#but he’s their baby and it’s okay for them to fuss over him sometimes

[spookyboywhump]

I think that I could write a whumpee waking up from a nightmare about their suffering only to be comforted by a friend, a family member, or a partner, 10,000 times and I would still constantly want to write it again. Even if I’m not writing it I am probably thinking about it.

[citysuk]

a baby?! | logan howlett

pairing: xmen!logan howlett x pregnant!reader

summary: some headcanons of logan with a pregnant partner.

notes: logan is so husband (not actually married) material 😭😭😭 i needed to write this for my man.

warnings: pregnancy kajsksa (it scares me to death), so much fluffy fluff. no proofread. no use of y/n but no oc neither.

Logan's protective nature would go into overdrive when you are pregnant. He'd be extra vigilant, watching your every move and refusing to let you out of his sight. "You ain't goin' nowhere, darlin'," he'd growl.

Logan would be constantly fussing over you, making sure you're eating right and taking care of yourself. He'd become a regular at the grocery store, stocking up on the necessary supplies for your pregnancy. "Can't have my baby going hungry," he'd say, tossing another loaf of bread into the cart.

Logan would be a pro at soothing you through the uncomfortable parts of pregnancy. He'd rub your back when you had cramps, hold your hair when you were sick, and provide as much comfort as he could. "It's gonna be okay," he'd murmur. "Just a few more months."

Logan would be eager to feel the baby kick and move inside your belly. He would place his hand on your stomach, feeling every little movement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Hey there, little one," he'd whisper.

Logan would take you for late night walks in the gardens, his arm protectively around your waist, your steps slow and measured. He'd breathe in the night air, a rare peacefulness settling over him. "Can't wait to meet our kid," he'd say quietly, squeezing your hand.

Logan might be a bit nervous about being a father, but he would never let it show. He'd put on a brave front, masking his fears with his usual gruff exterior, but would secretly be reading every parenting book he can find.

As the due date got closer, Logan would become increasingly anxious. He'd be extra cautious, carrying you up and down the stairs and insisting that you rest as much as possible. "Can't have anything happen to you or the baby," he'd say, his eyes filled with worry.

Despite his tough exterior, Logan would be secretly excited about decorating the nursery. He'd take you to every baby shop in town, helping you pick out the perfect crib and the perfect color for the walls (he's the one putting everything together).

When the baby is finally born, Logan would be there, holding your hand, coaching you through the delivery. He'd whisper words of encouragement, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You're doing great, darlin'."

As soon as he lays eyes on his child, Logan's heart would instantly fill with love. He'd be torn between staring at the baby and checking on you, a range of emotions playing on his face.

Logan would be the ultimate doting father. He'd change diapers, give baths, and rock the baby to sleep. He'd sing lullabies and tell bedtime stories, his voice gruff but his words soft.

Logan would have a love/hate relationship with the baby's first word. When they said "Dada" for the first time, he'd puff up with pride, but then be secretly disappointed that it wasn't "Mama."

He would have a collection of silly nicknames for the baby, ranging from "Cub" to "Little One". He'd sometimes slip into Wolven mode and playfully growl at the baby, making them giggle.

Logan would be incredibly overprotective of the baby. Anytime someone tried to hold them, he'd hesitate and watch hawkishly. He wouldn't let anyone but his partner and the X-Men near the child, always on high alert for any potential threat. "Ain't nobody touchin' my kid, bub," he'd growl, eyes narrowed.

Logan would be the one to handle the late-night feedings and soothe the baby back to sleep. "Can't let your mama get too exhausted," he'd mutter as he rocked the baby in his arms.

Logan would be careful when the baby started walking and crawling, especially around the danger-prone X- Mansion. He'd constantly be on edge every time the baby would try to grab something sharp or crawl towards a dangerous area. "Watch yourself there, squirt," he'd say, scooping them up before they could get into trouble.

Logan would also be a very hands-on father. He'd want to teach the child everything he knows, from fighting to the wilderness. He'd take them camping and teach them how to survive in the wild. "Gotta be tough like your old man," he'd say.

Even though Logan would claim he wasn't the type to get attached to kids (LIAR), he'd secretly have a soft spot for the one you had created together.

[bagofshinyrocks]

A Little Bump on the Head

Prompt: As your and Simon’s little man is exploring the living room, he bumps his head. Simon is almost more upset than the baby is. [Requested by anonymous]

Featuring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: none

You were so relieved when the little man started to entertain himself.

Watching birds and dogs outside, building blocks, sorting colorful balls and toys, climbing through a series of tunnels made by his daddy from recycling.

Simon was home as much as possible, deployments never being more than a week, and demanding desk-duty or training on base. But it was still hard to run a two-adult one-infant household with both of you only getting a few hours of home-making between you. 

And sometimes, both of you needed some sleep. Sometimes he had a late night at work. Sometimes baby decided to scream at 4 AM and scare both of you so horribly that you couldn’t fall back asleep even after the baby was all snork mi mi mi.

You were re-reading some comics on the couch, encouraging the little man as he scribbled on his coloring pages or crawled to follow the robot vacuum. Once Simon finished loading the dishwasher, he came in and flopped on top of you.

“Ohhhh, what a comfortable pillow.”

“Heavy,” you grunted, freeing your arms and wrapping them around your husband.

“You callin’ me fat?”

“Just a smidgen. In a sexy way.”

Your baby suddenly sat up and vocalized. A happy smile when his dad waved. With a great heave, he pulled himself up on the chair and started making his way over to you.

Eager coos and cheers from both of you, as he waddled from the chair to the coffee table.

A hiccup! An obstacle! Your son falls on his bum. But he perseveres and pulls himself back up again.

But he misjudges and bonks his head on the underside of the coffee table instead. He falls back on his rear. And his sweet face crumbled and flushed as he started to cry.

Both of you jerked forward, reaching for him and starting to comfort him. Simon rolled off you  and onto the floor and scooped the boy up in his arms.

“Oh, bubba,” he hushed, cradling the lightly bumped head into his chest, “it’s alright. You’re alright.”

You wrapped around your husband and gently rubbed your son’s back. He stopped fussing fairly quickly, just sniffling and holding on tight to his daddy.

The top of your boy’s head had only a slight bump on it; nothing you needed to worry about. A light reddened line where he hit the corner, and not even that raised of an egg. He had done this a couple times before.

You looked to Simon to reassure him that the boy was okay and almost started tearing up yourself. The baby was quietly leaning into his daddy’s chest, and your husband was the one fighting back tears.

“Baby,” you coo, cupping Simon’s face in your hands and kissing his cheek. Then kissing your son’s before he could get jealous. “Baby, he’s fine. Just a little bump. He’s had worse.”

Simon nodded, not trusting his voice, and kissed the top of the baby’s head.

A few minutes later, the boy was crawling through his cardboard maze. Moisturized. Flourishing. Living his best life. And now you had your husband in your arms.

“He’s alright.”

“I know but he bumped his head while coming to see me-”

“Shush. Not your fault.” You leaned him back and pinched his nose.

“He’s just learning his gross motor skills. It happens.”

Simon rubbed his nose. “They’re not gross.”

You almost laughed in his face, but didn’t, you were a good spouse. He was still upset. “As in gross motor skills versus fine motor skills.”

“... Oh.”

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2023 December 25

[januaryembrs]

LET IT ONCE BE ME | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [7]

Description: The THREE times she waits + the ONE time she doesn't have to.

length: 17.9k

trigger warnings: criminal minds gore + violence. jealousy. talks of sex and male and female anatomy. they get horny for one another basically. talks of Maeve + day of the dead. yearning idk? mention of one twin absorbing the other one in the womb (sorry if this is taken the wrong way but I conferred with my friend who did this when she was a foetus and she said it's not offensive and is okay to talk about so?)

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‘Let it once be me, who do I have to speak to 

About if they can redo the prophecy?’

The one where they pretend to be married

“I will not be exploited in my own home,” Bugsy chided, the faint smell of burning toast filling the small kitchenette. The butter knife sat ready in her hand, salted spread dripping down the handle where she’d been busy making breakfast before she had been called. 

He blinked back at her, unamused. 

“No. You cannot just scream at me whenever you want something from me. This relationship is toxic,” She huffed, turning back to butter her toast with the thick goodness. Sometimes she loathed living with three boys who had her wrapped around their fingers. 

The second piece of bread popped out of the toaster, which she quickly grabbed and began spreading, her fingers gripping onto the crusts gently as she did so. The squealing started again just as she readied herself to take the first bite, and she whirled around to see the two orange eyes that stared at her from on top of the counter. 

“Sergio, stop. You’ll get Niko all wound up-” She hadn’t even finished her sentence when Spencer shuffled into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his long plaid pyjama bottoms skirting high up his ankles where he’d impossibly hit another growth spurt and forgot to find better fitting clothes. Niko darted in between his legs, rushing to jump up on the breakfast bar, where Sergio was already interrogating Bugsy for more treats, a low yowl leaving his throat at the thought of being left out of feeding. “You boys are driving me crazy, no more biscuits for today-”

The yowl grew in decibels, a second one symphonying it, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the whiney babies, turning to hand Spencer his piece of toast, crust already cut off and split into halves the way he liked it. 

“I warned you not to treat them when I’m not here, they’ve become spoiled brats,” She huffed, though she felt her entire body warm up when she looked at his doe eyes, still half idled with sleep as he watched her swan around his kitchen, their kitchen technically since she had all but moved in to his little apartment meant for two housemates. 

But they weren’t just house mates. They weren’t even dating. But she knew he wanted to. Because he loved her. 

“How could you expect me to say no, they’re so compelling,” He said, his voice gravelly where he’d lightly snored, as much as he always denied he did, fussing Niko behind the ear with long, gentle fingers. He took the plate out of her hand, his eyes swirling with a moved expression when he saw she’d cut his crusts off, his gaze snapping back up to where she’d sweeped her hair out her face, a large shirt and a pair of his clean boxers adorning her figure, “Thankyou,”

He hadn’t said the three magic words since, neither of them had. But they felt it. The weird static that had been thick in the air between them before was crackling along their skin with every glance, like they were both thinking the same thing.

I love you, and you love me.

He smiled at her warmly, the urge to grab her by her face and kiss her skin all over almost overwhelming him, because he counted himself lucky every single day. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in every heart beat, like a mantra that his chest clung to since the words had spilled from her soft lips. She was waiting for him, for his head to settle with the idea that Maeve was gone, and he could let her go and not feel terrible about it; waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Coffee?” He asked, watching her eyes soften as they trailed over his face, and he worried he looked a little worse for wear since he’d rolled out of bed and headed towards the source of the girl he loved arguing with someone in the kitchen even though that someone had turned out to be the greedy bastard they loved dearly.

He knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to have her waiting on him, and he never let himself forget it. 

“Yes, please,” She said, and he brushed past her, close enough for it to be on purpose when their arms touched, his hands busying themselves in between the plate and munching on the first bite of breakfast, because he didn’t know what he might do if they spent one more second looking at one another like that. 

She watched him move towards the kettle she’d sent him for Christmas when she was in London. After using one for two weeks she’d seen the light and realised he would love the nifty little invention. Her arm burned where he’d touched as if he’d taken a flame to her skin, her chest boiling up with every single thing she could think to tell him, like how good his hair looked when he didn’t do much with it, or how hot his voice sounded like that, or that she really really did love him the way she’d never even thought possible outside her silly romance novels, that she’d never believed Pip when he’d told Estella; “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read,” and yet when she thought of it now, watching Spencer busy himself shovelling sugar into two mugs, it made entire perfect sense. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew him, and she didn’t ever want to know. 

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to say those three little words again, or just to tell him he smelled good even when he hadn’t put any deodorant or aftershave on, but her phone’s ringtone cut her off. 

Already knowing it was going to be Penelope with a new case, she flicked the call on to speaker phone, “What you got for me, baby girl?” She said, trying to make her voice as deep as it would go, and she heard Spencer snickering where he was stirring hot water into the instant coffee.

“Was that supposed to be Morgan?” Pen’s voice replied, a small chuckle of her own evident even through the digital tone.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Bugsy replied, stuffing the last of the toasted bread into her mouth.

“I thought he was right in the room with us for a moment there,” Spencer chimed in, humouring her, as he also took an enormous bite from his breakfast, knowing they were more than likely about to be called in and their game of house, one where they flustered every time they spoke, was going to be over, “I was like, woah, Morgan, when did you get here-”

“Alright, my little rascals. We have a case, Hotch wants everyone in,” Penelope said, no doubt already paging through JJ, “No more coffee for either of you, you’re both being weird enough as it is,” 

“Definitely not,” Spencer said, sliding the mug of milky, sweet caffeine over to Bugsy who smiled at him wickedly.

“Wheels up in twenty, Garcia,” The woman added in the same voice as before, Spencer laughing with a shake of his head and moving to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm winding around her waist to give her a small, affectionate squeeze on the hip. 

Penelope sighed, already accepting that their mercurial attitudes weren’t going away any time soon, the sudden mood change entirely odd to the rest of the team who had no idea that they had almost kissed just one week ago. To everyone else, they just seemed to have bounced back to normal, reverted back to Bugsy and Spencer; attached at the hip, only the eye contact and secretive smiles had been dialled to a hundred. The line went dead, and her head shot to look at him, where his hand had yet to move, and it was scoldingly hot against the soft fat that gathered at her hips.

“I’ll get your good shirt, I put it out to dry yesterday,” She said, her voice suddenly much less brave than it had been when she saw his eyes crinkling with a small smile. 

He nodded, and she caught his gaze trailing down her nose, darting over her lips for a second in a way that made her chest rev like a Ferrarri out of gear. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he looked back up to her eyes, his forest hues entrancing like he was playing some silent flute song and she was a snake dancing under his orders. 

He took a second to realise they were standing in his kitchen, his body pressed against hers like he hadn’t even realised they were so close, like he’d just gravitated to her that way, like he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried to. He’d had a taste of nectar, and he was a drunk man ever since. 

Spencer wrangled a hold of himself, allowing himself to stroke the back of her head lovingly, and pressing a kiss to her crown, before he stepped away from her, and the siren song dropped, the two of them dispersing to get ready for the case. 

Bugsy swore she could hear her heart pounding the entire drive to headquarters.

–

“I think the real question is why married couples?” Hotch mused, a steaming cup of black coffee sitting in front of him on the jet, his nose in the file on his lap. 

Bugsy scanned over the manilla folder in her hands, her legs swinging rhythmically beneath the table she sat on, Rossi to her left, her own second cup of coffee squeezed between her thighs. It was a heavy case for a weekend morning, three married couples found slashed and dumped together, the UnSub showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

“If he’s a sadist, having a witness to his torture heightens his pleasure,” Alex added, her lips pursed in contemplation, her hair primped surprisingly neat considering they’d been called in with little to no notice on a Sunday. 

“Israel Keyes kidnapped a husband and wife at gunpoint, got them in a car, took them to a remote location, and then killed the husband in front of the wife,” Spencer said, trying not to look straight at Bugsy when he felt her eyes on him.

He’d never been one to keep a good poker face, never been good at hiding how he felt especially when he was happy. And she made him happier than he deserved to be. He knew their little arrangement would become glaringly obvious to the rest of the team if he let himself look at her. he had no control of his face when it came to her, how he felt his eyes soften, his lips turn up into a dopey smile, his hands itching to touch her just to confirm she was real.

He saw her head tilt down, into her lap as she tried desperately to focus on the words on the page, but he caught the small smile that she kept for herself, and he had a feeling she was struggling just as much as he was. 

“Keyes was a sexual sadist, though,” Rossi interjected, his hands wrapped around a scolding cup of the green tea Penelope had bought them because she’d read of the stress relief benefits. They’d taken it, but David and Bugsy were the only ones who had tried it, “This guy, I don’t know,” 

“Cutting a husband and wife to death, it’s more like he’s mocking their marriage bond,” JJ said, her bluebell hues dancing to Bugsy when the girl chimed in.

“Mutilating both of them, killing them together, it’s like the idea of couples and happy marriage is a trigger for him; it’s personal. He wants to make them pay for their happiness, likely because something’s stopping him from having it too,” She said, taking a long sip of her coffee, Rossi nodding along with her. 

“That’s where my head’s at. ‘You took each other for better or worse, now I’m going to show you worse’,” He said, leaning back against the table, his shoulder nudging the younger girl. 

Derek stroked a hand over his stubbled beard, “His home life’s probably a wreck, at least one ex-wife, not to mention mom and dad,”  

“Alright we need to hit the ground,” Hotch said, flicking a glance at the youngest agent where she was all but inhaling her sweet beverage, “Prentiss and Reid, I want you mapping out a geographical profile,”

She nodded, her eyes slowly trailing to Spencer’s as Hotch distributed jobs around the team, but her head subconsciously tuned his stern voice out into static. Because when she looked up at his face, he was already staring at her, and the sound of her heartbeat racing crawled its way back into her ear, the thrumming so loud she was sure David could hear it too, she might as well have held a megaphone to her mouth and announced “Spencer Reid, you make me so nervous in the good kind of way,”

His hazel eyes trailed over her face, her expression unreadable as she scrambled to keep a lid on her feelings, and she wondered if this was where the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’ came from, because him so much as looking at her wiped her mind completely, which was not ideal for an agent working on a case. But she couldn’t help it, he was enchanting, and she guessed he was having just as much of an inner quarrel as he looked away from her, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his earlobes turning a strawberry ice cream pink. 

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the day so close to him. 

–

“First couple were last seen on the corner of Hill Avenue, Bella Mia Italian restaurant,” Bugsy read from her scrawled notes, as Spencer took a purple white board pen to the map of Detroit. Drawing a circle of a 5 centimetre radius around the little dot, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Hearing her pace behind him, he didn’t need to look up to know she was chewing her cuticles again. 

���Stop biting,” He chided lightly, hearing a guilty silence where he knew she’d caught herself with embarrassment. He tried not to show his amusement, knowing it would only make her feel worse, he bit down a smirk and raised his pen back to the map, “Next one?” 

She’d been on edge all day. He would have probably brushed it off as caffeine jitters seeing as she was on her fourth cup already, but Spencer knew her too well to know her tolerance was so high she had about two more mugs in her before she’d start to crash. 

He knew what it was, the memory of her skin beneath his lips burning his cheeks all over again, the look in her eyes when he’d been close enough they were sharing breath. He knew what it was because he felt it too. It was like their confession had set off a ticking time bomb, one that neither of them had the countdown to, and the clicking of every passing second sounded oddly like a pulse in their throats. To put it short, just the sound of her footsteps was making his skin pimpled with gooseflesh. 

“Uh, next one is Bowlarama, about ten stores down from there, Couple number two were seen getting milkshakes and heading towards the parking lot before they went missing,” She recited, her fingers firmly clutching the paper in her hand to resist the urge of gnawing at her nails again. Why was she so nervous? She lived with Spencer, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Spencer, spent almost all her evenings either playing chess or watching movies with Spencer, or on the odd occasion he found a book in reach he hadn’t read yet, he’d read out parts to her he found particularly engaging to those million, trillion, billion neurological pathways of his. 

The squealing of the pen against the board was the only thing keeping her head in the case, Spencer’s messy handwriting dotting around the map with points of interest, and she begged her brain to kick into gear the way it normally did, tried everything to yank herself out of the head fog she’d found herself lost in where thoughts of him emerged through like Mr Darcy strolling through those clouded moors, like how his voice sounded when he smiled, how his hand looked gripping that pen, how his body was lithe and handsome even from the back. 

She shook her head, jamming her face back into her files, to the gory images of couple number three, mutilated and bloody, and reminded herself she had a job to do. 

Get it together, Prentiss.

