, mostly to himself. "Mine could eat yours."

He presses your palm to his, and then- because apparently because this is his thing now- starts swaying your joined hands back and forth as you walk, like two kids on a playground. It might be the least cool thing he's done all day.

Key word might.

Ni-ki doesn't know what it is about you that makes him act like an absolute idiot with no senses at all. It's crazy, really, like who needs drugs when you can just have an insanely gorgeous girlfriend who looks like she descended down on earth with wings and a halo.

Still, he tries to play it off like he's smooth, walking down the street like a cover model with his girlfriend beside him. It would be convincing too- if he weren't so busy watching you instead of the sidewalk.

"Ni-ki-"

Clunk.

He walks straight into a pole. A metal one. Full-on, loud, direct hit to the forehead.

You gasp. "Oh my god!"

He winces, holding his head. "I didn't see that."

Well no duh.

"Are you okay??" You quickly step in front of him as he steps back from the pole, reaching up to brush his bangs out of the way and check the damage.

"Yeah," he mutters, completely mortified, eyes darting left and right as if witnesses are the worst possible outcome. "Yes. Totally. I just- was checking the, uh, skyline."

"Uh huh." You gently take his face in your hands, turning it from side to side to inspect him like a mom inspecting a scraped-up kid. "That skyline must've looked so good right in front of your face."

He groans. "You're actually so mean."

"You're the one in love with me."

"...Unfortunate."

Still, he doesn't pull away. He stands there obediently while you kiss his lips once, then rub the reddening spot on his forehead with your thumb.

"You're lucky it didn't leave a bump," you say, trying not to smile, concealing it with a pout.

He closes his eyes. "Please stop fussing. You're making it worse."

You cup his cheeks and continue pouting. "What if I kissed it better?"

He almost melts. "You'd do that in public?"

"You already embarrassed yourself in public. I'm just finishing the scene."

You kiss his forehead- gently, so gently- and he just stares at you like you're the most unfair person alive.

"...I'm gonna walk into more poles if you keep looking at me like that."

"Try not to." You loop your arm around his waist, guiding him away from the pole and continuing your stroll. "I like your face. Would be a shame if it got ruined."

Ni-ki rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you in close beside him. "So, you should watch where you're going, you dork."

So yeah, he looks cool to everyone else. But only you get this side of him: clumsy, smitten, and so totally gone for you it hurts. literally.

⭑𓂃

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[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Fem!Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 1)

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Warnings: Feelings of jealousy, regret and anger

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Johnny was running to the base; thoughts racing through his mind at the news he’d just heard. 

You were getting married. 

Married. 

The words were like poison in his mind. 

He was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to find out that news, given how her friend suddenly stopped mid sentence before quickly saying goodbye to him.  

He needed to tell the others; so that they could come up with a plan to stop this wedding from happening at all. 

“Guys,” Johnny panted as all but burst into his Captains office; not considering whether or not John was in a meeting. 

Thankfully he wasn’t. 

And the only people that were in the room; were the very people he’d hoped were here. 

John, Kyle and Simon. 

“Johnny?” Simon’s voice came first, taking two long strides to the door, wondering what the hell had gotten Johnny so worked up. 

“Are you okay?” Kyle followed Simon, stopping just short of the panting man by the door; putting his hand on his back in an attempt to soothe the emotions Johnny was feeling; that no one could really place.  

John remained in the chair behind his desk, watching Johnny with a worried look in his eyes. 

“She’s getting married,” Johnny continued, leaning against the doorframe attempting to catch his breath. 

A confused silence filled the room.

John, Simon and Kyle all glancing at one another before turning their attention back to Johnny. 

“Y/n,” the Scotsman clarified, “Y/ns getting married.”

Suddenly the sargents emotional entrance had a cause. 

“To who?” Kyle questioned, feeling like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. 

“I don’t know his name, I just know it’s happening,” Johnny explained, wiping some of the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand; his eyes darting between the two men in front of him. 

Kyle looked how Johnny felt, shocked. 

Simon however remained neutral, at least in his facial expressions. His eyes told another story. There was a hurt flickering within his lieutenants eyes, something that people may have missed but Johnny, knowing him so well, didn’t. 

“How do you know?” John asked, his tone surprisingly calm as he lit one of his cigars. 

“Her friend told me,” Johnny replied, moving past Kyle and Simon to look at John, “We need to do something,” 

“What can we do?” John posed the question as though stopping you from getting married wasn’t a big deal. 

It was. 

“John-”

“She’s not our girl anymore, Johnny,” John stated firmly, not backing down from his viewpoint as Johnny uttered a string of Gaelic curse words under his breath. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” the Scotsman finally snapped; lashing out at Johns dismissiveness to the situation.

“Johnny-” Simon spoke, his tone low and warning as Johns continued his outburst. 

“If she knew the truth, she’d still be here with us,”

“But she doesn’t and she can’t,” John argued back, rising from his chair, fury burning in his blue eyes, “That’s the end of the matter, Sargent,” 

Before Johnny could say anything else he felt Simon’s large hand on his shoulder, slowly guiding him out of the room; leaving Kyle and John in the office. 

“John-”

“Kyle,” John sighed, “Just don’t,”

 His tone was no longer angry but simply defeated, as he sat back in his chair. 