“Couple number three’s last known location was on the corner of Whittier Avenue, outside a wine bar named Blue Mates,” Bugsy read out, hoping her hot cheeks would dissipate before he noticed, “It seems couples out on date night really agitate this guy,” 

Spencer hummed, focused on his third circle, the three of them overlapping with almost precise measurements. It was hard not to notice the pattern to them. He heard her draw nearer with his profile complete, and they stood beside one another, so close they knocked hands when they leaned in to take a closer look at the rings.

“He hits the same street of stores every time, one after another,” Spencer said, his long forefinger trailing down the strip of shops and bars the UnSub seemed to have a taste for, “I mean, excluding retail and supermarkets, since they’re unlikely spots for a husband and wife to go out on a date, the pattern is really quite linear where he hits next,” 

Gently taking the pen out of his hands, Bugsy leaned up to colour in every single store that would be considered retail, crossing out a pet shop or two, leaving only the cafes, bars, restaurants, even a cinema. And sure enough, the three spots the victims had been last seen lined up perfectly as the first three ‘date night’ locations on the strip, the next being a steak restaurant named The Greasy Grill. 

“How much do you want to bet our UnSub is getting a craving for Sirloin right about now?” Bugsy said, putting the pen down onto the table and they exchanged a look of accomplishment, just as Hotch walked in with the Chief of Detroit police. 

“What did you find?” Hotch asked, his eyes falling to the asterisks drawn on the whiteboard, the rest of the known locations Penelope had sent dotted around the map. 

“Date night is very important to this UnSub,” Spencer said, the two of them turning to their boss, his shoulder bumping hers, and it was only then she’d realised she was all but pressing up into his side. 

“He goes on dates?” The chief of police asked, his brows furrowed. Taking a step away, her eyes darting to the map as a means of distracting herself, she pointed to the ink marks they’d squiggled on the paper.

“No, but the victims do and he knows that,” She explained, tracing a chewed fingertip down the street, “The UnSub hit here first, where our first couple went out for pizza. He then moved down here where the second victims had their date night in a bowling alley, and onto our newest victims, they were last seen having wine here, each kidnapping site along the same strip with the next possible location being right here,” She said, her finger slapping against the Greasy Grill, Hotch nodding in thought as the Chief got on the phone with his own team. 

“Good work, you two,” Hotch hummed, and he opened his mouth to speak again when Bugsy’s phone began to ring.

Snatching it out of her pocket, she caught sight of Alex’s name before swiping to answer, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?” 

“Fourth victim has just been found dumped in a car.” The woman said immediately, and Bugsy switched her mobile to speaker so the other two could hear her. Turning on her heels to face the white board, she grabbed the pen resting on the table beside her, yanking the lid off with her teeth.

“Where?” She asked, Spencer picking the plastic from between her lips to help her communicate, her eyes focused on the road names as she waited for Alex’s response. 

“Back alley between Warren and Forest Avenue, one woman found alone in a white Buick,” Alex said, and all three of their faces scrunched in confusion as she said it. 

“He’s changed his victimology,” Spencer murmured and Bugsy nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line, “Alex, is the woman married at least, or has the UnSub completely altered his preference?”

“We have her husband here right now,” Alex confirmed, and Hotch stepped over to where the two geniuses inspected the map, “He said he missed a dinner reservation they had two nights ago at a restaurant called-”

“The Greasy Grill?” Spencer and Bugsy spoke synchronously, and Alex paused audibly. 

“I take it you two have figured out his pattern already?” She asked, though she didn’t sound all too surprised. 

“See if the husband knows anything else, Blake. We’re going to figure out the next location that fits the pattern,” Hotch ordered, and they bid each other goodbye, as Bugsy and Spencer were already coordinating which plots of land were retail stores. 

By the time the line went dead, there was a big red mark circling a mini golf course slash cocktail bar, and the duo looked at him expectantly. 

“If the UnSub keeps his victims for around three days at a time, and the woman was found this morning, my guess is he’s going to head there tonight,” Bugsy said, capping the pen and dropping it back onto the desk, feeling Spencer nodding behind her, “And if the victim was supposed to be at the restaurant with her husband, it means he’s still looking for couples, he just happened to get unlucky. He’s going to want another happy-go-lucky husband and wife pairing,” 

Hotch’s face became unreadable for a moment, his gaze switching between the two of them, like he was assessing the risk factor of sending his two youngest agents undercover for the second time. But they seemed to have worked together seamlessly the first time, in that casino, so he didn’t see the qualms about asking them to work the same act this time.

“What?” Bugsy asked, the look in his eye unnerving her, and she flicked a glance behind her at Spencer’s equally lost expression, turning back to see Hotch dialling Dave’s number to update him on their plan, “Hotch, what is it?”

“He wants a happy couple,” Hotch said, his phone already up to his ear as he eyed the little to zero space between the two agents who swore blind they were just friends, “We’re going to give him one,” 

–

She had to admit, this was a little nicer than the red dress she’d been stuffed into last time. The sundress was flowy enough she could hide her gun strapped to her hip, and still compliment her figure nicely enough that she couldn’t complain. And best of all, it meant she could wear her ballet pumps instead of those god awful stilettos she’d pulled out last time they were undercover. 

She still remembered that evening in the casino, watching Spencer’s big brain tick faster than she’d thought possible even for him. The briefing of this even seemed much more relaxed, seeing as their aim was to look like the happiest couple alive. ‘You worry about playing your parts, we’ll worry about playing ours,’; was what Alex had said when she’d brought in a dress about Bugsy’s size, the woman already styling her hair to look like she was really going on a date. 

Because she was, sort of, not really, going on a date with Spencer. Except none of it was real, like someone up there had to have one final laugh at her luck, like that carrot on a string she’d been waiting patiently for the past week was looking a lot more delicious by the second as it dangled in front of her.  

There was a knock on the small hotel room Hotch had booked them in for the evening, seeing as they were going to be scoping out the area until late, and Bugsy headed for the door without pause, thinking it was JJ returning with the fake wedding rings they’d gotten from a cheap jewellers down the street. 

She swung the door open, only to be greeted by two dark eyes looking at her done up face, her primped hair, her floral dress. 

“Spence,” She said, picking over every inch of him, breathless already, because she always thought he looked hot in a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, “You look-”

“You look beautiful,” He rushed, like he might just burst if he held it in any longer, and she smiled sheepishly, her face flooding with heat all over again. Damn you, Reid, with your stupid charm and ridiculously good looking lips.

“You look beautiful too,” She complimented, noticing a gold band on his finger then and she realised he had something in his palm, “You run into JJ already?” 

He nodded, smiling with a stammered breath, “Yeah, I said I’d come check if you were ready. Hotch and Dave are already there scoping out the bar,” 

She simpered under the weight of his nervousness, “Well, I’m ready,” Holding out her left hand, she raised her ring finger, “Marry me, pretty boy,” 

He snickered, shaking his head at her clear diversion from the stifling tension in the air, and held her hand in his delicately, his skin warm as it encompassed hers entirely, and he was careful to slip the false engagement ring over her digits, following it with a gold band of her own. 

“You ready to get your ass kicked at miniature golf whilst our friends catch a criminal, Mr Reid?” She asked, and he had yet to let go of her hand as she shut the door behind her, slipping her hotel room key into her purse. 

“That’s a bold statement from such a sore loser, Mrs Reid,” He said back, a smile so wide he thought he might burst a vessel as she laughed, and tightened her fingers around his, interlacing them just like she had done a handful of times before, and his chest crackled with white hot excitement when she knocked her shoulder into his side in affection. 

His lips scorched with the words Mrs Reid the entire drive to the bar. 

–

“Any eyes on him, yet?” Bugsy whispered to the women in the stalls, touching up her lipstick as JJ and Alex hid in the women’s bathroom for the signal. 

“Not yet,” Blake said, sitting on the closed toilet seat in her kevlar and jacket, all but twiddling her thumbs and wishing she’d brought a sudoku, “Are you guys having fun at least?”

“Pretending to be married to my best friend while a serial killer eyes up my guts for the taking; yeah I’m peachy,” Bugsy replied, rubbing her lips together and making sure her gun was still strapped tight to her hip, “Besides, he really is kicking my ass at golf,”

“He’s going to let you win anyway, you know that right?” JJ said, tucking her feet up onto the seat in her own stall in case anyone who wasn’t on their team came in to the bathroom, “He always lets you win because he knows it makes you happy,”

Bugsy paused, the tissue that was collecting rogue lipstick smudges from her face almost falling in the sink, and she was quick to gather her voice with a clear of her throat.

“Maybe I just win because I’m good, Jennifer,” She said, a lilt of teasing in her tone, binning the scrap tissue paper and heading for the door, “Keep an eye out, kiddos. I’m going back in,”

They chirped a goodbye, the two of them sighing as they waited for Hotch’s message, and Bugsy walked back out to where Spencer was waiting by Hole Seven. It was a classic windmill on top of a hill, a small tunnel where the door was supposed to be leading to a lower level behind the plastic decor, where the hole lay waiting for them. 

“You ready, honey?” He said, holding out a purple putter they’d chosen at the start of the course, and she smiled genuinely at him. She had been telling somewhat of a lie when she’d been so unenthusiastic in the bathroom, though she thought telling the women just how much fun she was having being married to Spencer might just rub salt in the wound considering they were bored stiff sat in the bathroom.

That and she wanted to keep whatever it was they were feeling theirs and only theirs for just a little bit longer. 

“Ready, my love,” She sang in response and let him go first. He had to lean over a fair bit seeing as he was so tall he made everything on the course look particularly miniature, including the putter that seemed dwarfed by his height. Taking a quick look at the hill, no doubt calculating the angle and force he would need to hit it with, he gave the little, pink golf ball a generous tap and it raced up the slope, straight into the tunnel. They heard it knocking around a little in the chamber, before it came careering out the other end and rolled no closer than a yard away from the hole. 

Bugsy looked at him with wide eyes, to which he pretended not to look almost arrogant with how easy he’d made it seem, only when he looked back at her with a shit eating grin, she knew exactly how pleased with himself he was. 

“I bet it’s not that difficult, it’s all just a matter of force and drag and whatnot, right?” She said, strolling up to place her lilac ball on the inky dot marking the start. 

“Totally, although this is where, I don’t know, say a degree in Engineering would come in useful, I bet,” Spencer chimed in, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he had that smirk on his face. 

“Mr Reid, get ready to eat your words,” She replied over her shoulder, smacking the ball hard enough it flew up the slope, bouncing off the wall of the windmill and racing all the way back down the hill, rolling right back to where they stood, Spencer hiding a laugh behind his hand. She gaped, her face hot with annoyance, “Wait, wait! That was a practice run, I get another go,”

“Practice run, I see,” Spencer said with a chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching her scramble to set the ball back on the marker, “So out of interest, how many of these practice runs are you getting,”

“Just the one,” She said, hitting the plastic globe again, though this time it barely made it half way up the incline before it rolled right back down again, “Two, I get two. This one’s the real one, starting now,” 

“The real one? So this one’s really the one that counts, right?” He teased, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, a look of the cat that got the cream smeared all across his face as he took a stance behind her, wrapping his arms around hers with the oldest trick in the book, “Why don’t you let your dearest husband help you out, huh?” 

“I have a masters and half a degree in medicine, I think I know what I’m doing,” She hummed, though the feeling of his hands resting over hers soone quietened down whatever fire was stoked in her belly from losing their game. Spencer was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck, feel his chest on her shoulder blades, and worst and most heinous of all, feel his crotch pressing against her tailbone. 

“Alright, alright. Just humour me,” He murmured, a new found confidence in him that he only seemed to get whenever they were playing the part of being other people. He gave her a salacious lick of his lips, smiling at her with a pink parted mouth, his eyes dark in this light like he knew what she was thinking as well, and he couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty when he flirted with her a little. He’d always thought that when she was stunned into that quiet tone, the mousy look she got on her face was rather cute. 

His hands engulfed hers with a mesh of pornographic veins and sadistically handsome knuckles, his mouth at her ear as they lined up the shot together. 

It was as if a murmuration of birds had flocked together in her chest, dipping and diving and creating all manner of shapes in her stomach as she felt it flip three or four times, his body so entirely pressed against hers she never wanted to move a muscle. She’d had the odd thought pop into her head about what sex with Spencer Reid might feel like, and yet all she could think about in the haze of the putter and fake grass beneath their feet was how delicious he felt pressing into her like that. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she looked forward again, and she could have sworn she held back a moan when he breathed out down her spine. 

“Hotch has eyes on a guy at the bar watching us,” He whispered, her back straightening as she was reminded with a slap to the face they were still working the case. That as much fun as they were having, as happy as they were supposed to seem, they still had a very real job to do, and she felt stupid for thinking the flirty glances and erotic embrace was for anything more than to sell the married couple act. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not committed to her job. So instead of worrying if Spencer had felt anything real in the last hour or so, she decided to double down and give their UnSub a real show. 

Sticking her ass out so she brushed against Spencer’s crotch more, she intertwined her fingers with his, and hit the dimpled sphere the direction he guided her; and sure enough it rolled straight into the tunnel with little qualms.

Spinning in his arms, the smile was nearly wiped off her face when she saw Spencer’s eyes had darkened to a rich espresso hue as he looked at her. But she hid it well, despite the fact she caught the way his pupils were blown wide, and simply leaned to kiss him smack dab on his cheek, a smirk on her face when she pulled away.

“I guess I just needed the correct motivation,” She said with a flirty undertone, and she revelled in the way his lips parted enough she saw the whites of his absurdly pretty teeth. 

“Remind me to not take you out to mini golf for our first date,” Spencer huffed, his ears red as a mushroom top as they both stepped over to where the hole was and she snickered, trying her best to ignore the wings hammering away at her ribcage when he said that. 

“Duly noted, Mr Reid,” She said, watching him lineup his next shot with a smirk, and she wondered just where exactly they would go on their first date. Her smile only got wider, a girlish glee to her eyes. “So, theoretically, where were you thinking of taking me?” 

“Theoretically,” He said, lining up his shot, the ball only a small tap away from the hole, his feet spreading a little wider so he could lean down to putt the pink sphere, “I was thinking of going to that book cafe out in Delaware, the one where they have a bunch of drinks inspired by different authors. We could play a game I used to with my mom, where we choose a book for each other we think the other would like,” He took the shot, his ball rolling into the cavity without much effort as she watched him meticulously, her entire body softening with his sentiment right down to her marrow, “And then I was going to say we build a sofa fort in the living room and watch whatever movie you like, maybe get some popcorn on the way home,” 

He looked up at her, and almost reeled back in surprise to see her looking at him with something so vastly emotional in her eyes, like he’d offered her a winning lottery ticket or a chance to go back in time in a flying police box, her expression a complete window into her soul because she’d never been too good at hiding how she felt when she was around him. 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, only for their earpieces to jump to life, Hotch’s voice out of breath as he reported down their ear. 

“We have the UnSub, we caught him trying to sneak into your car like we profiled.” He said, and she knew his brow was creased without even having to see his face, “We’re taking him in for questioning now, you kids wrap up and head to the station,”

Bugsy hummed in confirmation, fighting the disappointment that their show was over, and they’d have to go back to their usual act of pretending there wasn’t three little words hanging over both their heads, gnawing at the back of their brains. 

Clearing her throat, she set up her shot ready to finish their game, “Well, theoretically speaking, when you’re ready to ask me on that date, I’m there,”

He smiled to himself, perhaps ready to flirt with her just a little more before they went back to being Bugsy and Spence, not Mr and Mrs Reid, when she hit the golf ball just the tiniest bit too vigorously. It rolled straight past the hole, bouncing off the wall and heading further away from the end than when she’d started, and she groaned in frustration. 

“How are you so terrible at this-” Spencer burst out laughing as she stomped over to the lilac ball, lining up another shot with a grumpy expression. 

“Not another word, Lover boy,” 

2. The one with an old flame.

“I wonder what Hotch wants,” She mused, her head resting on the arm of the seat, her eyes shut for the duration of the flight. Rossi had called them into the office startlingly early for a Friday, the entire team sleepy eyed and annoyed as they’d strolled onto the sixth floor. 

Yet the minute that they’d heard Hotch needed them, they’d soon perked up in interest, seeing as it was Aaron’s only appointed week off to see Beth in New York, and they had quickly jumped in to help with whatever it was he needed. 

“Penelope’s still waiting for NYPD to send her the autopsy reports for the previous victims,” Rossi said, him, Strauss, JJ and Alex playing a few rounds of Shithead with a peeling deck of cards because for once they had no paperwork to be looking over while they travelled. Bugsy had laid on the couch, the one Spencer usually commandeered, except this time he let her take the comfy seat, instead letting her legs drape over his lap as he read from his book, another two sat next to him for when he finished that one. 

“He sounded panicked. DEA thinks we might have a bad batch of something making its way through the club scene causing the deaths,” Strauss added, putting down two sets of three on top of JJ’s ace, “Aaron’s brother just happened to have been caught in the crossfire,”

“Men are almost twice as likely to die from drug overdoses than women, just last year there were forty-one thousand, five hundred and two cases.” Spencer said without lifting his head from his pages, his thumb caressing over Bugsy’s ankle bone, “The fact that the majority of the victims are women suggests it’s more than likely is a date rape drug that has been laced since they tend to be targeted towards female victims more often than males.” 

“Ecstasy can be made in pill, powder or liquid form so it really wouldn’t be too difficult to slip it into someone’s drink,” The girl mused, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she attempted to catch up on another half hour of sleep, “Or to convince people the drug they’re taking willingly is safe,”

“Even regular users might not know they're being dosed until it's too late,” JJ agreed, setting down a seven on top of Rossi’s two fives. 

“What about the two victims who were clean, Linda Heying and Eric Sullivan’s family claimed they never touched the stuff,” Alex questioned, as Morgan looked over the list of victims that they had been able to track down, despite the majority of the information waiting for them at New York. 

“Either the victims are good at hiding the truth or the UnSub is killing for another reason,” David said with a sigh, as Strauss set down the six of clubs, “We should take a closer look, see how they’re connected,”

“Well for now, let the princess get her beauty sleep,” Bugsy said, snuggling into the throw pillow Spencer had passed her as they’d sat down, “I’m feeling weird today,”

His head ripped from his book at that, the rest of the team going back to playing their cards, his hand skirting up to her calf to stroke her leg gently, “You okay?” 

She huffed, “Yeah, Penelope said it's because my Mercury is in Retrograde or something, I don’t know. I just feel strange,” She grumbled, resting a hand over her stomach, “Probably just coming on my period early,”

He frowned, moving her legs off his lap and standing up. Before she could ask where he was going, he stepped to the opposite end of the couch, picking her head up gently by the crook of her neck and sitting back down, resting her back onto his lap. 

His fingers were in her hair before she could say anything, scratching gently at her scalp the way he knew she turned to putty for, and she smiled, swearing blind she’d be purring if she could. 

“We’ll get you some breakfast when we land,” He murmured, and she snuggled her cheek into his thigh, his slender fingers massaging her skin kindly. 

“Thankyou, Spence,” She whispered back, all but slurring her words as sleep caught right back up to her, and before long she was drooling on his black trousers, the sight of it making him smile sweetly to himself. 

And it was for a moment like that he wondered what exact feeling he was waiting for in the first place. 

–

“Any updates?” Bugsy asked, as they entered the New York Police Department and saw Hotch waiting for them, his arms crossed in a casual shirt and jeans, clearly having had no intention of working this week, “How’s your brother?”

“A little shaken but then he never exactly made the best choices in life,” Hotch huffed, putting a hand on her back as she leaned in to give him a small hug because he seemed particularly stressed, “Emily always said you were bad, I’d take you over him any day,”

“Thanks,” She murmured into his shoulder, with a frown, “I think?”

He smiled, amused the way she had a knack for, though the worry in his mahogany eyes didn’t budge, and Spencer was all but a step behind her as the team filed into the building. 

“You guys have coffee?” Spencer asked, his eyes subconsciously trailing after Bugsy as she moved to talk to one of the detectives, and Hotch nodded, pointing him over to the small kitchenette at the back of the precinct. 

“Over there, I’ll get you guys set up with the lab reports now that you’re here. Autopsies came back for Linda and Eric,” Hotch said, and Spencer murmured in agreement, heading straight for the instant coffee and creamer, worrying about the girl who was already nose deep in a file by the time the machine had poured the first cup. 

He wondered whether there were any pharmacies nearby for anti-sickness tablets, or if she needed a heavy dose of water and sleep instead of the caffeine goodness he was whipping up for her, but then he knew she’d rather shrivell into a ball in the precinct bathroom than ask for a day off, would rather suffer in proud silence than make herself look weak. 

Bugsy remembered it happening in choppy intervals. One minute she was heading up the steps towards where Spencer stood patiently by the coffee machine, something already popping up as a point of interest in her overworked brain. Her head was down, muttering to herself the points of the victimology that conflicted with one another, when she felt herself slam right into a solid body, and she jumped back, steadying herself with an embarrassed expression. 

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” Her eyes snapped up to see a messy blonde sweep of hair, wide blue eyes she’d known ten years ago and a thick beard that happened to be the only thing new about him. Her gaze locked onto him, and she felt a fury she’d not thought about in over a decade rile up inside her, “Sean?” 

“Bugsy,” He breathed, the horror sweeping over his expression, a hand shooting up to slick his hair back nervously, “What are you- how are you-” 

She shoved him back with two firm hands, tossing the file onto the table beside her, and shoving at his chest again, his own hands coming up to defend himself lightly even though his expression read nothing but guilt. 

“Woah, woah, let’s just talk about this, I was just a dumb kid-”

“You left me, Sean. You left me in a foreign country alone with no boarding pass, no cell phone,” She snarled, and the sound of her tone rising turned a few heads, Spencer all but ditching the spoon into the sink when he saw her going nose to nose with some guy who looked purely terrified, “Your dumbass friends spent all my money on hookers, I’d still be in Italy if it wasn’t for the fact you graciously decided not to steal my bank card-” 

She shoved him again in between her growls, and it wasn’t until two hands came up to stop her did she realise Derek and Spencer had all but appeared behind her, the former’s arms wrapping around her waist to draw her back. 

“Woah, woah, talk to me, pretty girl. What’s with the aggression?” Derek asked, his eyes wide with concern as he looked between the youngest agent and their suspect. It seemed her volume had reached the other side of the room where Hotch had been talking with Strauss and Alex, and Spencer could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he whipped around to their trio. 

He could already hear the lecture coming, and the thought of it made him gulp.

“This is Sean,” She spat, and Derek and Spencer’s head snapped to the blonde man who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, “You know, the asshole that ditched me on another continent and stole my money,”

“I didn’t mean to steal your money, I thought you had it in your purse, I-I didn’t think to check before we left the hotel room,” He tried to interject, though the girl's glare intensified, unaware her boss's shoes were now thundering across the steps. 

“Where you left me to miss the flight I paid for, you inconsiderate prick-”

“You told me to leave you alone! You said you were sick of us waking you up-”

“I meant playing your music too loud, dumbass-”

“Well sorry, last time I checked I’m not a mind reader, Bugsy-”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Hotch’s voice was a crack of lightning through the precinct, and the two of them shut up immediately, like two school children caught squabbling in the halls, Sean turning to his older brother with an exasperated expression. 

“Aaron, I swear, I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Sean pleaded, and Derek, Spencer and Bugsy turned to their boss in unison with bewildered faces. Hotch looked back at them, his own anger dissolving into utter, raw confusion. 

“Do you two know each other?” Hotch, Aaron, asked the girl in the middle, the other men all but positioned as bodyguards in the midst of their little spat, and he saw her cheeks hot with anger deflating as she drew a breath to answer. 

“Unfortunately,” She spat, scrutinising the familiar tone Sean had used when he’d said Aaron’s name, “Do you two know each other?” 

“He’s my brother,” The Hotchner’s replied in unison, their tone almost identical and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

Bugsy felt her face drop, her eyes scanning between them for any signs of a lie, except all she found were the tiny details of their face that seemed to half match. Like their cheekbones, and the crease between their brows, the shape of their lips. 

Her face blanked, gobsmacked silence passing between the five of them as she digested exactly what that statement ment. 

Sean, her Sean, the Sean she’d been sleeping with on and off for six months straight, who used to make her tea way too milky and without sugar the way she hated it, but would bring it to her in bed and stroke her back when they were finished, the Sean who once tried to ask her to be his girlfriend when he was stoned and she’d laughed at him and snatched the blunt away, told him to get a hold of himself because that was the exact opposite of how friends with benefits worked. 

Sean, who she had trusted to keep her safe, who’d ditched her naked in a hotel room in a foreign country and made her feel stupid for ever believing a word a man said.  

She stuttered for a response, a wide eyes mix of terror and confusion and repulsion washing over her in stages. 

“I need-” She swallowed thickly, her mouth drier than sandpaper, gently pushing Derek’s arm from around her waist, “I think I need a walk- a walk sounds good- yeah-”

Rossi paced over to the five of them, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. He almost paused at the wall of awkward tension around the group, each participant seeming stuck for the right thing to say, the entire situation so bizarre that Spencer debated faking a migraine to get him and her out of the room for some air. 

“Hotch,” Both of the men turned to look at him, and the sight of it made Bugsy shudder, feeling almost completely out of her own body at the thought of her nude body on top of Sean’s because now all she could see was Aaron in his place, “Six new bodies found in a nightclub-”

“I’ll go!” She jumped, all but bolting past the men, trying her hardest not to touch either of them because her skin crawled with a sickening uncanny valley looking between the brothers, “I’ll go inspect the crime scene,” 

And no one stopped her, because they’d seen her be all manner of strange before, but never quite like that. Aaron nodded his head to Morgan, and the man took it as a sign to follow her. He quickly obeyed, hot on the girl's heels as she kept her head down with an odd, freaked out expression on her face like she was about to throw up and scream at the same time. 

Which left Sean alone as Spencer and Aaron whirled around on him, similar looks of annoyance on their face as the younger agent looked the man head to toe. 

He was handsome, handsome in a rugged way like he was used to bar fights and late nights and drinking until three am with pretty ladies like her. He was built wide like Aaron, his shoulders broad and muscles stocky, a few tattoos dotted around his arms that only added to his rough looking appeal, and Spencer wondered if she’d always liked the bad boys, wondered if he was an outlier in her dating history. 

Except they weren’t dating, not yet at least. 

“So I take it she’s one of your agents,” Sean said, wringing his hands together in anxiety as the two taller men looked down at him, equally unimpressed.

Though, Spencer hated to admit, his was more green faced jealousy than anything else. 

“Agent Prentiss is one of the best,” Reid corrected, his tone cold and stern, and Sean visibly shrunk in on himself, looking to his big brother for help, only he found Aaron was just as annoyed, glaring down at him. 

“You have some more explaining to do, Sean,” His brother snapped, and the two men diverted him into one of the interrogation rooms, Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard he felt his temples ache, “Or next time I’m not stopping her from handing your ass to you, and believe me when I say you’ll wish you’d told me sooner,”

Sean gulped, all too aware of the way eighteen year old Bugsy had never backed down from a fight, when men twice her age shoved her in clubs or girls bitched at her for dancing too close to their boyfriends. He didn’t imagine she was any different at twenty eight, except this time she was trained and licensed to handle a gun. 

The door slammed behind them, and Aaron pushed his little brother into the seat with a firm hand, the sight of his unit chief just as protective over her as he was making Spencer bite back glee. The image of Bugsy laying into the guy was burned into his memory, eidetic or not, and it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him blowing his top as Sean opened his mouth to explain what had happened between him and the younger Prentiss woman. 

–

“What did you do, Thane?” Sean’s voice crackled over the feed, the wire on his chest brushing against his shirt as he paced in the wine cellar. Aaron, Morgan, Spencer and Bugsy sat in the van, listening to the conversation through shared headphones, Spencer and Bugsy’s heads pressed together as they followed the voices as best as they could, waiting for a confession or anything they could tie to the victims' gory deaths. 

“I spiked the wine, you idiot,” Sean’s boss, Thane, snapped, his breathing laboured and Bugsy took a shot in the dark to say he was pacing, worrying now that there was concrete evidence linking his date rape drug to the deaths of atleast nine people so far, “Oh, God. Oh, god, Jim is going to kill me.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sean seethed, his patience wearing thin as the man all but confessed to killing his girlfriend. 

“For a laugh, I thought it was X. Girl’s love that crap,” Thane replied, his voice louder as Sean stepped closer to him, and she exchanged a look with Aaron.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, was it?” The younger Hotchner barked, and she quickly let go of the headphones to grab a kevlar and her gun. 

“He’s going off track, Aaron, he’d not going to keep his cool much longer,” She said, and Spencer’s eyes trailed up to her face, her brow furrowed as Aaron moved to slip his own bulletproof over his head, adjusting the straps at his side. 

“Tell SWAT to stand by, we’re going in to support, but we may need back up,” Aaron ordered, unholstering his gun and switching the trigger off safety, “You two stay here and see if Thane says any more about the wine,”

She drew her gun to her side just as he did, and Spencer made a move to stop her, even just to check where her head was at because he knew she had this tendency of throwing herself in harms way and asking questions later. He selfishly worried what that upset look in her eyes meant, like she loathed that Sean was in danger as much as she loathed him. 

But he wasn’t quite fast enough, because by the time he’d reached a hand out for hers to ask if she was feeling alright, she had slid the door to the van open, hopping out onto the tarmac as Aaron shadowed her. 

And something ugly and envious reared its head in Spencer’s gut as the doors slammed, so much so that his jaw feathered and he took a deep breath out, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The two agents moved as one, their footsteps pounding over the linoleum floor of the night club. They swept to the back of the building, where the door to the stock room was, and it became apparent almost immediately from the grunting and shuffling the other side of the door that the two men were much closer to brawling than they’d guessed. 

“FBI, drop your weapon!” Bugsy called, bracing herself as she felt Aaron’s domineering figure at her shoulder. She raised her leg to kick the door in, and it swung on its hinges, smacking into the rack of beer. They caught the two men in the middle of a fist fight, Sean with a split lip, Thane with a gash on his forehead, his head locked under the younger man’s arm with a deathly grip.

She holstered her gun, seeing that neither of them were carrying, and moved forward to break the two of them up.

“Alright, Sean- Sean, that’s enough,” She scolded, her fingers prying his muscled arm off his boss’s trachea, and Sean took a second to realise it was disappointment in her face, not the white hot anger it had been not even a few hours before, before he let the man go, some colour returning to his bluing lips.

“He killed Linda,” The blonde Hotchner said softly, and something wavered in her eyes, something close to pity, and she nodded at him while biting her cheek hard. Aaron holstered his gun, surging forward to grab Thane with rough hands as he fought against the taller man’s grip. “She was sober, she’d gotten clean and he killed her,” 

“I know,” Bugsy said lamentingly, and against her better judgement she patted his shoulder kindly, more kindly than he probably deserved, and the thought of it made Sean’s baby blue eyes turn away in sorrow. 

Before she could say anything else, Thane wretched his hand out of Hotch’s grip, grabbing for the sharp box cutter and lunging right for Bugsy where she turned away from him. 

Sean’s expression morphed into fear for a moment, grabbing for her to yank her out of reach, but it was too late. She felt the slash across the back of her arm, where her kevlar couldn’t cover up, and she yawped in pain the way a dog sounds when its tail gets crushed. Turning towards the source of the danger, Sean’s hand weaved around her waist to tug her backwards as Aaron scrambled to grab the suspect. 

Thane’s hand gripped the blade and slashed down again, across her cheek and only inches away from her eye, her hands too late to grab his wrists to stop his advances. By the time he drew back to swipe for her again Aaron had already tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the wine soaked floor and fumbling for his cuffs. 

“We have an agent injured and needing medical, repeat, medical unit required on scene,” Spencer was out of his seat before Hotch could even finish his sentence, forgoing his own vest as he darted from the van, his heart racing at the sound of the scuffle echoing through Sean’s wire, and he felt his chest seizing at just what kind of a state she’d be in when he saw her. 

She was the only other agent on the scene. That call had to be made for her, the voice in his gut told him, but the twisted part of him hoped that it was someone else, anyone else, that had gotten hurt, because he might just throw a punch of his own at Thane or Sean or maybe even both of them if she had so much as a single hair misplaced. 

Spencer had only just about reached the bar area when the four of them emerged from the stock room, Thane in cuffs, looking rattled and aggravated. Spencer let himself take a long, hard look at the man with a glare that soon made him cower away, though he found little luck elsewhere as Hotch’s hands gripped him so tight Spencer thought he might be trying to strangle him through his arms. 

But that wasn’t who he was looking for. And there, trailing behind his unit chief sheepishly, with Sean’s hand on her back as he watched her carefully, his eyes worriedly darting over her skin when he saw how fast the blood was pouring from the laceration on the apple of her cheek, was Bugsy. Her expression was shaken, no doubt from nearly having her corneas slashed open had Sean not pulled her away even a second earlier, and she seemed in some sort of a daze, until she spotted the sweater vest she’d shoved in the wash about a hundred times, and two supple hands reached for her shoulders, snapping her attention out of her head. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, all but ignoring Sean as the man went to flag down medical, his own appearance dishevelled and stunned, and it irked Spencer something childish when her head snapped to the blonde, watching him head for the paramedics. 

“I’m okay, Spence, it’s just a superficial wound,” She said as a reflex, meeting his eyes finally. But she simpered when she saw just how terrified he seemed, a warm palm raising to cup his face affectionately, “He just nicked the skin, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it looks,” 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her face stung like a bitch, but the feeling of her cheek dribbling with the ichor was worse than the actual pain, and made her feel queasy more than anything. 

He went to say something else, or perhaps even gently caress the clean side of her face with his own loving gesture, but he was quickly interrupted by the medical team all but grabbing Bugsy out of his grip and assessing her themselves. 

“It’s probably best if you come take a seat, Agent Prentiss,” The woman said, pointing to where Sean sat on the back of the ambulance getting his nose checked over, “We’ll be over with some stitches and glue,” 

And Spencer made a move to follow the two of them, only to be stopped by Hotch, who called his name with that direct tone he took when he was worried.

“Reid, I need you and Morgan to interview Thane about where he got the drugs he used to spike the wine,” Aaron ordered, even though he seemed to watch the girl go just as bothered as the younger agent, and Spencer seemed conflicted between rebelling against his boss’s instructions or keeping to his track record of following them to a tea. 

He paused for a second, his gaze flicking to the girl who sat with her old flame, Sean’s eyes roving over her head to toe worriedly, and he looked back to Aaron, “But-”

“Now, Reid. She’s going to be fine.” 

And Spencer was forced to listen, even if his face burned with annoyance at the sight of the man watching her so tentatively. 

–

“Would you quit fidgeting, the medic said it was a surface wound,” Bugsy snipped, feeling the ocean hues burning a hole into the side of her head. She dusted her knees off of invisible dirt, braving a look up at her ex-fling where she was met with a wall of guilt.

And it was like for a split second she remembered all the mornings she’d wake up to him twirling the tips of her hair between his fingers, or when he’d shake his head whenever he’d look over her shoulder at her lab reports she’d be writing and make a passing comment on how a hot girl like her could have brains and looks. 

Or how he could be kind to her, genuinely sweet when he wanted to be, when they toed a weird line between friends with benefits and something a little more, because at his core she knew he was a good guy, he was just incredibly dumb for an eighteen year old. 

“Listen, Bug,” Sean sighed, looking down at the ground where they were perched on the back on the ambulance, Bugsy’s face stitched up so tight she hoped it wouldn’t scar very deeply, “I really am sorry for how I treated you,” 

His voice shook with something remorseful, and she let her eyes cast over his face that had grown even more handsome in the ten years since she saw him. With the good memories came the bad ones in equal measure, and the arguments over stupid shit like leaving cupboard doors open and playing music late at night and the time he forgot to feed her gerbil for two days when she was out of town washed back to shore from the deepest crevices of her mind. 

She’d been with men after him, had flings and meaningless kisses with boys who’d treated her much less kindly than he had. And when she thought about it, the anger and resentment she’d felt when she thought about those few days she spent lost in Italy stemmed from the fact she’d been forced to confront what she’d always feared since she was little. 

That Bugsy was alone in the world, forgettable, someone you could leave behind and sleep soundly. 

But when she thought of that now, the first face she pictured was Spencer, and how he would tell her to knock it off if she ever said that out loud, because he would never leave her, in a foreign country or even at a gas station if she needed to get fuel. He always walked up to the pump with her because he knew exactly how many women got kidnapped in places like that every year, he'd told her so already. 

And she knew the person she was when she could have loved Sean, the person who was reminded just how easy it was to leave her behind, was gone. In its place was the girl who Spencer loved like it was as easy as breathing. And the thought of it made her feel just that little bit less bitter towards the blonde man who fiddled with his rough, bloodied hands. 

“I was a dumb kid, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of,” He swallowed heavily, his frown looking strikingly similar to Aaron's as he did, but she would never remind him, “But I did always wonder whether I’d see your name in the news curing some disease I could never pronounce or being the first person to learn like every single language there is,” He smiled sadly, and the old her knew him just well enough to know he was being honest, because his nose turned red whenever he lied. 

The thought of it made her lips curve up, despite how annoyed she’d been to see him again, and there was something bashful about the way the slid a hand into his to give it a quick squeeze.

“We were eighteen, Sean. No one has themselves figured out at eighteen,” She said earnestly, her head dipping to meet his ashamed gaze.

He shook his head, “You deserved so much better than I could ever give you, we both knew that,” He pulled his hand away, and her expression contorted into confusion, “It’s probably why you're with that doctor, right? Aaron said he’s like a whizz kid,”

“He’s not-We’re-” She sighed, running a hand over where the EMTs had stitched the gash on the back of her arm, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated like we were complicated?” He asked, her fingertip tracing every single nook where they had looped the suture through her skin. 

She smiled to herself and looked over at him, something weighty like closure passing between the two of him as he watched her take his tired face in, knowing they were nothing more than just passing ships in the night now. 

“You meant something to me once, Sean, no matter how much we drove each other up the wall,” She snickered, and something like an exhausted chuckle matched her, “But it’s different with him. It’s like everything I do means something to the world when I’m with him, you know?” 

Sean took in the wistful look in her eyes, the girl he’d known who had only gotten stronger, scrappier, wittier with age, and he thought he’d be lucky to ever get someone like her again.

“I hope I do,” He said, and she knocked her shoulder into his to dispel the bad memories of two teenagers figuring out what feelings and kisses and sex meant in the messiest of ways. 

“Do me a favour?” Sean hummed at her, and she looked surprisingly like herself again when she smiled at him wryly, “Call Aaron more. It’s difficult being the only disappointment child in his life,” 

Sean barked a laugh at her words, and she smiled into her lap. Who’d have thought closure would be so healing. 

–

She felt eyes on her even as she tried to nap on the jet, having returned back to their original position on the couch, her head on Spencer’s lap. She had a sixth sense to who it would be, the Spider Sense they’d been calling it despite the fact Spencer tried to tell her it was mere intuition, she glanced up to where something melancholic swirled inside his forest gaze, already watching over her despite his book being open in his lap. 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak before his obscenely large hand had sneaked under her jawline, tilting her face up so he could take a better look at the messy cut. 