He knew what Kyle was going to say.

It was the same thing that he’d been saying since you’d left. 

But much to his surprise the words that left Kyle’s mouth caught John completely off guard, “At least she’s happy, she deserves that...”

That was all he said before leaving John in his office alone.

At least she’s happy.

Those words made something twist inside John, unable to stop the little voice in his mind from continually saying “she should be happy with us,”

And you were. 

All of you were so happy together. 

Before everything changed. 

He wished he could’ve explained to you what had happened.

How they did what they did to protect you.  

But he couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

He swore to himself that he never would; that he would let you live your life however you wanted to, without interfering. 

But the more he thought of you marrying someone, the more it made his heart ache, mournful of the future you could’ve had with them. 

And there was another feeling, one more primal than his aching heart. 

You were marrying someone else; which meant that they’d probably kissed you, touched you, fucked you….

Someone else had touched what was theirs…and that made the Captain of the 141 enraged. 

Johnny was right; his answer of “she’s not our girl anymore” was complete bullshit; no matter how hard he tried to force himself into believing it, he couldn’t. 

Not really. 

Not completely. 

Leaving the Captain at the impasse in his office…the logical thing to do was to let you live your life in peace; but the more irrational part of Johns brain wanted nothing more than to do exactly what Johnny had suggested and stop this wedding from happening. 

Tagging:

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[wonderjanga2]

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four (here)

Chapter Four

"I can't believe you bought an apartment just to store food." Jill said as the two of you stood in the doorway to the new apartment of Sam Franzelli.

A.K.A you.

"Well, it isn't just to store food, y'know. We could use it as a secret base." You walked in, looking around. It was a small studio apartment. It was perfect. As of now, it was kinda of barren though. Maybe you could both decorate it? Buy some cool thingy-ma-bobs? Paint a wall? Have Jill possibly get some of said paint for said wall on her cheek which you could wipe off with your thumb, causing the moment to be suddenly charged with tensio—

You’re getting off topic.

Point is, you both should totally decorate the place. You’ll take Jill shopping with you later.

"You mean an evil lair?” She murmured warily. “I'm assuming we're going to be plotting murders in this place." She walked in after you.

"Jill, if you think about it too much, you're gonna get that traumatized look in your eye." You chided as you both came to a stop in front of what was actually going to store your food.

"What look?" She sounded offended.

"You know which one." You replied as she gave you that slightly traumatized look you’ve been seeing a lot lately on her face. You gave her a pat on the cheek before turning your sights on the item, missing the both flustered and bewildered look she gave you for that action. She also looked to the item that was going to be used for [Name]’s food storage.

"And you also bought an ice cream freezer to keep bodies in." She said, looking like she was imagining all the future murders and getting more and more pale with each image that popped into her mind.

"Yup. All we need now is someone evil, deserving, won't be missed, and under 18 cubic feet.” You almost rubbed your hands together like a supervillain. Good thing you aren’t.

Jill paused and slowly looked to you. “We aren’t gonna kill your dad.”

“…Not what I was going to say, but it is extremely interesting to me that that’s where your mind immediately went.”

She gave you the most suspicious look. “I have no idea how that guy even trusted us, especially you, to have this place.”

That guy, was the skeevy, balding landlord. You remembered the interview like it was yesterday. Which it was!

//Flashback//

The man rubbed his oily mustache as he looked between both you and Jill. Neither of you knew how to dress for this, so you both ended up in extremely businesslike wear.

Jill in a pantsuit. Nice.

The landlord didn’t look pleased though. Likely because he was sitting across two teenagers, which under normal circumstances, wouldn’t even be able to afford an apartment. You didn’t blame him for that, after all, it’s not like the guy would know you could actually pay for it. Or at least use your father’s money to pay for it.

“Name one reason I should even consider renting you both an apartment…” The man trailed off to look down at the paperwork in front of him. “… Mx and Ms Franzelli. Are you both siblings?”

“Married—” You started, ignoring the look Jill gave you for saying that.

The man cut you off before you could continue talking. “Is that even legal?” He asked, looking between the two of you once more.

“I’m… sure it is somewhere.” Jill said, turning her look onto the landlord. “But as for why you should consider giving us the apartment, we can pay.”

“With what money?” The greasy man asked condescendingly.

“This money.” You placed your father’s black card down onto the table. You held it under a finger.

The man glanced at it. “That’s fake.”

“No, it isn’t. We could do a type of up front payment if you’re so unsure.” Jill offered with a super serious expression that made you feel tingly.

“Fine. Five hundred dollars. Now.” The man demanded, probably thinking they couldn’t pay.

“You got one of those card paying machines?” You asked, trying to mimic Jill’s seriousness.

“Of course.” The man sneered.

//Flashback End//

It was actually a couple days later, by which point you were starving, that you finally came to the idea about who to kill.

See, the two of you were walking back to Jill’s apartment when all of a sudden, a police car pulled up and two officers got out of a car to shoot at a random man walking down the street. When the man went down, the two cops arrested him and threw him into the back of the car, probably to bleed out and die.

“Jill. I know.” You said with a little bit too wide of a grin.

“Know what?” She looked to you, definitely disturbed by said grin.