“Have they given you anything for the pain?” Spencer said quietly, because the other’s were already trying to sleep, and she blanked for a moment, before her hand came up to snake around his wrist gently. 

“They gave me Naproxen for two days. Spence, I’m fine, really,” 

His teeth ground together, his other hand placing his book down beside him and moving to smooth the back of her hair, the sealed wound staring daggers at him as his eyes darted over the rest of her face, just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. 

He nodded to himself, as if to conclude his consultation and his thumb stroked down the curve of her jaw, his head whipping up to quickly make sure no one else was watching.

“What, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat nervously, her expectant eyes looking up at him, “What were you and Sean talking about?”

Her brow quirked in confusion, and it wasn’t until she felt his delicate strokes hesitate that she realised he seemed on edge, “Why?”

“N-No reason, I just was wondering, you looked like you were-” He coughed again, even though there was nothing tickling his windpipe, nothing except embarrassment, because he’d never thought he’d be the envious type. 

He braved a look at her again, worried she would be annoyed with his crass and intrusive questions, only to see her smiling at him wickedly. 

“We were what?” She asked, and Spencer went so quiet he could have heard a mouse knitting if he tried, his cheeks flushing with raspberry red heat, “Are you jealous, Spencer?” 

He shook his head fast, unable to formulate anything that wasn’t a stammer, and she sat up in her seat, throwing her legs onto the ground so she could scooch up into his side. 

“Because if you were, you know I’d find that wildly attractive right?” She murmured, his cheeks burning an even hotter shade, the sight of it all but a bone to a hound to Bugsy who loved teasing him. She snickered, leaning in close to his vermillion ear, and leaving a tiny kiss on his clenched jaw, “Don’t worry, Wonder Boy. He knows I’m all yours,” 

3. The one with the day of the dead.

“Thankyou, thankyou, my helpful little mice,” Penelope chirped as the three of them stepped into her apartment, their arms filled with shopping bags, “Set them down on the counter, I’ll unpack them later,” 

“Wow,” Bugsy gawped at the altar stood in the corner of the woman’s living room, an assortment of sweets and tissue paper flowers decorating the layers, “Oh it’s so pretty, they’re going to love it. We spent a Summer in Mexico when Mom was having talks with their President, but we moved out before October rolled around so I never got to see a Día de los Muertos,” 

Penny smiled, though she quickly looked around the rest of her apartment that had yet to be decorated, “There’s still a lot to do before the party next week and,” She huffed, the bags taking up the entirety of her kitchen table as Bugsy frowned at her, “I’m scared. I’ve never had the whole team here before,” 

“Relax, Pen, I can help you set up,” The younger woman reassured, helping unload the groceries that needed to go in the fridge as Spencer helped her carry the larger items. 

Penelope perked up watching her guests move towards the cooler, a devilish smirk twitching at her lips, “Hey, while you guys are there, can you see if I have enough hot sauce for the party?”

“Sure,” They replied in synchrony, Bugsy putting the milk and soda in the side drawers as Spencer shelved away some of the meat. They both looked at the top row, where some kind of jalapeno salsa was resting next to a jar of fake eyeballs, and the flicked a casual glance at the woman who was pouring vials of red viscous liquid made to look like blood down her cheeks for a Penelope version of a practical joke.

Bugsy blinked once, not quite surprised as she would have thought seeing Penelope attempting to scare them with something they’d seen a thousand times over for real. 

“Now, are the eyeballs marinating in anything spicy or is it just like a pickled onion type of thing because all you seem to have is the jalapeno sauce,” She said, and Penelope deflated at her bored tone, looking at the two agents in discontent. 

“You guys didn’t even flinch,” She said sadly, her dark eyes flicking between them, “My poor babies, what has the world done to you?” 

Bugsy smiled, shutting the fridge door and handing the bubbly woman a leaf of tissue paper. 

“JJ’s right, I told her I wanted to go scary this Halloween and she just laughed at me, and said that I don’t have a scary side,” Penelope whined, and Bugsy giggled. 

“Sorry, babygirl, you wouldn’t be Penelope Garcia if you were capable of scary,” She teased, waltzing around the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping, even as the woman tried to shoo her away from helping, “I’ve seen puppies scarier than you, Pen,” 

“If it helps, you probably do,” Spencer interjected, helping Bugsy shelve something on one of the higher cabinets, his long arms weaselling over her own as he reached past her, “The building blocks of the human personality are complex, varied and multi-faceted. It’s essential to one’s mental health to want to express these hidden personalities and it’s just a fact of nature that everybody has one,”

“Everybody?” Penelope asked, ignoring the way the two of them bumbled around her kitchen, handing things between one another the way she imagined them putting away the groceries in their own kitchen, like they worked just as well in the home as they did in the field. Dare she say it, like a couple who had been married and knew each other's routines for years. “Even the two of you?” 

“Oh, absolutely, yeah,” Spencer agreed, and Bugsy flicked a smirk up at him as Pen turned to her expectantly.

"I mean, you can't tell me Bitch-Slapping our boss or fist fighting with my sister was exactly usual behaviour for me," She pointed out, and the two of them nodded in agreement, although they wouldn't have exactly called it out of character for her.

“Okay, okay, I want to see it. I want to see Dr Spencer Reid’s hidden personality,” Penelope said, a smile growing as thick and fast as a weed when he seemed thrown off by her request, and it only took one look at the younger Prentiss to know she wanted front row just as badly. 

“R-right here? Like right now you want to see it?” He stammered, all too aware of Bugsy’s amused lashes batting up at him, the innocent expression she knew made it difficult for him to say no to, and he wondered for a second if she understood the exact amount of control she had over him when she wanted to. 

“I wanna see this hidden personality, pretty boy,” She smiled with her teeth, and he felt his hands turn jittery in embarrassment. 

“Okay, alright,” Spencer shook his arms out, clearing his throat with a growling sort of husk that made her raise her brows, and in a single blink he’d locked stern eyes with her, pointing to her with a completely un-Spencer-like stance; completely rose to his full height, confident and domineering, “I know what you’re thinking,”

She really hoped he didn’t. Because what she was really thinking was just how hot he sounded with that deep sort of timbre, that cocksure attitude. 

“You’re thinking ‘Did that guy just fire five shots or did that guy just fire six shots?’” He went on, his tone deadly serious, as her lips parted in surprise, and what had started out as a game turned into some wildly lewd thoughts fast, “You’re going to have to ask yourself a question; Do you feel lucky, pun-k,”

She swallowed haughtily, as he squeezed his eyes shut and when he looked at her again he was entirely puppy like the way he usually looked, none the wiser to the way her stomach had coiled in want. 

“That was Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry,” He explained, looking to Penelope because he had no idea what that strange look on Bugsy’s face was, only to see his techy friend just as in awe, “I mean I know it’s not as effective as my dominant personality, but I really think it’s there-”

Penelope’s phone sprung to life with a call from Hotch and she quickly spluttered an excuse that they needed to leave right away, grabbing for her keys and heading for the door. 

Spencer made a move to follow her, only to feel a hand grab his shirt and turn him right back around, Bugsy still staring at him with that look in her eye, like she’d had too much caffeine or been told there was a million dollars cash waiting for them at home.

“Is everything okay-”

“Is Clint Eastwood strictly a party trick or would I be able to have him on request, maybe?” She said, her hands oddly tight as they grabbed at his soft stomach, and it was like he heard the click in his brain when he realised what she meant. 

“R-request, I guess,” He stumbled for composure, finding his footing when he felt her palms were clammy, “You got a thing for cops?” 

“Just the one, I guess,” She said with a clenched jaw, and he laughed though it sounded more like a choke, as she darted right behind Penelope to avoid suspicion. 

–

By the time the party rolled around, Penelope had decked her apartment out to the nines, marigolds and tissue garlands and lights and food of all sorts spread out across the altar, a mix of alcohol and juices available in pitchers, because Penelope was nothing if not a people pleaser. 

The doorbell rang right as Alex and Bugsy poured themselves some margarita, complete with the eyeball ice cubes ofcourse, and Penelope fussed in her beautiful dress, muttering under her breath the way she did when she was nervous. 

“What, what, what,” She murmured, her blonde curls bouncing with her steps as she reached for the door, “I thought you said you couldn’t come!” 

Bugsy’s head whipped to the door, Aaron looking much more casual than they were used to seeing him as he entered the decorated home, his colleagues all dressed smartly and in some shade of black. 

“Jack got a last minute sleepover invitation so I hope it’s okay,” He said, a bottle of rosé in his hand he’d brought as a contribution. 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse,” Penelope sang, leading him over to the altar where everyone stood with their offerings, sipping on their glasses of liquor, “Okay, everybody, I guess it’s time to start, here you go sir,”

She handed him a freshly poured glass of wine, chilled courtesy of the eyeball, and Aaron thanked her kindly, taking a generous sip to catch up with the others. 

“I want to thank everybody for doing this with me, and our altar’s burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here,” Penelope started with a grateful smile on her painted lips, a handful of old photos between her fingertips, “I will start, um, this is my mom and dad,” She said, nostalgia idling her tone as she gently placed down a worn picture of a teen couple holding a beautiful, blonde girl, eyes bigger than moons and full of curiosity, just how Bugsy would have imagined Penny as a baby, “I miss them. And this is my cat, Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He was a weird cat,”  

The team chuckled, looking at the enormous ginger Tom that lapped at the bubbly liquid. Bugsy took a sip of her drink as JJ took a step forward with a smile, her own photo in hand. 

“This is my sister, Roselyn. Ros.” JJ said, placing down a photo of a fifteen year old with identical eyes and nose to her, sitting it next to a small statue of the eiffel tower, “She always dreamed she’d live is Paris so um,” She swallowed, looking at her sister laying in the grass of their childhood home, something girlish in her gaze, “It didn’t happen but I thought this would bring her some happiness,”

They took it in turns bringing their offerings and pictures: David bringing some Cubs tickets for a soldier he had lost in Vietnam, Alex bringing a crossword for her mother, Spencer sliding down a picture of Maeve silently, alongside a cut out picture of Nikola Tesla, Morgan bringing his father, Hitch putting down the picture of Haley he kept in his wallet. 

Which left them all to turn to the youngest agent, who seemed flustered.

“So, I fortunately have not lost anyone properly thus far, so bare with me here guys,” She said fishing out an old scrapbook photo of her as a seven year old, a small orange snake wrapped around the length of her arm, twenty two year old Emily standing right behind her, the pair of them with beaming smiles as the snake seemingly poked its tongue out for the camera. 

Penelope clutched her chest in horror, “Is that a-”

“This is Tigger, the corn snake Emily gave to me when she left home,” She explained, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the million dollar grin she had in the photo, three of her front teeth missing sweetly, “I had him until I was about twelve before he kicked the serpent bucket, but he was cute for a slithery little guy,” 

She drew another photo, an ultrasound showing two tiny embryos and she put it beside the picture of Tigger, and the group drew a shared breath. 

“Bug, I never knew you were…” Spencer started, his stomach flipping when he saw the outline of the foetuses, only for the girl’s eyes to widen. 

“No! No, it’s not like that, this is um,” She cleared her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her hand with a guilty look, “This is the twin I absorbed in the womb,” She said, and she felt the rest of her team gawking at her without having to look, “I guess I’d like to say, uh, I’m sorry pal. It was nice while it lasted, I hope you can forgive me,” 

“You’re being serious?” Morgan asked, gawping at the girl, right as Hotch broke out into disbelieving snickers, probably spurred on by the wine, and Alex was quick to join him, her hand over her mouth.

Bugsy turned to him with a ‘duh’ kind of look on her face, “Oh, 100% serious, yeah,” 

“Is that why you’re a little…” Rossi started, only he found himself stuck for words when she looked at him betrayed. 

“A little, what?” She asked, looking to JJ who cracked into a chuckle, putting her head in her palm.

“What he means is you have a big personality,” Alex said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and giving her a motherly squeeze, hoping they hadn’t offended her, “And we wouldn’t change it for the world,”

“I should hope so, she got a double helping.” Morgan cackled, and Bugsy smacked his arm with a smile. 

“Every time I think I know everything about you, you come out with something new,” Penelope said, her own snickering laugh meeting the girl’s ears, “You’re like Jason Bourne,” 

“God help us if there had been two of you, Prentiss,” David added, patting the girl on the head as they laughed, and Penelope raised a toast to their altar, the rest of the team doing the same before they sipped out their cups and allowed themselves to enjoy the rest of the party. 

–

“Oh, I have something for you!” Bugsy said, springing to her feet and almost tripping over Sergio who had curled up by her legs. 

She’d cut herself off after her third, and by the time midnight rolled around she’d almost completely sobered up enough to the point her and Alex had been playing hangman except with only Old English words.

Her and Spencer had gotten home twenty minutes later, the two of them exhausted from an evening well spent, the melancholy happiness in the room draining them to the point Bugsy had immediately changed into her pyjamas when she got into the house.

Her pyjamas being Spencer’s boxers and one of his shirts since he’d inadvertently been hiding all of the underwear-top combinations she’d gotten from other flings that she’d brought when she moved into his. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” He said earnestly, and she simply waved his humble attitude off, the two of them sat on the sofa in their nightwear, flicking through the late night TV. 

He smiled, watching her bustle into her room and root around her closet, before she emerged with a terracotta coloured pot of lilac flowers, whirling on her heel to head for him. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked, standing to meet her and Bugsy simpered, because she’d felt silly for buying them in the first place. Perhaps it was some left over guilt considering she’d spent the majority of Maeve’s existence in her life hating the girl, or atleast hating what she had that Bugsy thought she could never be privy to. Perhaps it was because all things considered she wanted Spencer to know that it was okay for him to mourn, because she’d never force him to hurry up his process when he’d been there for every second of hers. 

She handed him the potted plant, the small purple petals in the shape of half moons lighting up at him, and his mind raced as to what species they were since he’d certainly never seen them around the East Coast before.

“Scaevola aemula,” She said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt around her waist as she spoke because his eyes were unnervingly doe-like when he looked at her in the dark lamp light, “It’s called the fairy fan flower. I thought-"

She paused, her expression morphing into embarrassment, "Wait, this is so stupid, I’ll send them back,” She shook her head, the worry overtaking the rational part of her as she grabbed for the pot to stash it back in her room, but he held it out of her reach, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body against his hip, as the other stretched out to keep her from snatching back the plant. 

“Tell me. What?” He said, his lips stretching into a devious smile to see her so shy suddenly, and she buried her face into her hands as he watched her, “I'm not going to think it's stupid. Why did you get me these?”

“They’re not for you- well, they are, but I just thought,” She stumbled over her sentences, her heart thumping that this was entirely the wrong move, that she was poking at an open wound no matter how caring she was being. Clearing her throat, she let her forehead thump onto his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, “I thought you could keep it so that you can think of Maeve every time you water it, since Maeve was the name of the fairy queen,” 

He was quiet. God, why was he so quiet? Her breath was thick as molasses as they sat in the silence for a second. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when two of his fingers ran delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head up enough that he could see her face and she drew a sigh of relief when she saw he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. 

His eyes were soft as pools of honey as he looked at her, his brows stirring into a sad-happy mix. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” She whispered, their faces so close they were sharing breath, and he shook his head, his fingers never leaving her skin where they forced her to stay near, gave her no choice but to keep her looking at him. She didn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. Everything pretty about him was dialled to a thousand whenever she got close, and his thick lashes blinked at her like he was seeing a mirage, a daydream. 

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Bug,” Spencer murmured back to her, his every word fanning over the bridge of her nose, and she sighed in content, melting back into his side as he pulled her into a hug, his own face burying into the crook of her neck, “Thankyou,” 

She smiled and hummed in happiness, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him so close she got a whiff of his shampoo. 

“I have a bigger pot in my room, if you like, then we can keep it in the kitchen sill, away from the boys,” She offered, beaming at him when he stroked over the back of her hair affectionately. She hopped out of the embrace, “I’ll go get it for you-”

“You’ve done enough, Bug,” Spencer reminded, something grateful in his tone as she paused and waited for whatever he was going to say, “I’ll go get the pot, you go decide what movie we should watch,”

“You’re sure?” Bugsy asked, her brows furrowed as she checked for signs of an escape in his movements. But he just smiled back at her tiredly, the purple flowers his accomplice as she gave in and headed back towards the sofa, “It’s by my dresser, where my paper bin used to be,”

He set the gift on the kitchen table, the lilac hues brightening up the kitchen already like they just knew how touched Spencer felt to have received them, like there really was some kind of fairy magic burrowed into the soil as they watched the two of them dance around one another, heading to opposite ends of the apartment with lingering glances and bashful smiles.

Spencer thought his chest couldn’t swell any bigger in size, his heart so inevitably full of her, it left room for no one else, not even Maeve, which was the first time he’d brought himself to think that in months. 

+1 The one with the book.

He opened the door to her bedroom, her duvet tossed everywhere because it was a rare occasion she made her bed before they left for work, her clothes strewn about the floor in the general direction of the bathroom, like she’d stripped on the way there, and the thought of it made his stomach seize with a heat, the idea of her undressing little more than a wall away from him knocking his every thought from his head.

The vase. He needed a bigger vase.

Quickly collecting her clothes up and shoving them into her laundry basket for her, he diverted his attention to her dresser, where the slightly roomier pot sat on the floor, a towel underneath it to catch any water remnants and he stepped over her various note pads and books she’d clearly tossed off the bed before she went to sleep. 

He tried to ignore them, he really did, but his scratching urge to keep things tidy for her wrestled with his conscience that said to leave her stuff alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself organising them into a neat pile in his hands and placing them on top of her dresser where one of her books had made it safely, or at least safe enough she wouldn’t trip over it. 

His gaze dropped to the book already on there, its leather cover entirely melting into the background of the dark chestnut dresser, yet it stared daggers up at him like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.

The book looked old enough to be easily from original 1900s, at least one of the first few hundred published. It was scuffed a little on the edges, the black lettering of the printed title choppy in places where it had been handled recklessly, and the leaves of paper were atom thin. The smell of dust and paper clouded his nose when he picked it up delicately.

Opening the front cover curiously to see its printed date, he was stopped in his tracks to see a little post it note on the title page, covering Mr Dickens’ name with a scrawled handwriting he’d known for six years. 

Six whole years. Nearly seven. He felt like he’d known her his whole life, when in startling reality he’d not even known her a third of it. 

And there it was, where he was expecting a list of notes or her thoughts on how David Copperfield had much more likeable characters, anything that she’d thought important enough to scratch down on the front page, instead was his name. 

Spencer,

He felt his breath catch the second he read it, contemplated slamming the book shut right then and there because this felt illicit to read whatever it was she’d scribbled out just for him even if it was dedicated to the stupid man who’d been asking her to wait on his stupid head and stupider heart to align so he could give her exactly everything she deserved. 

His gaze snapped away from the page, that voice in his head telling him this was wrong, that if she’d wanted him to see that book she would have given it to him already. And yet, like it did most days, the beating organ in his chest writhed in annoyance that he’d looked away, that he’d followed the rules one too many times for its liking. He bit his cheek, the two halves of himself arguing amongst themselves. 

After a second of debating, his eyes fell slowly to the note, a creeping guilt skirting down his spine that he was reading something private. How could something be private and yet meant for him? His brain scoffed at the dichotomy of it all, while his chest lurched when he caught a glimpse of more of her writing. 

‘Spencer,’ His heart trembled almost as much as his hand as he traced the writing with his forefinger, imagining her writing it out in a little ball point pen, her body slumped over the book with every intent of having him read her little note. He imaged her breath fanning across the page, her hand warm as her knuckles stroked over the paper, and it felt so much more intimate than a little post-it when he thought of her like that, ‘By the time you’re reading this I’ll be back home from London and we’ll probably be in your apartment doing that stupid thing we do when we pretend like I haven’t missed you more than anything in the whole world while I’ve been here in England,’

She wrote this in London, probably in that tiny apartment her and Emily had rented on a short lease, the one she’d said smelled like mildew and dust and wet wood but had a gorgeous view of Hyde Park when she looked out her bedroom window. 

She’d written it months ago, so why hadn’t she given it to him?

‘I miss you every day. You’re all I think about when I go for a run, and I think sometimes you’d really like it here. I’ve mapped out all the bookshops I’ve found and all the places that do really good coffee if you ever did want to visit England, but I think I’d be happy with you even if we lived in a little ditch on the side of the road like two drowning rats,’

His chest seized, tears lining his lashes when he thought about that day she’d yanked him into a hug the second she saw him, when he’d been too busy thinking about Maeve and burying whatever he felt for Bugsy entirely behind him. 

You should have called, Bug. He’d said, like his eidetic memory wanted to twist the knife in just that bit deeper, and he didn’t need his freaky brain to remember how her face had fallen when he’d said it like that. Like he didn’t even want to see her. 

He hated himself. He hated himself more than she’d ever had. Even if she had more rights than anyone to despise his selfish guts. 

‘Anyway, I know Dickens isn’t your favourite or anything, but I got you this because I know you like the original copies and because it made me think of you (but then again, what doesn’t?). 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. And so I guess that means I’ll love you until the life part stops too. 

All my heart,

Bug.’

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he finished the note, digesting every single word the average speed instead of his usual method of inhaling the letters faster than should be possible, like he wanted to savour every single one because they’d come from her. 

He heard her saying every single one, the thought striking him like someone had cracked him across the face with a paddle. She’d wanted to say all of this when she was in London, when he’d been too busy for her, when he’d been too busy with Maeve. 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. 

“Did you find it?” Her voice called from the other room, no doubt where she was settling down to flick the movie on, her heart so delicate and gracious because she was still waiting for him. 

Even now, even when she was in his clothes and under the blanket she’d brought from her apartment for them to use on movie nights because it got cold too fast in his house, when she was waiting for him to come back. 

Spencer felt knocked out of a dream, like someone had yanked the chord on his music, shaken him awake into the freezing realisation she was waiting for a reply. 

He’d made her wait long enough. 

He barely heard her footsteps entering her own room, probably worried when he hadn’t responded and she said his name, “Spence?” A shudder rolled over his neck when he heard it, a siren song he’d been hearing like a mantra for weeks and he felt something fat and full well in his chest when he turned to look at her, standing there in nothing but boxers and a shirt, just as she had when he’d first met her. 

Except she was his. She was waiting on his call, on his signal, on his word go. 

And it was like the idea of being with her for the rest of his life made his living part worth it too. Like it always had done. 

Her eyes fell down to where his hand rested on top of the book, the page splayed open where he’d delicately flicked it open, the yellow post-it catching in the light and making her expression fall. 

They looked at each other, the same thought channelling between them, their brains meshed together on some other kind of bluetooth the same way they’d always done, only this time it was a prickling hive mind that gave them both gooseflesh the second they locked eyes. 

“Why didn’t you give me this?” He asked, his voice small because he already knew the answer, not daring to move a muscle like she was some kind of deer ready to be spooked. 

“You were busy,” She said equally as sheepish, her thumb moving to pick the side of her nail when she saw his still stature. They went quiet again, neither of them daring so much as to breathe too loud because they both knew what was on that note. It was the closest she could ever come to splitting open her own chest and handing him that thumping wad of bloodied muscle herself, and it was only when he turned to look at her did she panic, words tumbling from her lips; anything to stop him from walking away because she’d been poking around a fresh wound, “You weren’t supposed to see- I mean you were but only when you wanted to, I didn’t want you to think-”

Except he wasn’t heading for the door like she’d thought, he was heading straight for her. 

“Spence, please, I wasn’t going to tell you until-” But she’d shut up, because instead of replying anything back to her, instead of telling her she could have his heart and his soul and everything in between if she’d ever ask for it again, instead of telling her she was the thing that had kept him alive, like she might as well be the blood that rushed through every one of his veins, he grabbed her face in his hands so hard her back hit the wall, her hands flying out to stop herself from falling. 

And he kissed her, so hard he thought he might cry because it was better than any high he’d ever had, any drug on the market, better than his wildest dreams. She froze for a second, worried she’d tripped and fallen on her way over, that this was a concussion spun wild, because there was no way he was kissing her with every inch of their available skin pressing against one another, his hands swallowing her cheeks whole, his body invading her space, his breath rushing through her nose that bumped against his clumsily. 

Bugsy woke up after a second, her hands gripping onto his slender waist like he was pulling her drowning out of water, like he was dragging her from a flame which she didn’t think sounded too far off since her skin had become molten, her cheeks hot, her chest wrenching for control like she’d inhaled black smoke. 

But he was there, kissing her like she was all he had left, and she kissed him back with equal fervour, whimpering when he bit her lip, a hand wrapping around her waist to tug her just that bit closer to his stomach. Any molecule of her that was left behind was stolen by the action, and all she could think was that every inch of her was his, entirely his, his forever if he wanted it. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” He gasped, drawing away for a split second of air before he took her lips to his own once more, twice, and a third for good luck, their teeth knocking together as he wanted to tell her that a million more times while still kissing her, “I love you, I love you. God, I don’t think I ever want to stop saying it,” 

He pulled her to him again, silencing his own stupid ramblings of a mad man, a whine dragging from his throat as his brows furrowed, his lips soft and plump as he kissed her like he was begging for honey after a hundred day fast. 

And she smiled into his mouth, because Spencer was finally hers. 

--

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[zhongrin]

“honey, can you… leave me alone?”

— (sometimes, we all just need some downtime for ourselves)

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, diluc, kaeya, kaveh, thoma, albedo, wanderer, xiao

◇ tags ◇ angst with comfort, established relationship, petnames

◇ a/n ◇ oh wow! guys!! i wrote angst with comfort!!! guys!!!!!!! are you proud of me????? this is kinda self-indulgent bc i wrote this when i was just. tired. you know, those moments where you genuinely just want to shut down and be in your own company? yeah.

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli smiles patiently. and if he judged that you would allow him to, he would place a kiss on top of your head before stepping away. his movements are graceful and calculated, amber eyes ever so observant as he watches the droop of your lashes and the downturn of your lips.

ah. you’re in that kind of mood.

with a firm nod, he promises to give you all the space you needed, as long as at the end of the day you return to his arms. a few hours or days of waiting would certainly make him miss you terribly, but zhongli is a patient man, and your well-being matters most.

“of course. you’ll come to me when you’re ready, yes?”

al haitham understands your needs very well. contrary to most people’s beliefs, he would put them just as equally high - if not more - than his own needs most of the time.

he simply nods upon your words and, after much consideration, would place his soundproof headphones on your side before he leaves the room, carefully minding his footsteps as he walks towards kaveh’s room to inform the architect of the situation and remind him to tone his antics down.

“alright. call me if you need anything.”

diluc would automatically ask you if something is wrong or is bothering you - it’s his protective instincts, don’t blame him too much - but he knows not to probe further when you give him that look.

he offers for a maid to deliver your favorite warm drink later, and with one last comforting squeeze of his hand on top of yours, he leaves, his head full of questions and his heart set to spoil you rotten the moment you return to his side.

“adelinde? tell the maids to skip cleaning [name]’s study today. and tell the workers to be especially quiet when they walk about the second floor.”

kaeya might only have half the eyesight normal people have, yet he’s anything but inattentive, especially when it comes to you. he settles with a light, fleeting caress upon your cheek with his gloved hand, and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead before retreating, offering you a sympathetic grin.

“i got you, babe. i’ll be at the office doing paperwork for once, but you can visit me anytime, okay?”

thoma holds back the urge to fuss over you like the mother hen that he is.

he knows about this habit of yours - sometimes lady ayaka exhibits the same behavior - so he knows he shouldn’t be too worried. you always get over this eventually; what you need now is time, and just like any other point in time in your relationship, he is more than willing to accommodate all of your desires.

“do you need me to sleep at the couch tonight? it’s really no trouble at all, love. anything that makes you most comfortable, okay?”

kaveh visibly pouts and looks like he’s about to cry when you ask him for such a request.

he can’t help it, okay? he wants to hold and kiss and cherish you constantly! so having to deliberately spend some time apart from you is torture to him… plus, those tired eyes of yours hurt his poor empathetic heart more than anything.....

with a saddened nod, he fiddles his fingers and gives you a pair of wet puppy eyes.

“are you sure, baby? …... you know you can tell me anything, right? …… whenever you’re ready, okay, precious? i’ll be in the living room, then…. come find me soon, okay, my love?”

albedo doesn’t even bat an eye. he’s already long since memorized your behavioral patterns, and from your recent ventures, he did conclude that this was going to happen. all within expectations, he muses, yet he can’t help but feel saddened at the exhaustion prominently displayed on your features.

with a soft smile, he places his specially curated ‘care package’ on your lap along with a gentle kiss on your cheek before exiting the room and hanging a “do not disturb - contact albedo instead” sign right in front of the door.

“there are a few snacks and calming scented candles inside, along with a few interesting puzzles and crafts. i thought you might like them and find them relaxing. i’ll be at the lab - just send a message through sucrose or timaeus if you need me.”

wanderer’s automatic response is a half-fearful, half-angry “are you fucking serious? hell no!”, but the second emotion is amplified when he sees the murkiness in your expression.

he swears to inflict pain upon whoever dared to put this expression on your face, but he falters when you explain your thoughts the best you can in your current headspace. eventually, with a scowl on his face and a gruff "fine.", the door closes behind him and he slides onto the floor. sure, you can shoo him away, but he has no intention to move from that spot until you reopen the said door.

“….. hmph. guess being a puppet is a good thing at times like these.”

xiao relates to your struggles far too well. he simply nods and teleports out from the room as fast as he could, not wanting his karmic debt to affect your mood further negatively.

throughout it all, your silent protector watches from afar and listens to the wind around you ever so cautiously. just because he agreed to give you space, it doesn’t mean he can’t continue to make sure you’re safe and sound, after all.

“understood. you need only call my name when you are ready to see me.”

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[russellsppttemplates]

More Dad!Lando, please! How about a colicky Fraiser, a frazzled yn and dad Lando to rh rescue?

Cw: mentions baby's colic, postpartum recovery from c-section

"It's okay, my love, you're okay, mummy is right here", you cooed as you changed Fraser's nappy, "nearly done and then you can feel better hopefully", you sighed, finishing it and rubbing the baby's tummy like you remembered the nurses teaching you how to do in the hospital.

You weren't even sure what time it was, having decided against staying in your bedroom and moving to the nursery so Lando could rest. Even though Fraser slept with you and not in the nursery, you still had all the furniture in there for once you made the transition and right now it was proving to be useful, even if it didn't have a clock anywhere in sight and the lack of sleep was catching up to you.

"I know it hurts, I'm sorry, my love, mummy's doing the best she can - good, good, let all of that wind out", you smiled a little before he started crying again, "Oh, baby, let's have a cuddle", you lowered your top, letting him feel your skin on his after you unbuttoned the top of his babygrow.

The cold bed next to Lando let him know you hadn't been in the bedroom for quite some time, making him stand up and look for you, heading to the nursery since Fraser wasn't in his cot either. The sight before him pulled on his heartstrings. First, because his wife and snuggling your baby, another little one you were blessed enough to bring to the world, and even if you didn't believe it sometimes, the way you looked mothering his children was his favourite - you were the best mummy for them. Second, however, it pulled on his heartstrings because it was noticeable how much it was taking a toll on you. You still looked beautiful - that would never be a question - but he couldn't help but notice the dropped shoulders, the way your movements were still slow and needing you to think before moving a certain way so it wouldn't hurt, and how frazzled you looked.

"Hey, you two", Lando cooed, getting your attention as you bounced the baby around, "would you like daddy's help?", he mused.

Your nod was all he needed to scoop the baby boy and settle him in your chest, rubbing his back as he seemed to nestle into his father's naked chest, "you're not a happy little guy, are you? Is your tummy giving you trouble, Fraser?", Lando cooed as the cries didn't quite settle.

"He was fussing so much and I didn't want to wake you, so we moved here", you explained the reason why you didn't stay in the bedroom as usual.

"You should've woken me up, love, but it's okay, I'm here now", Lando smiled, kissing your forehead softly, "maybe some massages will help? You can lay on mummy and daddy can rub your tummy", he suggested.

"I did them for a bit, but he looked like he needed some comforting too", you mumbled.

You sat on the big chair, shuffling the pillows to make yourself comfortable before Lando set Fraser on your torso, his head nestled over your boobs as his father undid the rest of his babygrow, his fingers starting to massage his belly and slowly working all that was bothering him out, "you like being in mummy's chest, don't you?", Lando smiled, "daddy likes it too, but you've all but stolen it from me these days - it's okay though", he attempted to break a smile on your tired features.

Soon enough, Fraser settled down, falling asleep on Lando's chest once he got him back to snuggle into it, swaying from side so side was you did the same, sandwiching you son between you per your husband's request, "no one is alone in this, darling", he said as he pulled you to hug his waist.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[yayll]

~ a little something about Dazai slowly moving you in without you knowing ~

"Osamu, can I borrow a comb or something? I can't seem to find my hairbrush..."

You call out as you rummage through your duffle bag you brought to spend the weekend at his place. you do this as much as you can, it's lovely to spend time with the one you love... And also because he loses all sanity and rationality if he goes a few days without seeing you. You've been there before, and it's a nightmare for both you and anyone interacting with him. Poor baby!

He perks up, staring at you from across the room, chin resting on his palm and his eyes half-lidded. He's thinking about the day he hid that from you, along with a few other garments. He calls back, sounding scattered.

"Mm? Oh, you can borrow anything you want! Mine's behind the bathroom mirror."

"Okay!"

You open the mirror, and the shelf has not only your hairbrush, but one of your hair clips too. You tilt your head, calling back out.

"Nevermind! Found some of my stuff. Guess I left them here last time, heh."

He jumps at your new finding, quietly cursing himself for not hiding that before you came over. Dazai sighs deeply and immediately hops off the stool, beelining it to you. He clears his throat, playing dumb like the demon he is.

"Well, I think you should still use mine. Please, yours looks all old and yucky. If you keep using it all of your hair will fall out and you'll be bald and hate yourself for the rest of your life and nobody will want you! Except for me, of course~"

"... Um, I don't think so?"

"Well I do! Now, come on, let's get these silky locks in check."

He spins you around and immediately starts combing out your hair, humming a little tune to himself as he does so. He makes a mental note to hide the shirt and pajama shorts he kept last weekend too, that's for when he's alone at night. He also needs to make sure you willingly start leaving things, otherwise you'll freak if you're missing half your stuff. He's so gentle with you and having the time of his life, lightly dusting his fingers against the nape of your neck. He stifles a giggle behind that little smirk plastered on his face when you squirm a bit. He'll make sure you do it plenty of more times before you leave later. Maybe you'll finally beg like he's been wanting you to!

"There. All done."

He presses a soft kiss at the top of your head and you flash him a sweet smile. He could honestly pass out right there. And if he fell down, he'd be at your feet, and then he could be at your knees. Oh! And then you'd fuss over him and never leave his sight. And then... So so so cute...

You get a thoughtful look on your face, and turn to face him fully, popping his delusional little bubble.

"... Come to think of it, I feel like I always lose stuff at your place. You'll gather it for me if you find it, Osamu?"

At the mention of his name, he feels his entire body heat up. He blinks twice and tilts his head innocently. God, you look breathtaking when you're confused. He'll have to take a photo sometime for his album. You love posing for those, and he loves looking at you.

"Sure, but why don't you just... Leave things here from now on? You're here alllll the time, might as well just keep stuff here for safe keeping. I'll be the noble keeper of your things!"

You raise a brow, huffing into a laugh.

"Yeah? Is that what you want to be?"

His voice then becomes softer, needier, and dead serious. He stares right into your beautiful eyes, drowning himself in them. He mutters.

"For you, I'll be anything you want me to be. Afterall, I'm nothing more than a boy made of clay~"

You blush at that. Really hard. Amazing! he thinks. He reaches for your soft face that feels hot to the touch, cupping it inbetween his bandaged hands as he delicately rubs circles on your temples with the pad of his thumb. You wish you could look anywhere else right now because you're falling apart under him and he knows it.

"When you move in, you can do anything you want with the place. Especially with me."

"... Shouldn't we talk more about this another time?"

"Mmm no, not really."

He replies, his Hazelnut eyes go a little darker as he looks down at you.

"Hm, I think we should, cause you're too fast for me. You're like a Hare." You giggle as you say that, eyes twinkling.

"I like bunnies. I like you..."

He mumbles, going straight for your lips before you can say anything else.

Needless to say, you didn't get very far into the discussion after that. He wouldn't let that happen. And that's okay! He can adapt! He thinks he IS being a little pushy and a little too fast for your taste. He's sooo sorry, he'll take it slower next time. In between the sloppy kisses and the very indecent ways he uses his hands to toy with you, he desperately whispers in your ear one last time before he devours you fully.

"... We're staying together forever and ever, yeah?"

"Mmphhhmm..."

[emmyspov]

Idk if your requests are open rn, but if they're not I apologize. I was wondering how you think The Fellowship would react to their youngest member (someone a little younger than Pippin, like around 20) being incredibly prone to injury but also having a really high pain tolerance. Like they keep falling off things and getting hurt but are just like "Don't fuss over me" and the others are just like hyperventilating because they're already like a little sibling to them so there is PANIC in this fellowship tonight

Source: I fell off a swingset and either severely bruised or fractured me hip :)

The Fellowship x clumsy!reader headcanons

author's note: first of all, i am so sorry it took me this long to answer this - life was just.. a lot and i was trying to stay afloat. then, i hope you are doing okay! and haven't hurt yourself more since you sent this in - please be careful & treat yourself gently 🩷 last but not least: i hope i was able to do you justice & you enjoy it :)

warnings: reader falling/stumbling/hitting their head/getting hurt in general, mention of blood, mention of food, please let me know if i forgot something!

word count: 1.6k

edit is mine, pics are from pinterest :)

Frodo: I think Frodo is actually the one who would understand you the best. I mean, he is the ring-bearer and everyone is always so worried about him and the quest and it’s understandable. I mean, he has a lot of responsibility. But sometimes, he feels a bit suffocated by the way everyone is fussing over him, wanting to keep him warm and well fed and safe. So, whenever something happens to you, he would give you some space first – waiting if you ask for help on your own. If you don’t, he’d make sure that you are not hurt. And then, he’d trust your answer. After all, you know your body and its limits best. If you say you are okay, he will simply focus on the quest again. If you do need help however, he will make sure to inform the others so you can get the help you need. Maybe this is something you could actually bond over. Because you’d treat him the same way – not like a baby, but like a friend.

Gandalf: Since you are the youngest of the group, he would feel very responsible for you. Not as much as Aragorn, but very close behind. Whenever you fall or hurt yourself, the wizard notices immediately. In an instant, he is by your side, helps you up and looks over you from head to toe, making sure you don’t have some big gashing wound or bones sticking out. Maybe I am wrong, but I do think, he would scold you a bit. “You really have to watch out”, “Eyes on the ground”, “Be careful”. But, all of these things mean that he cares. He just wants you to be safe and for you to come back in one piece. On the other hand, he is always quite surprised whenever you tell him that you aren’t really hurt. “Maybe it looks like I would be, but I can move my leg just fine – see?” And he would see. It’d take a few moments for you to convince him, but once you have, you will carry on with your journey as if nothing had happened. What you don’t notice is Gandalf eyeing you every once in a while, just to be really sure.