“I know who my meal’s going to be.” You sounded a little excited. You thought that was valid considering you hadn’t eaten in a couple days.

“What?” She somehow sounded both panicked and relieved.

She pulled you all the way to her apartment and all but threw you onto her couch. Hot. Wait no.

“Explain.” She had her hands on her hips as she looked down on you with eyes that very clearly demanded answers.

“Okay. So remember how we saw those cops?”

“Yeah?” She obviously didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Okay, so when I saw those cops, I thought good. Then I thought that the opposite of good was bad. Then I remembered that the people I’m gonna eat are gonna be bad people. Then I realized that most people who are bad are criminals and who arrests criminals?” You sounded like you were rambling, but you swear you had a point.

“Cops.”

“Cops! Right. And who also throws criminals into jail?” You spoke with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Also cops?”

“Right! So then I thoug—”

“How about you just tell me what your idea is?”

You frowned and then sighed dramatically. “Fine… I wanna go pay someone’s bail and then eat them.”

She looked like she was about to say something to that. “Wait… that’s actually kind of smart.”

“You sound so astounded by that.” You murmured.

“I am. And once we bail them out, we can take them here or wherever else and kill them. And when they don’t show up for their court date, we can just say they skipped town!”

“And no one’s gonna give a shit cause we’re in Gotham!”

“Yeah!” Jill also sounded a little enthusiastic as she spoke. You weren’t going to comment lest she look traumatized again.

The next day, after taking a cab to Gotham City Jail, both you and Jill stood inside of the building talking to the officer at the behind the a gate between the three of you. The man sat at a desk, typing at the computer every now and then.

“ID?” The tired looking cop held a tired hand out for it.

“Uh… well here’s the thing…” You trailed off as your eyes trailed down to his name tag. “Mr Lopez.”

The man rose a brow.

“Why don’t you just take a look yourself?” Jill sighed and slipped it to him from in between the bars’ gaps. The man looked at it.

“You’re both seventeen.” The man drawled, handing it back to Jill. “You can’t pay a bail unless you’re legal, I’m assuming you knew that?”

“Well, yes, but we’re close enough, aren’t we? Can’t you just let this one slide?” She asked, probably worried that if they couldn’t get somewhere from here, you’d end up jumping a random person.

You slid a Benjamin through the bars. “Besides, we have a little something to sweeten the deal.” You’d always wanted to say a line like that. You sounded so cool.

The officer working the counter stared at the bill for a long minute. After a while, you both thought he might snitch and call his boss. That’d be really really bad too! Bribery? On your record? No! The man eventually pulled a pen out from somewhere, probably his ass, and marked the bill. That seemed to do nothing as the pen didn’t mark it. Mr Lopez still slid the bill into his shirt pocket. “Fine.” He looked around. “Come here.” He gestured with his hand as he pressed the button for a door nearby to open. When you both stepped through, you realized you were both in the room behind the metal bars. You both approached him. He pointed to the computer.

“These are everybody with available bails to pay. You said you were looking for specific people, right? No family, friends, did something real bad?”

“Yup.” You said as you and Jill nodded a little dumbly, surprised he was actually helping.

Mr Lopez tapped the keyboard, the clacking going on for a bit before he pointed to the screen once more. “I can’t say much about friends, but these three have no family, and each committed some kind of premeditated murder. Does that count as bad enough?”

“Yes sir.” Jill said, looking between you, Mr Lopez and the computer rapidly.

“Then these are your options, I suppose.” The officer relaxed into his chair, staring at the screen as he folded his hands over his stomach.

You and Jill gave each other a look.

“Which would you say is the worst?” Jill asked hesitantly.

“Oh. Caleb Patrick all the way. He murdered four children, ages 6 to 12. A real sick fuck.” The officer spat, glaring at the screen. At least it was nice to know the man didn’t condone murder, unlike bribery.

As for this cuntstick of a murder…

“We’ll take him!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands together as you stood straight up.

This guy was perfect!

After the completing the paperwork and handing Mr Lopez a few more Benjamins, the wait for the jerkoff’s release felt like forever. It was during that wait that you told Jill to go ahead to Franzelli’s apartment to set the thing up. Y’know, the standard murder stuff? Place tarps everywhere, throw on a raincoat, block any exits besides the one you and this little kid murdering fuck are gonna enter through.

“I’m not gonna just leave you to deal with this guy alone.” She whispered to you as you both sat in some shitty chairs, waiting for the guy.

“But you have to get the place ready!” You whisper-yelled back. You didn’t want blood to stain Sam’s new floors!

It took a lot of arguing back and forth until you finally convinced her to go. Coincidentally, as soon as she left, the prick came in.

“Mr Patrick!” You stood, forcing your best, nicest smile.

“Who the fuck’re you?” The cuckhold of a man, snarled.

“I’m the one who bailed you out of jail.” Your eyes trailed down to look him over. No ankle monitor for this guy? You didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed in that failure from the justice system. Then again, him having no ankle monitor makes this a whole lot easier.

That man seemed confused about that. “I don’t know you though. Why’re you doin’ this.”