Merry: This hobbit is kind of used to chaos. I mean- he spends most of his time with Pippin. So, if you stumble and roll down some hill, the first thing he would do is laugh. I am talking a full on bending over, belly laugh. Until Gimli or Gandalf or, even worse, Aragorn slightly smack his shoulder before they are running after you, checking you for any injuries. Only then would he realize how dangerous this whole thing was and he’d follow everyone down to you. What he was not expecting however was to find you laughing. “Did I look cool?” Merry would stare at you for a moment before grinning at you, nodding. “Super cool. But are you hurt? Your arm has some scratches from all these twigs laying around.” You were able to stand up immediately, ignoring everyone’s wide eyes, and brushing off the dirt. “Nothing some water and Elrond’s ointment can’t fix.” You two got closer after this.

Pippin: First of all, he is SUPER glad that you, too, came along, because this way he is not the youngest of the group. Sure, he still has to deal with Gandalf’s annoyance at him, but he also has someone by his side who is also full of energy and curious and excited for the quest (at least in the beginning). But because he is the second youngest, he does feel a bit responsible for and protective over you. Like the older one of a pair of twins would. And since you hurt yourself a lot, he is constantly on his toes. Maybe you’d hold hands sometimes? Just so he can realize as early as possible that you’re gonna fall so he can at least try to buffer it. More often than not, it would also end in you two falling ON TOP of one another and that always ends in a fit of giggles. If you fall on your own though and it looked bad, Pippin would immediately call over Aragorn or Gandalf to help you, even when you say you’re fine because you’re his friend and he wants you to be okay.

Sam: Now we all know Sam is a mother hen through and through, even if he denies it. He is, understandably, mostly focused on Frodo and his well-being, but if something happens to you, he is one of the first to help, despite your protests. You stumbled? He will grab your hand and pull you up. Your hands got dirty and bloody from a fall? He will immediately offer his water bottle and help you clean off any dirt. And most importantly: at the end of the day or during breaks, he will carry over some food he cooked (and always an extra portion, too) even though you keep telling him that you can get it yourself and your ankle does not hurt, even if it might have looked like that earlier. “I just want to be sure, my friend. I don’t like the thought of you being in pain.” After a while, you start to accept his treatment.

Gimli: He is not up for discussions. You accidentally ran against a tree? Slipped while getting some water with him? He will not care for what you have to say about the amount of pain you are. You are the youngest of the group and have to be protected. So even if you vehemently try to make him understand that, yes, you might be bleeding a bit or yes, your wrist might be a little bit swollen, he would ignore you and instead call over the others to let them have a look at you. If they decided you were well enough to carry on, he would either carry your backpack (“Stop trying to take this away from me, I will take care of your belongings for now”) or sometimes even you - “Stop fussing around”, “No, you are not too heavy” and “I will carry you around until you are better.” Often times he knows that you would be well enough to walk by yourself, but it makes him feel needed when he can take care of you in some way.

Legolas: I feel like this can go two ways. Sometimes, when he is running in front of everyone else, he is kind of the last to notice whenever you hurt yourself. If he is with the group however, he will almost always be by your side or at least close to keep an eye on you. He likes to listen to you and Pippin talk since it fuels his inner child. One time, he was walking in front of you with Aragorn when you hit your head on a twig, resulting in a small cut on your forehead. You let out a yelp, more out of shock than anything else, but immediately the man and the elf turned around and ran to your aid. You tried to explain that you were fine, but Legolas seeing himself as a wood elf, was already on his way to find the closest stream to fetch some water to clean your wound. Aragorn was telling the others to take a short break when he returned and sat you down. “Stay still, my friend. Even if your cut doesn’t hurt now, it will later if we don’t treat it properly.” He only grinned when you mumbled something in return.

Boromir: Listen, Boromir has a little brother and a shitty father, he knows how to take care of someone while also respecting their boundaries and wishes. No matter how you hurt yourself, the first thing he will do is communicate clearly. Softly grabbing your shoulders, he makes you look at him and asks if you’re hurt or in any pain. If you answer no, he will ask if you need anything or anyone and if you also refuse that, he will make sure that everyone carries on with the journey. However, he will keep an eye on you, more or less secretly. And he will assist you with all the small things during the quest: rolling out your bedroll and placing it close to his own and the halflings’, sneaking you an extra blanket, making you sit close to the fire or refilling your water bottle without you having to ask. He has a soft spot for people younger than him and will never not watch out for you. Can you tell I have a soft spot for him?

Aragorn: Last but definitely not least, the Dúnedain. He is literally one of the best people to have around as a clumsy person - he has the experience from Elrond and the elves in general and knows his way around nature and the wild due to him being a ranger, so he knows how to take care of a wound. Heck, he had to do it to himself countless of times already. However, seeing you getting hurt so often makes his heart skip a beat every time and not in the good way. He worries about you, even if you claim to be fine. No matter how often you fall, stumble, bump against something or hurt yourself in any other way, he is by your side to take care of you. And he will care for you, no matter what you say. When you scraped your knees one time, Aragorn made you sit down on a log and cleaned your wounds before applying some of the ointment Elrond had given them before their departure. Only when he was sure that he had done everything he could, he would allow you to get back up and carry on. You would not get worse on his watch during this journey.  

[supercutszns]

luke castellan comforting his gf?

btw i love ur work 💗💗

wc + pairing: 0.9k, luke castellan x reader

oh i really needed this,,, if i stop writing comfort fics i’m dead i will literally write a thousand of them over and over they could be exact replicas and i would not care. sorry this took such a long time i've been in a big writing slump and i really don't like this but we have to start somewhere <3 every time someone requests a comfort fic i get very happy inside! i know this isn’t my best work like at all but hopefully it’s enough for now

Luke’s good at finding hidden things. A playing card wedged between wooden panels. A camper that always trudges at the back of the line. He can find something at its most sheltered and pluck it right back where it belongs. He’s good at that with you, too. When you wedge yourself somewhere tough, he slips through the cracks every damn time. 

You’re exhausted. You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve been here, or how you can stop it. You just couldn’t get up this morning and your siblings let you stay sick. You imagine an alternate version of this day over and over, where you’re up and alive and contributing to something. But that’s not today. But it should be. You dream it until tears press against your eyes but you’ve got no energy to push them out. 

Feeling like this isn’t a constant occurrence, but it happens. Luke finds his way in each time, wedging open the slightest crack in your door or coming in through the window. He comes bearing gifts, he jokes. You don’t ask him where he gets the things he brings you—snacks, chocolate, plastic figurines to place on your windowsill. Menial things you like. Luke has his methods, and you know he loves you too much to reveal them. 

“Got some offerings for a goddess here,” he says when he sits down on your bed, knuckles brushing your arm. If you’re too tired to answer he never minds, he just crosses his legs and pulls your head into his lap. He smooths the hair away from your face to massage your scalp, and lets you rest. He doesn’t ask you for anything. Doesn’t force you to speak. You do when you’re ready. 

“I don’t feel good,” you admit hoarsely, blinking back tears. 

“That’s okay.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “You just rest.”

It almost makes you laugh. “I’ve been in bed all day, Luke.”

“Mm, yeah, but you’re not really resting,” he says without judgement, letting you cling to his body as you pull yourself up to a seated position. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

You press your face into his neck so the warmth can distract you. Sometimes you say a lot, sometimes you say a little, like your mouth has separated from your body. It almost always ends with, “I feel like shit. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke is patient with you, but never overbearing. He knows you shut down when things are laid on too thick. “Want to take a nap?” He offers, threading his hands through your hair. “I can take you to my cabin, it’s cooler.”

He’s right, so you let him, and he steals you away without a fuss. The sheets smell like him, so even if you want to be alone, he still grounds you. When you fall into his bed you curl into a ball like an armadillo, like you can squeeze the rot out of your bones if you compress hard enough. Luke slots himself beside you after confirming it’s what you want, pressing kisses into your shoulder, until you turn into him and starfish over his body. “You let me know if you need anything, angel,” he murmurs, swiping your hair away from your face. “I’ve got you.” 

You manage to doze off, with his arms loose around your back and his chest underneath you. When you wake up later with a kiss of late afternoon breeze, you’re struck with the disorienting feeling of a good sleep. “Luke,” you mutter, digging your nose into his neck. 

He rouses too. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still bad.”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead, squeezes you against him. “That’s okay. Want me to go grab you some food?” 

“Can we talk a little before?” 

“‘Course,” he says gently. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw. 

Sleep has pieced together some of the words you need, and Luke brings them out of you with hardly any effort. You have what’s probably a fragmented reason at best, but he doesn’t care. He keeps you anchored to him as long as you want him to, rubbing your back and letting you take your time. Once you’re done with the conversation, Luke diligently wipes your tears and kisses you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he grins. “I mean, I do love you. Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Your throat feels thick but you get the words out, “I’m worried I’m going to feel this way forever.”

It doesn’t feel good to admit. Luke’s face softens, and he presses a kiss between your brows. “You won’t,” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve got time.”

The length of the day moving around you matters a little less when Luke shields you from it. His knuckles rub across the ridges in your back until you’re sure the texture of his shirt is imprinted on your face. 

After he goes off to bring you some food, you find the strength to go wash your face in the bathroom. It’s practically nothing. Practically. At least you settle back into his bed, the blankets aren’t as heavy as before. You don’t feel better yet, but Luke’s got plenty of time for you. (He’ll pawn his kids off to Chris. None of them need this grilled cheese anyway.)

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I was thinking the same thing about the Shelbys lmao !!!

I headcanon'ed that Percy was the one to emotionally raise Weasley!Reader because the Reader is the absolute youngest of the seven sons so Molly overlooked him as she fussed over Ginny and tried to straighten out the Twins or chased after Ron and Harry Potter for so many years and Arthur was to busy with work but Percy saw they were special and could really be something one day and didn't want it squandered by bad influences and poverty.

Percy graduated the summer Weasley!Reader got the letter and had already started at the Ministry of Magic but picked up a second, side job to save up money so Weasley!Reader wouldn't have to go to school with hand-me-downs.

It drives jealousy in Ron and the Twins but Percy merely reasons that the hand-me-downs were literally falling apart by the time they got to Weasley!Reader and Molly tries to peace-keep by asking why Percy wouldn't spread the money around so each child could get one or two things new instead of just the Reader and Percy looks blankly before repeating himself, stating that he wouldn't have his son brother go to school with supplies that are literally falling apart because they've seen seven other siblings and, once again, are literally falling apart, woman do you hate your sons that much?

And that's just how it goes each following year, Percy taking Weasley!Reader shopping no matter how much Molly tries to fix the hand-me-downs. He does bring the others gifts during holidays and birthdays but it becomes clear to the older siblings the Percy dotes on Weasley!Reader like a father would and they sort of just observe for a time and realize that Molly neglects the Reader emotionally, maybe even becoming mean sometimes because of the summer shopping sprees, and Percy is the one stepping in for the Reader so they don't really say anything about it anymore

One summer when puberty hits Weasley!Reader like a hexed broomstick, Percy takes his boy to a designer clothing place and buys him an outrageously expensive fitted, three-piece suit, waving off the costs because at this point he's raising high in the Ministry of Magic, surpassing their father, in both position and pay, so it's okay.

"Stick with me, brother, and you'll have a higher standard of life one day too."

And despite Percy blaming Lestrange!OC!Daughter for corrupting Weasley!Reader it was really this moment right here that drove the Reader into becoming a criminal because it was fast, easy and fun money.

Lestrange!OC!Daughter makes him stop wearing English suits and instead start wearing French suits once they become romantically involved since she's French. He still wears the original suit Percy bought him from time to time though. And the higher ups the work with him are always adoring beautiful French or Italian suits because it becomes like an unspoken dress code.

Fleur always compliments criminal!Weasley whenever seen in the French suits, maybe even recognizing the craftsmanship and complimenting his taste although she rotates between fluent French and broken English and then gets ten times more excited when criminal!Weasley responds in perfect French with the hopes of easing her anxiety a bit as she struggles to get her point out, maybe even with a Parisian accent, because his beloved taught him, and it makes Molly ten times angrier, especially when Fleur and Lestrange only exclusively speak to each other in French, forming a strong alliance because of Molly's obvious dislike of both of them.

I could even imagine Weasley!Reader being Ginny’s twin, therefore adding even more to him being neglected in favor of his sister. But he and Ginny are very close and even she hates how their mother doesn’t even look twice at the Reader cause she’s so focused on Ginny. I also, really love the idea of Percy basically raising the Reader, mainly emotionally but I could see him picking up the slack when Molly takes to rocking baby!ginny more then she does baby!Reader. Or Percy stepping in to take over baby!Reader’s nightly feedings cause Molly has all her attention on baby!Ginny and ensuring she gets taken care of first cause she’s her precious babygirl and Arthur is working a late night. Just the thought of Percy feeling a desperate need to take on physically caring for his youngest baby brother because he can’t trust his mother not to forget about the Reader cause she has such tunnel vision on finally having her babygirl. Percy literally ends up raising the Reader himself through a majority of his upbringing and even then Molly doesn’t acknowledge it.

I could imagine Percy going as far as opening an entire secret vault at Gringotts just for the money he’s already saved for the Reader and continues to save for his precious youngest baby brother who deserves to have something for himself. Whereas the Reader takes up being a criminal to financially provide for his entire family, Percy takes to working himself to the bone for his youngest brother and he happily goes about it too.

Percy spoiling the Reader whenever he can meanwhile the Reader has never asked him for anything, Percy just freely gives it to him case it’s what he wants his brother to have. He knows his brother is special, special in a way that only Percy can see and he fully intends to make way for his brother to fucking shine. Now that doesn’t mean Percy doesn’t love and care for his other siblings because of course he does, but the Reader is different. The Reader needs him more than any of the rest of their siblings ever have and Percy will be damned if he isn’t there for him.

I could see Weasley!Reader maybe coming to a point of realizing what all Percy has done for him and wanting to repay him so he ends up doing some illegal stuff to get the money to do something nice for his older brother for once and becoming addicted to how easy and fun it was in the end. Given how much younger the Reader is in this scenario I could see his reasoning to becoming a criminal being a bit more selfish, like there’s still a part of him that wants to support his family but not so much his mother or father, only his siblings. Like, If they need anything the Reader would happily help them out cause he has the means to in more ways then one, but if Molly especially needed something the Reader wouldn’t be moving too fast, if at all, to lend a helping hand.

Also, I could wholeheartedly see Percy taking the Reader out of the Burrow once he’s graduated and saved up enough money to get a small flat or something where he and the Reader can live comfortably. At this point, Percy has just taken it upon himself to care for the Reader entirely so that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When Percy inevitably finds out about the Reader’s criminal activities I could see there being a moment of him asking himself where he went wrong in being up his youngest sibling. He’d blame himself entirely for doing something wrong for the Reader to end up down this path. But then the Reader divulges the whole entirety of the empire he’s built himself and it’s then that Percy realizes that no he didn’t go wrong, he didn’t go wrong at all. Percy would still become very involved in the Reader’s business as said before. He’ll utilize his power and position in the Ministry after so many years of moving up the ladder to further aid and protect his brother all the more.

I absolutely love the idea of Lestrange!Daughter, Bellatrix, Fleur, Narcissa and Andromeda all conversing in French together, especially when Molly is around cause she knows damn well they’re all taking shit about her and they very much are doing just that. It would enrage Molly all the more when the Reader joins the conversations, talking in fluent French that she didn’t even know he knew. At first she thinks the Reader is defending her and their family from the French speaking women but eventually she comes to the conclusion that that’s not what’s happening at all. It certainly doesn’t help that when she asks the Reader what they all were talking about he always answers with something vague, and she knows full well that’s bullshit.

I think Lestrange!Daughter and Fleur would be very good friends, even if they don’t really interact too much outside of the family but they most definitely gang up when they’re around Molly. Also, I think Weasley!Reader would be very close to Fleur in a platonic way of course. After all he was probably the first one in the family to truly befriend her when she got into a relationship with Bill and not judge or hate her like his mother and sister did. But he also wasn’t completely captivated with her because of her being part Veela either, fortunately cause he already had Lestrange!Daughter by his side.

[spid3namy]

— BRAIDS

pairing : e!42 miles x black!female reader

summary : miles asks you to braid his hair as his excuse to spend time with you while his mom is at work

contains : use of the n-word , fluff , kissing 

word count : 682

notes : n / a

“Stay still, nigga. You gonna mess the shit up.” 

You fuss at your boyfriend, wacking him in the head with the comb that was in your hand. Miles let out a small hiss and frowned, his eyes flickering up to the bathroom mirror as he looked at you.

“Maybe if you weren’t so damn aggressive with my head, I wouldn’t need to move so much, ma.”

“Don’t be such a baby. I ain’t even doin’ it that hard.”

“Ma, you’re pretty much rippin’ my hair out.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, trying to part his hair once again despite how much he continued to move. Him and his damn hair was starting to work on your nerves.

Miles had no right to be getting all upset with you anyway, he was the one who asked you to do his hair. He has only himself to blame. Miles didn’t really need to have his hair rebraided, he could’ve gone an extra week but he just wanted to see you. 

So, because he wanted to see you so damn much, he has to suffer the consequences of it. 

“Nigga, what did I just say?”

Miles grunted in response, rolling his eyes and huffing as he tried his best to stay still. You were much more aggressive than his mom was. She was at least gentle when he braided his hair. Well, sometimes anyway.

“Ma, I am tryin’ but you keep pullin’ my head and that shit hurt.”

“Quit bein’ such a damn baby, Miles. I only have a few more braids to do then you done.”

Miles grumbled under his breath and grabbed his phone from the sink counter, looking at it to try and distract himself from the pain you were inflicting on his head. Though, it didn’t work all that much since you were still being rough on him. 

You didn’t seem to care about the pain you gave him, more focused on getting him to stay still more than anything else. 

And after what seemed like forever, you had finally gotten done braiding his hair. You set the comb down before you pushed his head forward slightly.

“Alright, you done now, babe.”

Miles let out a dramatic sigh of relief as he stood up from the chair you had dragged into his bathroom. He didn’t understand why he had to be in his bathroom while you braid his hair but he didn’t want to question it. 

“Thanks, ma.”

“Mhm.”

You soon shifted from behind him over to the sink, washing your hands thoroughly before you dried them off. You soon turned your attention over to him and held your hand out, looking at him expectedly.

“What?” Miles looked at your hand in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

“You owe me money, dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“You ain’t think I did this shit for free.”

Miles furrowed his eyebrows and stared at you before he chuckled, shaking his head. There was no way you actually wanted to be paid for braiding his hair.

“Sorry, ma. ‘M broke.”

“Nigga, you know your ass ain’t broke!”

“I am broke!”

“Okay, well you better rob a bank or something cus I ain’t leavin’ unless I get paid.”

Miles rolled his eyes and moved closer to you, his hands landing on your hips gently and his body pressing against yours. He didn’t seem upset over you not leaving once so ever. 

“‘M chill with that.”

“Dick.”

Miles chuckled and leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. As much as you hated him sometimes, you couldn’t help but melt into the kiss. He knew that was always your weakness. And of course he used it to his advantage. 

After a few moments, he pulled away and gave you a cheeky smile, his hands still pressed firmly onto your hips. 