“Well, you see Mr Patrick, me and my associate who left earlier, are apart of a reformation program!” You exclaimed, the happiness not forced anymore as you thought of all the ways you were going to eat him. “The people we work with are reformed into the best person they can be. Murder? No more murdering! Thievery? No more thieving! You get the idea. We’re going to show you to your new apartment. Come now.” You grabbed his arm and dragged the man along. “Chop! Chop! Mr Patrick!”

Getting into a cab with a kid killer was something you never thought you’d be doing. Nor did you think you’d ever be making “pleasant” conversation with the man to pass the time. You supposed it was easier to do that when you were fantasizing about eating the man’s earlobes.

The onion rings of the human body.

When you and the man finally went into Sam’s apartment complex and went into Sam’s apartment. It was nicely wrapped.

“The place is so… siranwrappy.” The shitbag muttered.

“It’s to keep the place clean of any dust.” You said, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face at the sight of Jill huddled in a corner in her rain coat waiting until her moment to pop out.

You talked more with the piece of trash until she finally spoke, causing the dickwad’s head to turn to her. With that, you immediately and quietly rushed away to put on your own raincoat.

Jill entertained him until you ran over, not bothering to be quiet anymore to jump on the man’s back and rip his throat out with your teeth.

When you were finally done with him, the two of you took to stuffing him into the freezer. When it was all over and you were now mostly covered in his blood, Jill gave you the biggest hug ever.

“I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you or something while I was gone.”

Sam’s a gender neutral name right?

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1 @1abi @exactlynumberonekryptonite @ceramic-raven @depressed--therapist @nisarelle

[revelboo]

I took a sick day off from work today because I suspect I am in withdrawal from two medications and some of the symptoms I'm experiencing are low mood, increased anxiety, sleep disturbances, and tiredness. One med I was going to go off of anyway, but the other I've just had issues getting a refill of. I expect I will be back on it soon enough, but I thought for today instead of falling asleep at my desk and being Done™ with everything at work I would stay home. And how did I spend my day? I spent it alternating between napping and rereading Everything Is Alright.

Just wanted to share that you are a part of our lives 💙

Also I did not expect to like Megatron so much in EIA? I have never been into him before but I like this version of him a lot ✨

Have a nice day!

💕 I’m glad you like my nonsense and I hope you’re feeling much better! Have a great weekend!

Everything Is Alright Pt 162

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Heart breaking as Starscream cradles the tiny sparkling to his chassis and she vents raggedly before warbling out a rasping wail, your fingers curl under until your nails dig into your palms. Wanting to hold your daughter so bad it hurts. None of it really felt real, but it’s dining in and it hurts. She’s right there and you can’t have her. As tiny as she is in Star’s arms, she’s still bigger than you are. You’re toy sized to her, painfully aware that you not only can’t hold her, you can’t feed her, rock her, anything. Too small to do anything for her.

• Tugging you into his frame as Starscream cradles the sparkling, Megatron’s aware of its loss from his own, feeling that bittersweet ache. Spark warm watching the little one you’d entrusted to him in your desperation cry raggedly and Soundwave patiently reaches to adjust the way the Seeker is holding the sparkling. Showing Starscream how to hold a sparkling. And he wants to hold her, feel the weight of her, her field brushing against his. To meet his sparkling, because she’s his as much as Starscream’s. He may not have sired her, but he’s claiming her. Attention sliding to you, when Soundwave turns his way, reaching for you, Megatron sees the look on your face, longing and pain. And understands.

• Hesitating just shy of touching you in Megatron’s lap, Soundwave wants to take you, tuck you into his cassette compartment to protect you from the pain. Because your misery hurts, twisting through his spark and he understands it. To be unable to hold your own sparkling. To have her right there, so close. And Megatron curls an arm around your middle, refusing to let him take you and try to soothe you. The warlord staring him down, his expression warning him to not try to calm you like one of his cassettes. Like he giant understand that you’re not the same, he just doesn’t know what else to do.

• Wings flicking as she just keeps wailing, the sound spark-wrenching, Starscream turns helplessly toward you. Like she doesn’t know him at all. And it’s all wrong. Cupping the back of her head, he needs you. You’re her carrier. “You’re okay, little one. We’re okay,” he soothes and you look up, meet his optics, your expression making his wings tremble. Shifting to put a knee on the berth, he slowly stretches out, the sparkling tucked against him as he lays down facing you. “Your carrier is right there.”

• Struggling against Megatron until he lets go, you stumble and reach, a hand sliding against her warm head and she looks, mouth trembling. Wide optics staring at you. And you wonder what she sees. A tiny, funny, alien? A toy? Aware of Soundwave and Starscream both tensing when she reaches a big hand, chubby servos brushing you. Knowing as well as they do that she can hurt you. Badly. Megatron curls an arm around you from behind like he’s about to yank you back, but you slide a hand against the warm servo. “Hi, honey.”

• Jaw working as you pull against his grip, your little hands sliding against the sparkling’s servos, Megatron knows you have to realize if she flexes those servos, if she grabs for you, she’ll break your bones. Maybe even kill you without meaning to. And he yanks you backwards off your feet when the little one reaches, stumbling and hitting the berth hard with you in his arms him. Hearing the sparkling wail again, right before she mass shifts and his spark constricts when the Seeker nearly drops her. And Megatron shudders as you struggle against him. “Wait,” he growls, unable to look away from Starscream cupping the tiny sparkling in his hands, expression panicked. Because she shouldn’t be able to do that yet. Not with any control. If you grab her and she mass shifts back, you’ll get hurt. “Stop and think,” he snarls as you strain against him, like you don’t care about the danger.