“There’s your payment, ma.”

“I swear, you are so annoyin’”

“Thank you.” You groan in frustration and roll your eyes, fed up with his stupid antics. Miles smiled and pressed his lips against yours once again, clearly not bothered by the way you were trying to sulk. Damn him.

[icarusredwings]

Clean

Separating this from my other works because of the Trigger Warnings. This read my not be for all viewers and is NOT safe for littles. It contains past mentions and discussions of Child SA, child abuse, unintentional SH, panic attacks, and emotional hurt/ comfort.

It's time to get out of the bath, but.. Wade's not clean yet. At least thats what he says.

"Alright. That's done. That's ready. Check, check, okay, now I just need Wade." Setting the plates down on the coffee table, he had even brought him some juice and turned on Beauty and the Beast for them to watch during dinner.

Today had been... Rough.. to say the least. First when he went with Vanessa he had been scolded by a parent to stay away from their child, the arguing between Ness and the parent scared him enough to sit down and put his hands over his ears near a tree, rocking himself.

He must have gotten even more spooked because when someone came to see what was wrong, Wade kicked them in the nose and practically cried all the way home after the incident.

Fortunately, he didn't want to press charges and told Wade he forgave him but to be careful next time. It was a slap on the wrist compared to what trouble he could have actually gotten into. It was one of the reasons Logan was afraid to take him there, knowing he'd lose his temper and be not any help either.

For the last hour or so, Wade has refused to speak to him. Or anyone really, the only word he said was "Bath" multiple times until he was finally put in one. Or rather, one was ran for him.

See, he was big enough (thank god) to take care of himself (mainly) but did enjoy help with his shoes and to be held, etc. It only made Logan wonder how long this has been going on. How many years has he had to do this by himself? Far too many it seemed.

The way it would work was Logan would prepare the Bath while Wade picked out his clothes. He also got to pick what kind of bubbles and small things like that, though mainly, He didn't take care of the water parts (Not ever since he flooded the bathroom).

After it was fully ran, bubbily and warm, Logan would leave him to it. Letting him soak for how ever long he liked and wouldn't open the door unless told too.

Sometimes, when he was itchy, they'd put oats in his bath instead of bubbles, though Logan had to be sure to tell him not to eat the oats or else he would.

It would be more difficult if wade had hair to wash, but since he didn't (obviously) there was no fuss about it.

He didn't need any help scrubbing his legs and arms, his chest, etc. Of course, he would play with his ducks, too. Right now, his favorite was a big mama duck toy who held 3 baby tinier ducks. A gift from Dopinder who knows that Mr. DP likes toys rather then why.

Right now (like many other times) He would come to check on him, putting his ear close to the door and knocking. "Wade?"

"Kid?"

Now ussually, he'd get a response of giggles or "Almost done!" But now he got nothing.

Again, he knocked harder.

Silence. Though he could smell soap. Not the same kind that he remembered putting in. Also a soft scratching sound, as well as a whimper.

"Kid? Dinner's done." He adds this last bit, knowing he was always hungry after the park.

Still nothing.

"Wade. Do... you need help?"

"No!"

'No' was not what was concerned him. What concerned him was the tone he used with it.

"Are you okay?"

Again silence.

He took a breath, sighing as he had a feeling of what he had to do. If he asked to come in, he would just keep saying no. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when "Being a mean ol Kitty" had its advantages.

"Wade? I'm coming in. You sound hurt."

Something that Ness has taught him was to add the 'why' automatically after the direction. That way, he doesn't have to ask, and it makes him more comfortable to be told up front.

"Nooo.." He whined as Logan unclicked the door, slowly opening it only to gasp softly. The water was a very light pink as he saw him applying more soap and scrubbing his arm far too hard.

The area was raw, bright red, irratated, and some blood was dripping down into the tub, but it wasn't the only thing adding to the water. Tears were rolling down his face and snot trying to leave quicker then he could sniffle it up.

"Wade! What are you doing!?" He asks, Stepping into the bathroom to see that a part of his chest was scratched too.

No awnser. In fact, he seemed to scrub harder, almost as if he were panicking.

"Oh Wade..." Taking a few steps forward, He tried to take the brush only for him to scream and punched him the nose.

"Augh!- fuck!" What was with him and noses? Seriously? This was the second time today someone got a new nose job from him.

"No!!" He yelled, shifting in the tub to lean away from him, now starting to scrub at his neck, that now also was starting to bleed a bit.

"Ah- Why did you do that?! Stop! You're going to make it worse!" Logan understood that his skin issues bothered him, but he wouldn't let him do this.

Growling a bit, he grabbed his cheek, pushing him away as he took it, pulling the drain too.

Trying to take it again, he held it close to him and bit him (hard) when he tried to take it from his hands. "Nooo!!" And now that he knew he would fight him on it, He had no choice.

"N-Nooo!!" He screamed, if anything backing away, starting to shake from the cold of the water gone.

Putting them to the side, Logan looked him over, trying to think of any possibility of what was happening. Why the only thing he was shouting at him was No, why he wanted to stay in the tub, and why- even now- he was crying.

"Why did you do this?" He asks, watching as he goes quiet again, staring at him with a still shock of fear.

"Come on. Get out. It's dinner time. I made mac and cheese. You love mac and cheese." He tried to bribe, but Logan was never good at these things.

"NO!" Going as far as throwing a soap bottle at him, Logan put an arm up only for it to hit the wall and bust, beginning to ooze out the conconut smelling liquid.

"Hey!! Don't do that!-"

"I-i'm not done!!"

"How!? You've been in here for an hour already!" The screaming back and forth was fine by him, as long as he kept talking. The more he spoke, the more Logans' hearts sank, especially with what he said next.

"Don't..h-Hur..." It was the last straw, breaking down into a sob as he shook his head. "Please...No." The shaking wasn't just from the cold. He was shutting his eyes tight as if he didn't want to see what would happen next and ws trying everything in his power to stay away from him.

It was now that Logans eyes widdened, swallowing as he had a horrible feeling in his stomach. "No what,...Wade?"

"Please, Kitty... No.." He began to slur and choke on his own hot, thick tears, his skin burning with the sensation that it wasn't before, the sensitive layer being exposed to the air.

"Who." Was all he said. It wasn't even a question, more like a demand. His grumbling through grit teeth making Wade shush from his crying. He was crying so hard that his screams were silent, shaking harder and trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I-i'll be good...I d-don't wanna...!" He spoke this sentence, and instantly, a propane tank worth of anger filled his body, up to his lungs with hatred as he thought about what this meant.

"Who. Wade! Who?! Why!?" Now this was a demand. A demand to know who in their right mind would ever do such a thing to him.

Opening his mouth to speak, he felt nauseous, swallowing it deep in his stomach.. for now.

"K-kevin.." he whispered, a tiniest voice practically strangled out by the lumps in his throat.

"When!? Do I know him?"

He shook his head, ever so slightly trying to hide his face into the side of the tub.

Taking the towel, he threw it over him, as he tried to calm down enough to get him to talk, let alone look him in the eye. He could smell how much fear and confusion he was in. How terrified he was to get out of the tub in fear something bad would happen to him.

Slowly opening an eye, he looked at him from the corner of his eye, pulling the towel around him only for him to start rubbing his skin again with it.

"I-hey! Stop that!" Grabbing his hands again, Wade jumped, pulling away as he began to sob loudly that he was sorry. "Ill be good" "No!" "Bad kitty!!" "I clean it" mixed in with distorted cries, pleas to be let go.

It broke his heart to hear him so scared of him. Honestly, it started making his stomach turn. Did Wade really think he would do that to him? Why would he...? Oh great. Now there was tears in his eyes too.

Hearing the word "Clean" connected the dots*. The reason WHY Wade insisted that he "was a big boy and can do it himself" each bath despite showering with him before. The reason why he was screaming No, and trying to keep away from him. The reason why he punched and threw the soap at him.

"Wade, I-.." Letting go, he groaned, a small whine coming out of him as well as he rubbed his face, trying to keep it together. But how could he? With what he just learned?

Going to walk away to call Ness and ask if she knew anything about this, he stopped, cursing under his breath as he realized the second he left he would just start scrubbing again.

How was he supposed to help him if he couldn't touch him but also watch over him at the same time to be sure he's not hurting himself if he hated being watched in the tub?

Making a loud grunting sound, Wade stopped, looking at him as if trying to analyze if this sound was negative or not. His kitty did grunt a lot, so it wasn't scary, but he was still scared of him. Scared of everyone, actually.

Sighing, he sat on the toilet, putting his head in his hands, thinking. Think! Come on, Logan, you've been around dozens of kids, right? Wrong. He just recently started to warm up to his daughter, a grown woman by now.

If he had his phone he could call or.. I don't know google it? But what would he even type? "My boyfriend was molested 20 years ago, what should I do?" No... no. Come on there has to be something in there. Deep breaths. In... ou-

"Kitty...?"

Looking up, he swallowed, tears running down his face, his own throat tight. "Yeah, Kid..?"

He pointed to the bottle that was half spilled on the floor.

"What? Soap? What about it? The second I came near ya, you chucked it at my head." He mumbled.

"..." Looking at him, Wade blinked. "...Soap?"

He wanted to say,'No, you're not getting anymore soap. It's time to get out' but instead paused. "...Why?"

Ness had said one of the best things to do for a kid was to understand them. He didn't know what she meant by that until now.

"Uhm.. Dirty?" The higher mark at the end gave Logan an opening, a chance. The question of him being dirty was enough.

"You aren't dirty, Wade. You're clean." Logan didn't move from his spot. Not a single inch. He couldn't risk spooking him again. His tears just now were coming to an end.

"But- I..." He was thinking. Logan knew he was. Trying to process the information. "B-but he..."

"I-i know... I know he did." His fist clenched but tried to smile. It came out crooked and kind of awkward as more tears raced over his face like the Nashville Derby. "You're clean, Wade. Good-" he swallowed, trying to ground himself.

"Good job."

Again, Wade was confused. He wasn't good. He just bloodied his second nose for the day (that was already healed up by now) and threw a bottle at him.. that didn't seem good.

Swallowing, more tears came to him, begining to realize what he has done, calming enough to understand. "B-but.. I bad.."

"No!- i-i mean.. No... you're not bad. You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault. None of it was your fault... Im so sorry.." Logan whispered, wiping his eyes.

He wasn't expecting to cry today, but he had a feeling tonight, once all was said and done, they were going to have a long talk later, and he'd cry more in bed.

"S-so... All done?"

Quickly, he nods, "All done... erm.. I-i made us mac and cheese so... get dressed and.. I-ill help with your booboos okay?" He says, about to stand up but decided to wait until told to leave. Any movements would probably send him right back.

To his suprise, Wade got out, Holding his towel tight around him but came to him. Very still. That's how Logan sat as Wade ever so gently touched his face, wiping his tears, tilting his head when more came.

"Kitty...?"

"Yeah, bub?" He muttered, giving him a lopsidded smile, not wanting him to be scared.

"...Are you cry because..." He trailed off, but Logan knew exactly what he meant.

"Y-yeah."

"Why? ...He mean to you?" Pulling his hand away, he seemed so confused about why anyone would care what happened to him. His parents sure didn't.

"No, Bub... but he was mean to you. Right?"

He nods, slowly, ashamed of this.

"Hey- No, You're not introuble.. it's his fault. He's bad. You... you were never bad, Wade. Not ever." He tells him, Putting out a hand for him to hold.

Instead of taking it, Wade hugged his head, petting his head. "Don't cry kitty.."

Loosely putting his arms around him, he sniffled again. "I-ill try, kid... now.. Lets go watch some dancing tea sets, yeah?"

"Okay!" Nodding, Wade picked up his clothes, running off, excited to be clean and to eat with him. Oh, how quickly his moods changed... Logan was going to get whiplash one of these days.

Later, during the movies credits, they sat in silence of one another, Wade's face in the crook of his neck, clearly still ashamed of his actions for the day and his past..

After bandaging and icing his wounds, They sat together for a good 30 minutes, Wade devouring all of his food. Logan didn't eat. His stomach was too turned over to even think about it.

"...Wade?" He says, breaking the silence as he stares off at a random wall, keeping him as close as possibly, letting him wrap his legs around his wasit as he held him.

"..Yuh?"

"..It's not your fault."

"What?"

"It's not your fault."

"I know." He says, but suddenly the room had a stench of a mechanic's shop. Thick gasoline. He lied straight through his teeth.

"Wade... It's not your fault." He says again, beginning to rub his back, feeling him tense up.

"I... know?"

"No- Wade. Litsen to me... It's not your fault. Its theirs. You did nothing wrong." He repeated again, making him start to cry as a single tear fell down Logan's face.

Nodding into him, sniffling, a muffled, strained 'That's why I carry my baby knife. Baby knives protect babies sometimes' came out as he clung around his neck, never wanting to let go.

A minute or two passes. Logan's shirt his wet. Wet wasn't even the right word. More like soaked.

"Is... he dead?"

"Good." He holds the back of his head, begining to rock him, quietly shushing, letting him sob. "Shhh... I got you... I won't let anyone do that to you ever again. I don't care if it kills me.."

"E-even if I throw summer breeze body wash at you again?"

"Even if you throw summer breeze body wash at me." He agreed, feeling him relax a little.

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"H-hope to die?"

"Even if I die, just wait. Ill find that fucker in hell."

Wade giggled, letting out a sigh as his shoulders dropped, trusting him more than before. He felt... safe.

Hi. If you made it down here, Im proud of you for how far you've come in life, and I am so sorry if you relate to this.. this, uhm.. this one hit a little too close to home for me. So..

*For those who don't understand, Wade didn't 'Clean himself good enough' so kevin 'helped'. It's implied that this was a form of 'punishment' as well as wade feeling dirty from the thoughts seeing as.... nevermind. The unfortunate truth is how ever much you scrub, you can still feel it.

Again. If you understand this, Im so sorry. It is and never will be your fault. 🫶🩷 And I hope Scoutmaster Kevin gets what he deserves with a chainsaw 🥰 Fuck that guy fr

[petersbaby]

Share Her - Eddie Munson x sweet/dumb!reader x stepbro!steve

Warnings: reader is naïve, stepcest, Steve and Eddie are both perverts, fingering, use of sir, cum talk, smut

A/N: I need to update my masterlist, it’s pretty far behind. But bleh, not tonight. Whenever I get back on my computer

-

“Here you go.” You say, handing a cold can of beer to both boys who requested them. They weren’t doing much of anything besides watching TV in the basement, but you didn’t mind having to go all the way to the kitchen for them, you loved Steve and his friend was nice to you, so of course you’ll do something if they ask you to.

Steve frowns.

“What?” You ask, confused.

“This isn’t what I wanted. There are 2 different kinds in the fridge in there, bring me the other one. It’ll have a different label.”

You head back up the stairs, leaving your step brother and his best friend to themselves for a moment which they take advantage of.

“There’s no fucking way you’re not hitting that. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t live with her. I’d be hard 24 fucking 7.”

“I mean, yeah, eds i am but that’s not something we should say out loud.”

“YOU ARE?”

“Shut up, dude. Why do you care, you wanna piece of her?”

“Fuck yes. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Alright. I’ve got her wrapped around my finger, I’ll make sure you get some. Not without me, though, because she’s attached to me.”

“Fuck it, whatever makes her comfortable. Those goddamn shorts.”

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes I’m convinced she knows what she’s doing. LOVES attention.”

Their voices fell silent when you come back down. Steve pats the seat next to him, and you sit. They take the new beers and crack them open, sipping (rather loudly, you think) them.

You sit down beside Steve.

“Baby, come here.” Steve says, opening his arms. He exchanges looks with Eddie who sits on the other side of the couch.

“Okay.”

You climb on top of him, into his lap, settling down.

He pulls your face closer to his and kisses you deeply. You indulge for a moment, but pull away. You nod towards Eddie and give Steve an expression like ‘we’re not alone’.’

“It’s okay, Eddie over here doesn’t mind. Do ya, eds?”

“N- no, not at all.”

“Take your shirt off, okay?” Steve asks.

You nod, pulling in off of your body. Eddie takes in your mostly bare form.

“Bra too.”

You reach behind your back to unclasp it and let it fall off your shoulders.

“Jesus Christ.” You hear from a short distance away. Eddie was painfully hard from seeing your bare chest and torso, trying to inconspicuously rub himself through his jeans. He sits and watches as you and Steve kiss, the way you straddle his thigh and start to hump it.

“You wanna do something for me?” Steve asks you quietly. You nod. Of course you do.

“Go give some love to my friend over here, okay? He thinks you’re beautiful.”

You smile. “Oh, okay.” And crawl over to Eddie.

“Kiss?” You ask, head tilted, wanting to hear he wanted it from his own mouth.

“Mhm.” He hums, and you lean in. He was shocked at how intense you were, no softness to your kiss, depraved.

Steve chuckles. “There ya go, baby.”

You soon had your tongue deep in his mouth, trying to work with his. Eddie grabs your hips, snaking them around back so he could take two handfuls of your ass.

“Mmh,” you whimpered when he pushed you down against his erection.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks into the kiss.

“Yes….” You trail off, pausing, looking around and then at steve. He reads your mind easily.

“Oh, she wants to know what to call you. ‘Daddy’, ‘sir’, that type of thing.” Steve offers.

You turn back to Eddie and look at him, waiting.

“Jesus Christ. You are so good, aren’t you? How about you pick?” Eddie asks.

“Sir.” You whisper.

“Sounds good to me.” He smiles, almost wickedly.

You reach down to start fussing with his belt buckle, struggling. He gently swats your hands away and undoes it himself. You get off of him momentarily so he can push his jeans and boxers down his legs, and you take off your pajama shorts. In the meantime, you look over.

“Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Come closer. Please.”

“Alright, princess.”

He scoots over to sit right next to Eddie after you crawl back into his lap.

Eddie reaches between your legs in search of a damp spot on your panties which he found quickly.

“Holy shit.” He comments, immediately pushing them to the side and slipping a finger into you.

“Right? Like a goddamn water park.” Steve comments back.

He lays back at watches his friend’s finger disappear inside your soaked pussy over and over. You start to slightly move up and down, trying to get more from the measly finger but failing.

Eddie notices, and gives you a second one, curling it deep inside you. Your mouth falls open, lips parted. You look at Steve as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure, wanting him to still pay attention to you.

“Kiss, stevie?” You ask between sighs and small moans coming from the way Eddie’s working you with his fingers. Steve leans in and you press your lips against his, kissing him sweetly and putting a hand on the side of his face. Despite the lewd situation, it was a soft little kiss. Just one as if to say ‘I love you’ without words.

“Ah, feels so good,” you pant.

“Good. That’s all Eddie here wants, to make you feel good.”

“Really?” You ask, turning to Eddie, who’s staring at your tits. Steve punches him in the shoulder.

“What? Oh, yeah, really. You think you can take my cock?”

“Yes sir.”

You get up to slip your panties off quickly, returning to your spot. You put one hand on Steve’s shoulder just to know he’s there, and one on Eddie’s chest, and you sink down onto his cock. It’s big, and it hurts enough to make you gasp, but not enough to stop. You feel the stretch and you know he feels it too.

“Ahhhh, shit. Oh, holy shit, baby.”

“Am I good?”

“So good. The best. This little pussy feels like it was made for me, fits like a glove.”

You start to move a little, getting used to the full feeling, and build up momentum slowly. You ball up a fistful of Steve’s t shirt in your hand and hold it as you start riding Eddie.

Now bouncing up and down, you mewl and cry, whining about how big it is. This only makes it more unbearable for him, desperately wanting to cum right that second. He continues to watch your tits bounce up and down, as did Steve. He looked so proud.