• Venting as he fumbles and drops a part, Shockwave reaches and the memory comes from out of nowhere to drag him under. ‘I’ve got it,’ a familiar voice he knows says. Soft laughter as you bend, arms wrapping around the part he dropped, barely able to lift it. Unable to move as you straighten and he can’t make out your face. Spark hurting as you smile up at him. Can’t picture you clearly, can’t remember your face. Doesn’t know you. Loves you. His mind whispering that this isn’t real, it never happened while his spark aches. ‘You really think this will work?’ You ask and he’s trembling, fumbling and grabbing the edge of the work table. Body bowing forward as something that must be, but can’t be, grief slams through him. Did you make it? Confused, his optic dims. You aren’t real, just a ghost. You’re everything. You’re gone. Where did you go?

• “Protoforms?” At the growled question, Shockwave flinches, head lifting to find Tarantulas hanging upside down from the ceiling of his lab, picking his way closer on his extra limbs, neck craned as he slowly lowers himself, his chosen organic altmode, unpleasant as always. “Why waste resources?” The other scientist asks, reaching to snag a delicate protoform by a leg and lift it from its foam cradle. “Unless you have a use. But artificial sparks are so difficult to stabilize. Unethical to create.” Antenna flicking as he studies the spider, he knows the other mech has as much regard for ethics as he does. “Something else then?”

• “One night assume you have a suspicion that you might need protoforms,” Tarantulas continues. “Except, you wouldn’t go to the effort unless you were certain. Tell me a secret, old friend and I’ll share one of mine. I’ll even go first. I know what they took from you. Not just your face and hands. Though, you wouldn’t remember me. Wouldn’t know my other name. Or remember that you called my work monstrous blasphemy,” the other mech laughs as Shockwave stiffens. Nonsense. Never met him before the Decepticons and there’s a shivery little moment of confusion, because there is no before the Decepticons. “But I remember you and that poor, little organic pet of yours, Senator.”

Previous

[thebestsetter]

Undressed

Synopsis: Break ups are tough. The ones with the one you swore you'd spend your whole life are even harder. He'll never get over you, he's sure of it. How could he, when everywhere he looks, you're there?

Characters: Rin Itoshi, Oliver Aiku, Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi

TW: The word fuck sometimes, OOC characters 😟

A/N: This is obviously inspired by Sombr's song "Undressed". Y'all should totally listen to it.

A/N²: THEBESTSETTER'S WRITING COMEBACK???

I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again

Rin Itoshi has never had an easy time opening up to other people.

Ever since he was a kid, talking about his feelings and thoughts never came as easily to him as it did to others. Feelings were... well, complicated. The only one who could make him come out of his little shell was Sae Itoshi, his older brother. The one who promised to always be by Rin's side. The one who he looked up to. The one who comforted him and gave him free popsickles.

The one who betrayed him. The one who felt disgusted by Rin. The one Rin wanted to crush and destroy.

And also the one who broke Rin. Who made him cry countless times, wondering just what was wrong with him.

After that fateful night, Rin never opened up to anyone again. Why bother? If even his own brother abandoned him, others would too, right? People come and go, so what's the point in being an open book? They're gonna leave anyways, he's clearly destined to be alone (And he's okay with it, really.)

Or perhaps not, cause somebody else managed to break through the walls he oh so carefully built up. You managed to.

Talking to you was easy. He didn't felt like he was forced to speak, it just came naturally. It was as if his own body wanted to open up to you, to have a shoulder to cry on - or maybe it was just the effect you had on him, he'll never really know.

He told you everything. He talked to you about the ugliest parts of him, the ones he tried so hard to hide. He told you about Sae and how the whole situation regarding both of them made him feel. He felt vulnerable enough to cry in front of you, multiple times.

He still remembers your arms around him, the embrace strong, yet so gentle. It was clear you cared for him. Scratch that, you told him you loved him, more than once. And he loved you back. So, so much.

That's why he doesn't understand what went wrong. Why he's here and you're there. Why he's alone again.

"...Rin?"

Well, not exactly alone.

Don't get him wrong, his new girlfriend is good. Great even. She's pretty, the media loves her and her cooking is very good.

There's just one problem.

She isn't you.

"Is everything alright?"

His shoulders are shaking as he lies with her in their shared bed, his back facing her while he looks at the wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mhm" He nods, trying to calm down. His breath is unstable, even if he tries to hide it.

"You're shaking. You sure you're alright?"

The feeling of her hand going up and down his back, clearly trying to calm him down, does nothing to help. Actually, it only makes things worse: he feels disgusted by it. Her touch feels so, so wrong. It feels forced. Out of place. Strange.

He brushes her hand off like it physically burns with a little more force than normal. He realized it was too much though, so he tried to play it cool.

"Sorry" he says, finally finding his voice again "I'm fine, really. You should sleep now... Love"

He almost spits the word, like it's acid going through his mouth. The stinging sensation in his lips after saying it makes his head start reeling and his heart beat faster.

"Rin, you know you can always talk to me when something's wrong, right? I'm your girlfriend, sweetie. You need to trust me for this relationship to work"

Trust? He trusted too many people already. Sae. You.

And, suddenly, the earning becomes hatred. For a split second, he holds the pillow tighter, the longing he felt for you quickly replaced by pure anger.

You promised him. You told him you'd never leave him. And the worst part is that he believed you. He wanted to believe.

He really should talk to her. She's waiting for an answer, staring at him in silence. She stares at him like the kids used to do when he was little: like his feeling were too confusing to understand. Like he was too much.

You never once looked at him like that. You looked at him with understanding in your eyes. With care and patience.

The anger turns into tears. One by one, they begin to spill from his eyes as he hiccups into his pillow. It's as if the ghost of your hands is right there, wiping away his tears.

"Talk to me, Rin" she says - no, she pleads.

But he can't. Even though he knows he should, his mind doesn't want to. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but finds none. His body physically holds him back from talking to her the way it used to do with you.

"...I can't"

He'll never be able to open up to another person, as long as the ghost of you still haunts him. He doesn't want to.

I don't wanna kiss someone else's neck and have to pretend it's yours instead

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He wasn't supposed to get attached.

It was meant to be an one stand, a quick "fuck and go" to help him get his mind off of the current... situation he was facing.

But Aiku couldn't help it: she just looked too much like you.

Her hair, her face, hell even her name sounded like yours - which really helped him cover his slip ups (moaning your name instead of hers) many times.

When they were sleeping together, she put her cold feet under his legs to warm them up just like you used to do. Her favorite series are the same as yours. Her style looks liked yours. She was almost you.

Almost. She wasn't you.

But if Aiku closed his eyes really tight, he could pretend it was you.

He knew he looked crazy, but he just couldn't stop it.

When he gifted her the perfume you used, he brushed it off as a coincidence. Many girls wear that fragrance, so it's not a big deal, really. When he "accidentally" bought her VIP tickets to that rock band you liked - the one he refused to go with you many times, claiming he was "busy" - even though he knew she doesn't like rock, he just shrugged and said he liked the band - he doesn't know a single song beside your favorite one. When he kisses her neck, he needs to pretend it's you, or else he physically can't be affectionate with her. He closes his eyes and inhales your her cologne, smiling to himself as he mutters your name.

"Aiku?" She asks, turning to look directly at him "Who's that?"

And that's when he realized: she was not you. Because her eyes were nothing like yours.

He misses them. Your eyes, I mean: the way the colors in your iris danced, inviting him in and making him grow an inexplicable need to kiss you till you're both a breathing mess of love and earn.

That's why he knows he should stop.

He really should.

"What do you mean? I said your name"

There's not an ounce of doubt in his voice when he talks to her, as if they've had this conversation hundreds of times already.

"...okay then"

And when she turns and he can't see her face - her eyes - anymore, he automatically goes back to pretending it's you again.

So you have to understand, he couldn't let go of her. Cause then he'd have to get over you, and he's not sure if he's ready to.

I look across the tracks and see you with another

There's nothing worse than seeing your lover moving on while you still suffer

Kaiser feels sick to his fucking stomach.

What the actual fuck is happening just in front of him? Why are you at your cafeteria with a lowlife? Your cafeteria. Yours and Kaiser's. The one you had your first date in. The one where he asked you to be his girlfriend.

He's gonna throw up.

Why are you with that bastard? He looks like a fucking dog that hasn't taken a bath in weeks - no, months. He's so much better than that idiot in front of you right now. He knows it. And he's sure you know it too.

So why are you smiling so hard?

How can you be smiling so hard without him, when he's never gotten over you? When he still earns for you, still goes through your old photos on his phone. When he still calls you just to listen to your voice on the voicemail.

How can you move on while he's still suffering? And how can you look so pretty while doing it.?

It's unfair. He's been on dates after your break up, sure, but never managed to find anyone even close to your level. That's why he doesn't know how you managed to.

Kaiser knows he's pathetic. He though those lovesick fools from the movies you forced him to watch were ridiculous - until it was him in their position.

He rejects every girl that even tries to talk to him. The scented candles - the ones that have your scent - are always lit. He checks your social media like it's a ritual.

He even cries himself to sleep sometimes, trying to figure out just what went wrong. Why he's so easy to abandon. Why no relationship ever works for him.

"Mich... Kaiser" He hears someone call.

It's you. Hand in hand with your new... Lover.

He can't help the disgusted expression that appears in his face.

"...hey" It's so weak, so low, so unlike him that even you seem surprised

"What are you doing here?"

I was looking for you, hoping to see you here. Alone. Looking for me, too

"Ah, just passing by. The coffe here is the best, you know."

It's not a question, it's an affirmation. He knows you know. You told him yourself that they serve your favorite coffe.

"Yeah, I know" an uncomfortable silence settled, but Kaiser didn't even oay attention. His eyes were focused on your hands, intertwined with that guy's. "So..." You start, looking at him. Oh, how he missed your eyes.

But not like that. You're looking at him with indifference, not with the loved you used to. "How's life going?"

"Amazing" Bullshit "I'm seeing someone" it's the most absurd lie he's ever said.

"Really? That's great!" No. You're not supposed to be happy. That would mean you...

"I'm glad you also managed to move on" Also? "You know I still care for you, right?"

He's gonna cry.

"Y-yeah" How many times has the mighty Michael Kaiser stuttered?

"You should call me" he's blocked.

You seem to remember it, since you blush and look to the side. His face softens when he sees this. You really haven't changed. At least, not completely. "I'm gonna unblock you, don't worry"

Oh, how long has he earned to hear those words? But not like this. Whatever this is, it isn't what he wanted.

"Sure" he puts his cold and alone hands inside the pockets of his jacket, pretending it's you holding them. "I need to go, now. She's waiting for me at home"

There's no one at his house - he can't call it home anymore. Home is wherever you are.

"Yeah, sure. Goodbye, Kaiser"

"Goodbye"

He begins walking away, his eyes glossy and the air around his face filled with the puffs from his heavy breathing.

"Oh, I almost forgot"

He looks at you again, locking eyes. He takes in your whole body, almost as if it's the last time he'll ever see you: and it might be.

"Take care of youself, Micha."

It seems his pillow will wake up wet again.

I don't want the children of another man to have the eyes of the girl I won't forget

Sae changed.

Spain changed him. Life changed him. Football changed him.

Whatever was going between you both before he travelled was over. He made it very clear that day, when he broke up with you on a snowy day.

He knew he needed to do it. He needed to if he wanted to he the best midfielder in the world.

He also told you to not wait for him, even though you told him you would. He wasn't selfish enough. He knew you deserved to be happy.

And even though he said you shouldn't wait, he still held hope. Hope that you had waited for him, just like you said you would.

That's how he finds himself in Japan again after almost 5 years, strolling through the park where you spent your whole childhood playing together, searching for you.

Everywhere he looks, there's a piece of you. The swings you both ate ice cream in. The sand box where you'd play with Rin. The bench where he confessed his love for you. The olive tree where you first met. The...

"Daddy, look! It's Sae Itoshi, from Real Madrid!"

He snaps out of his daydream when a highpitched voice breaks him out of it.

"It's really him, daddy!"

"Are you sure, sweetie?"

"Yes! Yes! 100% sure!"

"Okay then, go talk to him"

He looks to his right and sees a little girl running up to him a smile on her face and her arms open wide. Her dad is behind her, recording the whole thing while smiling.

"Hello" he says, ruffling her hair a little. He doesn't really like paparazzi, but he really likes his kid fans. Only when they're not spoiled, though "What's your name, little one?"

"I'm Hannah!" She says, still hugging his legs "And I'm your biggest fan!"

He smiles a little

"Well then, 'biggest Sae fan'" he hears her dad say, laughing and coming closer "Why don't you let him go now so you can take a picture together?"

She reluctantly lets go, still not able to contain her smile. When the photo is taken, Sae crouched down to her height to say goodbye, like he always does with kids.

Except it's not the same. The words die in his lips.

Because he recognizes that look. Those eyes.

They're exactly like yours. Even the sparkle in them is the same.

He's suddenly brought back to the thoughts of you. The way you looked at him when he declared his love. The way your eyes sparkled when he won one of the most important championships of the town with his silly school football team. Hell, he even remembered the way your eyes filled with tears when he broke up with you that day.

All because of that little girl.

It can't be... can it?

"Hey, man" he hears the girl's dad say, which makes him quickly rise up again (without really saying anything to the girl. He got too distracted)

"Yes?"

"Could you give a shout out to my wife? She really likes soccer, so I'm sure she knows you"

Oh God.

"Sure. What's her name?"

Please don't say her name please don't say her name please don't say her name please don't...

"Sure. It's..."

He tunes everything down the moment the name began to form itself in the man's lips. Maybe if Sae didn't hear it, it wouldn't be truth.

Yeah, maybe.

But it wouldn't. The truth was simple: you moved on. And the proof was there, right in front of him, smiling without a care in the world.

"So, think you can do it? The video, I mean"

Those kid's eyes will haunt him forever. He's sure of it.

"...yeah. I'll do it"

[hoe4hotchner]

Hello, my 18th birthday is on the 13th and I was wondering if you had time for a request by then if not it’s fine and if you’ve already done the idea and I haven’t seen it I apologize. The request is hotch x actress reader where they meet her because she somehow involved in the case ether her director is a suspect or the unsub is obsessed with her or something and she a big actress but she keeps her private life hidden well I think I’m asking for a request in the right spot :) if you can do this thank you sm!

In the spotlight | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Actress!reader | WC: 1.2k | CW: Fluff, mention of stalker ish unsub, not really any case related stuff.

A/N: Welp…… a little late, but better than never. I've honestly been so busy the past couple of months. Also I'm procrastinating a lot and doing everything except for studying

The BAU wasn’t typically in the business of celebrity encounters, but when a string of murders pointed toward a high-profile Hollywood set, the team found themselves in unfamiliar territory.

“You’re sure she’s involved?” Morgan asked as they walked through the grand double doors of the studio lot.

“Not directly,” JJ replied, flipping through her tablet, scanning the reports that had made her pick up on the case. “But the unsub has a fixation on her. He’s left notes at each crime scene referencing her movies.”

Hotch had dealt with cases like this before – obsessive fans, delusions manifesting into violence – but something about this case had his instincts on edge.

Then he saw you.

You were a household name. Hollywood’s best-kept enigma – an A-list actress who had managed to keep your personal life out of the tabloids way longer than anyone had anticipated, and still managed to do.

That was no small feat.

You stood near the edge of the set, engaged in conversation with your director. When you noticed them, you excused yourself and approached, your expression unreadable.

“You must be the FBI,” you greeted smoothly, your voice carrying just enough warmth to be polite but not inviting. Your agent had only just notified you of how serious the situation had become a few days before the arrival of the team. “I appreciate you coming. This is terrifying.”

“Agent Hotchner,” he introduced himself, his usual stoic demeanor in place. “These are Agents Jareau, Morgan, and Reid.”

Your gaze flickered over each of them before settling back on Hotch. “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’ve been in the industry long enough to know obsession breeds danger.”

“We believe the unsub is escalating,” Reid interjected. “Each victim has been found with items linking to your past films, suggesting a deep personal attachment to your career.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fantastic.”

“We’ll need to go over any recent threats you may have received,” Hotch said. “And we’ll be assigning protective detail.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though not out of defiance – more out of frustration. “I keep my personal life locked down for a reason. If word gets out that the FBI is babysitting me, the media will have a field day.”

“I understand,” Hotch replied, his voice softer now. “But your safety comes first.”

Something in his tone made you pause. The unreadable steel in your gaze softened just a fraction.

“You’re different from the other agents I’ve met,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Hotch raised a brow, having heard you clearly. “How so?”

You offered a small, knowing smile. “You actually care. I'll have my agent send my relevant details to your team.”

Despite your initial reluctance, you allowed the team to dig through the threats you’d dismissed over the years. It was a pattern, Hotch realized. You had become so accustomed to being watched, desired, and obsessed over that you had learned to ignore the warning signs.

Not this time.

Late one evening, after hours of combing through evidence, you found yourself sitting beside Hotch in your trailer, an untouched cup of coffee in your hands.

“You don’t talk much,” you observed.

He glanced at you. “I talk when there’s something to say.”

A smile ghosted over your lips. “That must be refreshing for your team.”

“They’re used to it.”

You exhaled, eyes flickering toward the pile of letters on the table. “I should be more scared, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re handling this well.”

“I think I’m just tired of it,” you admitted. “The industry, the expectations… the fear. I worked so hard to keep my real life separate from my public one, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”

Hotch studied you for a moment before speaking. “You’ve done everything right. This isn’t your fault.”

You met his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. You had spent years being seen but never truly known. And yet, in just a few days, this man had managed to break through the carefully constructed walls you had built.

He stood then. “We’re going to find him.”

When the unsub was finally apprehended, the weight you had been carrying lifted, but something unexpected lingered, an attachment you hadn’t anticipated.

As the team prepared to leave, you found yourself standing beside Hotch, the energy of the set swarming around you.

“If you ever need anything…” he started, trailing off as if unsure how to finish the thought.

You tilted your head, a playful smirk creeping onto your lips. “Are you offering me your number, Agent Hotchner?”

A rare, almost imperceptible smile crossed his features. “Strictly for emergencies.”

“Of course.”

But you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d see each other.

As he walked away, you found yourself staring just a little longer than necessary.

Even though the case had ended, Aaron Hotchner lingered in your thoughts long after the BAU had left Los Angeles. You weren’t sure what to make of it. In your world, people came and went, drawn to the fantasy of who they thought you were, but Hotch had never, although you'd know him for mere moments, treated you like a spectacle. He had looked at you, really looked at you, and seen more than just an actress.

You weren’t sure when you’d see him again – until you did.

It started with a call. Late at night, after a particularly strenuous day on set.

“Hotchner.” His voice was calm, although he sounded tired.

You sat up in bed, your heart picking up its pace. “Is this an emergency?”

A pause. “Not exactly. But you told me once that if I ever needed to talk, I should call.” A slow smile tugged at your lips. “And here I thought the FBI didn’t take personal calls.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle. “We don’t. Not usually.”

That was the beginning.

Over the next few weeks, the calls became more frequent. Sometimes they were brief, check-ins disguised as polite conversation. Other times, they stretched into the late hours, with you learning more about the man behind the badge. His job, his son, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You shared pieces of yourself in return, opening up in a way you rarely did.

It wasn’t long before one of those calls ended with a whispered confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a breath.

Silence hung between you, thick and charged.

Then, softly, “I miss you too.”

When Hotch finally saw you again, it was different. He wasn’t there for a case. He was there for you.

You met in private, away from prying eyes, and for the first time, there was no pretense, no agent and actress, no investigation or security detail. Just two people drawn together.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you murmured as he stood in the doorway of your home, looking every bit as composed as always, though there was something softer in his expression now.

“I wasn’t sure either.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “But you’re here.”

He nodded. “I am.”

You didn’t overthink it. Instead, you closed the space between you, your fingers skimming the lapels of his coat before you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Hotch responded without hesitation, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him in a way that left no room for uncertainty.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“This isn’t simple,” he murmured.

You smiled. “I don’t need simple. I just need you.”

And for once, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to believe that maybe, he could have something for himself, too.