Eventually, you started to slow, growing tired. Eddie takes over, fucking up into you while you just hover. He hits your special spot over and over again, leaving you so overwhelmed you were almost crying real tears. That’s only intensified when he brings his thumb down to rub quick circles on your clit while he fucks you, and it only takes a minute.

“Oh, Eddie, I need to- please, sir.” You cry.

Eddie doesn’t immediately respond.

“She wants permission, eds. Won’t cum without it.” Steve reminds him.

“Yes, yes baby you can cum. Come on.”

“Oh, hold my hand, stevie.”

Your hand finds his and you lock your fingers together. When you tumble over the edge, you squeeze Steve’s hand tight.

“There you go, good girl.” He coos, comforting you through it.

“God- it got even tighter. Can’t fuckin’- ahh.”

Eddie pulls out of you very suddenly, giving his cock a couple of quick strokes before cumming all over your lower stomach and his hand. It kept on coming, he had so much built up just for you.

You marveled at the way it felt so warm and wet on your skin and the way it made his hand so sticky and shiny. You let go of Steve’s hand, and he gets up to go to another room. He re-emerges quickly with a towel, tossing it to Eddie who cleans you off first.

When you’re dry, you get out of his lap, and jump back into your little shorts and throw your shirt back on, cuddling into Steve who had sat back down in his original place on the other side of the couch. He pets your hair while you catch your breath, reassuring and praising you.

“You did so good for my friend, princess. That was very nice of you. Sharing for me.”

“Thank you.” You snuggle into his chest.

On the opposite side, Eddie was struggling. It had gotten in more places than just his fist, his legs too.

“Uhh, shit. Can I take a shower, dude? I think that’d be easier.”

“Yeah, you know where it is.” Steve nods.

“You sleepy?” He asks you, once you’re alone again.

“Mm. A little.”

“Let’s get you to bed then, and you can rest.”

You look up at him, sad. You didn’t want to be detached from his side but you also knew he was hanging out with someone already. He notices you thinking and pouting.

“You wanna know a secret?” He whispers, picking you up.

“Of course I do, stevie.” You answer softly.

“I’ll see you again. I might have to sneak off to your bedroom once Eddie falls asleep, might need you to take care of me.”

“Ooh. Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

“No no, just go to sleep. It’ll be late, you’ll wake up when you hear me come in. And I’ll just slip right into your bed with you.”

“Okay.” You nod. He eventually gets you all the way upstairs to your room even though you could walk just fine, setting you down and pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. You smile and blush, watching him as he walks away, flipping the light off before closing your door.

[majinbangus]

Hii <3 I love your blog so much especially it's about captain mactavish😩🤍so can I ask hcs about captain mactavish with his pregnant wife!and after birth because BOY he's so manly man

imma use the twins i’ve given soap, usually i picture ‘22 soap, but gonna write this with the captain in mind this time

Mans was prepared

Like a whole month early prepared before the due date. Got the overstay bag packed and everything.

It was sweet how on top of things he was about this–you expected nothing less from your special forces husband–but you thought it was a bit overkill how he was acting like you were a bomb about to explode, watching your every move, seeing if you needed him at a moment’s notice. You could barely breathe with how closely he was sticking by your side in that last month.

You had to tell him to relax, this wasn’t like the missions he went on, risking his life

And you know what he said?

“You’re right”

You are?

“Aye, it’s much more high stakes” 

This was going to be your life on the line, while he sat on the sidelines, unable to do anything while you would be in pain. 

Let the man fuss, goddammit. He’s preparing himself for every possible outcome, especially the worst ones, but he doesn’t say that

You shut up and let him fuss

When the time came for the twins to arrive, you didn’t feel an ounce of worry with John by your side

The birth went smoothly, thankfully, and as much as John loved his children, he wasn’t able to fully relax until you were confirmed to be okay, only then did the tension finally leave his body

Hard part was over, now he got the easy part: tending to your needs and helping with the twins

He wanted your recovery process to be as comfortable as possible, so every time you winced or needed help with anything, he was by your side in an instant, never judging you if you couldn't do something without needing him. in fact, he loved that he could help you

Sometimes you didn’t even have to say anything, John just knew how to read you and got you whatever you needed before you asked

And if the twins started crying or needed a diaper change?

He got it, you just worry about resting up, though if the twins need a feeding, he’ll be ready to help get them latched to your breasts

But if you don’t breastfeed, he’s also read up on other options to feed the babies

He made the whole transition into parenting a lot less daunting and your recovery went smoothly with him supporting you in anyway he could

You almost felt like you weren’t doing enough, but John reassured you

“I’ll be deployed soon enough. Let me be a Da to Gav and Greer while I’m still here. Let me take care of you before I go”

You were almost ready to give him another child for that. But two was enough, and you would be forever grateful of John for being your rock and anchor not only throughout the pregnancy, but also with your children

-

what do you guys think about the names Gavin and Greer MacTavish? took awhile for me to decide on the names

[darling-i-read-it]

Party Outfit

Homelander x supe!fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: the reader basically dies, grief, maybe some ooc homelander, canon type violence (death/gore is descriptive), I think that’s it but please let me know if there are more! 

Author’s Note: I gotta admit, I struggled with this one a bit! I wasn’t sure how to start and it isn’t my best work so I may come back to it again later but I didn’t want to make you wait! I hope you enjoy it regardless love! Homelander is such a tricky dude. Love him though. He’s so crazy. I love that in a man. 

Requested by anon: May I request a slow burn homelander x superhero! Reader, who has basically super healing powers like wolverine, so she’s probably the third strongest compared to homelander and Maeve. Homelander and reader are friends, because reader is one of the few people who took the time to care about him enough to look past the mask, and isn’t afraid of him. Something happens in a fight with a new supervillain, who’s power weakens everyone else’s around them. Reader saves homelander from a kill shot, but is killed themselves, and homelander just shatters and breaks down sobbing and clutching their body, after killing the villain. The Seven don’t know what to do to make him let go of the reader’s body, when she suddenly coughs and gasps back to life, shocking everyone and especially herself. It seems reader’s healing ability is stronger than anyone ever thought.                                                        I feel like homelander would be the clingiest person after all of that, lol.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“Are you ready?” 

Your voice sounded suddenly very close. Homelander turned around and jumped a bit at the sight of you. You were standing just beside him in your ‘party’ outfit. Vought thought it was better if you had two costumes, one of ads and one for actual fighting. It allowed them to continue the belief that they were all in on feminism while also marketing off your more ‘easy on the eyes’ outfits. Homelander only had one. Sometimes he wanted to have two, just to get some sort of diversity. Plus, you looked oh so nice in your party outfit. 

“Yup!” he exclaimed. You smiled briefly, taking a deep breath. After he and Maeve had broken up in the public, everyone had been hoping the two of you would finally call it and start dating. It would be perfect. The two most powerful supes in The Seven, a sublime situation for marriage and kids. The perfect American dream with the perfect American boy. 

You knew Homelander though. You knew that wasn’t exactly who he was. 

You also knew that he was your friend. 

“Is the President gonna be there?” you questioned, adjusting your corset. You looked at yourself in the mirror of Homelander’s apartment. His practical penthouse had become like a second home to you. You even helped him decorate it with some things he liked. You had to veto the baby bottles on the fire mantle and he agreed, it was in poor taste. 

“Likely,” he admitted. 

“Well then I’ll hide behind you. That okay?” 

“Always.” 

“Did they tell you about that new guy causing a fuss? The guy they sent The Deep after?” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure a lot of killing happened then and no octopuses were assaulted.” You scoffed. “No. What guy?” Usually he tried to stay in the loop but there was a lot going on. A lot being, so many superheroes and not nearly enough Homelander in his opinion. 

“Apparently he can weaken everyone else's power around him,” you observed. You stayed beside him, adjusting his cape. He looked down at it, observing you. 

“Well he hasn’t met me yet.” You hummed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You put your hand on his arm. 

“The car will be here soon. Ashley still thinks I’m in my room and if she sees me in here then our engagement is gonna be all over the papers,” you joked. He nodded, taking your hand off his arm and squeezing it. 

“Prepare for the President to ask to see your power.” 

“He can catch it on the news,” you grumbled. “See you downstairs.” He nodded once and let you go. He watched himself in the mirror, allowing himself to think about you a bit longer than your presence required. You knew him more than anyone else in the world. He wondered if it would be so bad to spend the rest of his life with you. He could’ve done it with Maeve, he could have made it look good. But with you, he might be able to be happy. Be himself, whatever that was. 

He turned, adjusting the cape as he walked out the door. He had a banquet to attend. 

-

“It’s better if just you two go. I’d send Maeve but I know you’ll just end up fighting and it’ll be on the news and we can’t handle another goddamn media break!” Ashley was standing in front of you in her office. You had never actually seen her sit down at the desk, she was always so stressed. Homelander stood beside you.

“That was one spat,” you argued. “We’re over it now. I like Maeve.”

“I don’t wanna risk anything,” Ashley said. “After the…incident with The Deep, I expect full obliteration of this guy.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Homelander stepped in. “We’ve got him.” 

You both knew that the best chance of a win was the two of you. You were the strongest of The Seven. Homelander could pack the punch and you could be the shield. You worked together well. 

“Any advice on how to dim his light a little?” you questioned. She shook her head. 

“Didn’t exactly get the best information from the guy who fought him before,” she grumbled. “But it was near water and we all know who lost the fight. Be careful. If either of you die…I mean it would make for a great swing of the media’s likeness of us but I would rather not have to deal with the funeral proceedings.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks Ashley.”

“I’m also sending Noir and Starlight 30 minutes after you land. Just in case.” 

“That’s insulting,” Homelander said. He had his hands folded behind his back, ever the good soldier. “We don’t need them.”

“Then they’ll just be your extraction. Now go.” Neither of you moved. She made a waving gesture with her hands. “Go. Go!” 

-

“I can’t stand the show outfit,” you muttered. You adjusted your neck in your soldier outfit, which wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was too tight in the wrong places but at least it provided you more protection from oncomers. Homelander was walking in front of you, scanning the area with disinterested eyes. Another job. At least he was with you. 

“It’s easy on the eyes.”

“And this one isn’t?” He shrugged. “I like your outfit. It’s bold. It’s iconic.” He smiled a bit, awkwardly, at the compliment. “I need a cape.”

“It’s a nuisance.” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You love that cape.” The cape was his thing though and you knew he didn’t want you to stumble onto his territory. “But I digress. Do you want to get dinner after this?” 

He always had food by himself, on the road, going from one meeting or killing to another. Dinners with you were sacred and special to him. You always asked and you watched a silly movie he pretended to hate and he could tell you about his day and you listened. He couldn’t remember any other person who listened like you. 

“As long as there are no noodles.” He always got them stuck in his throat. It was embarrassing. 

“No noodles. Duly noted. We could always-” Your sentence was cut short by you keeling over. You clutched your stomach. It felt like you were being drained, like all of the sudden you were far more tired than you had been in years. It reminded you of being run ragged, like you had run a marathon you weren’t prepared for. 

“What? What is it?” Homelander grabbed your elbow, holding you up. It was like you hadn’t even seen him, let alone felt him touch you. You stood up straight, giving him a pained look. 

“He’s here.” 

Homelander turned around, searching the warehouse the two of you had entered. It was abandoned by city records and vast. Not many hiding places. Homelander’s eyes turned red with anger and concentration. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” He called. He let you go, not being able to focus on your pain. You stood up straight, trying to allow your body to adjust. You tried to keep up with him but he was walking with purpose. You looked around, a blur of pain around your eyes. You had never felt so weak. 

“John,” you murmured. He didn’t turn around. 

“What? Scared?” 

There was a crack behind you. You turned on your heels, watching, waiting. The pain was getting bearable as your body started to adjust to it. Perks of fast feeling. High pain tolerance. 

Homelander shot his lasers at an abandoned car. It exploded into fire. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I don’t see anything!” he exclaimed. He turned to you. Just as he turned around, you saw someone come from behind the car, a gun in hand. Your eyes went wide. “You see-” 

You shoved him aside, taking the bullet intended for his head. 

It hit yours. 

It was like slow motion. He was stumbling and then you were down, a bullet between your eyes. The blood started to trickle down your forehead as you fell over onto the ground. He watched you fall backwards, eyes open in surprise. There was nothing going on behind them. 

He rushed forward to grab you before you hit the ground. 

On the bottom level of the warehouse, Starlight and Noir walked in. Ashley had sent them in only 10 minutes after the two of you. She was nervous, understandably so. Didn’t want to lose all four of you if you were separated and she knew that sending them afterwards was better for Homelander’s ego. 

“Do you hear that?” Starlight asked. She slowed to a stop as she listened closely. Some kind of whimpering. “It’s above us.” 

Noir looked up. Starlight started forward quickly, being followed by her Noir. 

When they reached the top floor they found a decapitated body at the feet of the stairs. A man with a gun was dead, two red dots between his chest burned through the skin. He still had his spinal cord dangling from his neck, clearly removed with force. 

In the middle of the room Starlight could see Homelander’s cape, sprawled on the ground. She could see your limp legs from behind him. He was shaking.

Annie had never seen him cry before. 

Noir approached before she even thought to. She wanted to call Maeve and ask her to come down in case Homelander decided to lash out but realized there was no time. If he hadn’t taken you somewhere…there was no pulse. 

She shared a glance with Noir. This was unsafe. 

“What happened?” Starlight asked quietly. There were tears streaming down his red cheeks. She wasn’t going to get a coherent answer. “We need to get help,” she said, even though she didn’t mean it. She just needed to say something. 

She had never seen The Homelander so broken. She thought about all the times before she saw him on the TV screen when she was growing up. Even now that she knew what he was, she held onto that shred of hope that he was like he had been on TV. She had never seen that in person, genuinely, until that very moment. When his shoulders shook and he was holding his only friend in his arms, wondering if she was really gone, if she was going to leave him alone. 

Annie never felt for Homelander until then. 

She shared a glance with Noir. He gave her nothing, he never did. 

“It should’ve been me,” he whispered. As Annie slowly approached she saw the bullet between your eyes. Your expressionless face was haunting. Annie saw dead people but she never saw those she cared about. She was reminded of Hughie. Homelander was holding his Hughie. “It was meant to be me.” 

Annie could give him no solace. She worried he would level the city for you. Maeve would try to remove him completely but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She would just have to let him stand there until your body got cold or he came to his senses that you weren’t going to wake up. 

Then you woke up. 

It was subtle, a slight breath. He hardly noticed it over his own drama but Starlight saw it. Her eyes went wide. Then you coughed, the bullet falling onto the other side of your head. Your head had healed itself, just like that. You squinted up at Homelander, unable to remember what had happened and why he was holding you. 

Your movement startled him. He tried to find a clear vision in his eyeline, something to blur away the tears. You brought your hand up and wiped them away. 

“I’m okay,” you said, voice dry. “I’m alright.” 

“But-but you-” he stumbled. 

“I’m okay.” It hurt, sure. You could feel the remnant of pain in your head, like your nerves hadn’t quite got the memo you were alive. You sat up and he threw his arms around you. The superstrength almost suffocated you but you were content with putting your arms around him too. 

You saw the big bad dead on the  other side of the room, between Annie and Noir. You shared a look with them. Annie was wiping tears from her eyes. You must have been dead for longer than you thought. 

“I’m okay,” you said again, this time for the two of them. Annie nodded. Homelander needed a moment. She gestured for Noir to follow her out. They collected the remaining body parts of the villain and left. 

Homelander let you go just enough to see your face. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily big guy,” you whispered. He wanted to cry some more, now that the floodgates were open. But he took a deep breath, allowing himself to even. You were still in his arms and that’s where you wanted to remain for the moment. It was safe here. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” he promised. He stood up, much to your dismay. He helped you stand, which took some wobbling. It was like you had just been born again. 

“Can you fly us out of here? I don’t know if I can walk,” you admitted. He nodded, quickly. 

“Of course. Hop on.” You made a sly smile and he rolled his eyes. You let him pick you up and carry you away, through the sunlit sky. 

-

Vought confirmed that you were okay. They triple checked your vitals but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You had sacrificed yourself for Homelander and you had lived. It was a curious thought, one not many people understood. They wanted to test your limits further but you vetoed it for the moment. You would rather not die over and over for the sake of science. 

Homelander decided he wanted to be on every mission you were on here on out. He would make up for that mistake time and time again. 

Sitting in his apartment, a place you were used to and practically lived in, was homey. Your ‘recovery’ was spent here. He had brought you some blankets from your room. The kindness from him was uncharacteristic but welcomed. 

He vowed if he couldn’t protect himself from Vought he would protect you. 

He would protect you and your silly movie nights and matching banquet outfits. 

He would have his life with you, Vought or not.

[a-libra-writes]

OKAY random jon snow and robb stark brainrot but yk how cats become way more cuddly and affectionate with pregnant women? like nuzzling against them, being more alert, snuggling more, and staying close to you? what if ghost and greywind were the same? they're much more protective of you and it's a common behavior in direwolves so as soon as ghost/greywind start growling at jon/robb you guys immediately know 😭 i can just imagine waking up with their little heads resting on your belly or staying much closer to you than usual. and maybe the same with dany's dragons? obviously they're not gonna be like all over you but i can imagine them being a bit more protective and caring than usual!! thanks in advance and love ur works

Anon ur so right also this was fun and cute to do <3<3 (also kind of an AU where Jon stayed behind to be a sworn man to Robb!)

So between the two direwolves, Greywind is the more outwardly protective and aggressive. It's like he sensed something was off from the start - if you weren't aware you were pregnant, you'd be confused in Greywind's sudden interest in you. He'd sit at the doorway and linger while you went about your business, and would side-eye anyone he didn't like getting too close. You and Robb found it odd, by amusing. It all made sense once you figured out your condition.

While you found your fluffy guard dog to be sweet, it was mildly terrifying to some of the servants ... even the ones who had been at Winterfell at their lives were anxious to see a massive wolf wandering the halls like some little Southern dog. You try sending him out during the day, but in the evening, it's being at your side or bust. He will howl and make a fuss, something Greywind normally only did if he was locked away from Robb. He wants to be right at the bedside or on top of the bed, which again is something Greywind has never done, even with Robb. Greywind has never been the most affectionate of the direwolves (that was Lady), but he'd actually rest his huge muzzle on your legs and accept a few pets. Usually, Robb and Jon were the only ones who could touch him.

Your husband is torn between finding it funny and being baffled. He teases about it often. "What have you been feeding him behind my back? I bet she's given you the butcher's scraps, hm? What's gotten into you, boy?"

(Your handmaidens aren't pleased because if they enter the room while you're still asleep, there's a huge direwolf perking his head up and growling at them. You've never been able to train him out of that ...)

If he really must stay out of the bedroom, then he lurks right outside the door. As much as Robb knows it unsettles the servants and night guards, Greywind standing guard makes him feel better about your safety. He tries to keep the direwolf occupied during the day so the servants don't have to worry so much.

When you're outside, regardless if it's a short walk to the Godswood or heading to Winter Town, Greywind follows you instead. The further along in your pregnancy you get and the slower you walk, the more he stays at your side, like he always did with Robb. There are many people who worry about essentially a wild animal being so close to Lady Stark - and what'll happen when the baby's born? - but you see nothing but protectiveness in Greywind's big eyes. He's always alert and wary around you; sometimes you and Robb worry about him never getting a chance to relax.

Now, if you were with Jon, it was Ghost who would be your little shadow. Which was interesting - he was the most independent of the direwolves, often leaving for days at a time to do his own thing. He began to linger closer to Winterfell, and when you'd go outside, you'd see him several feet away from you, following along. By the time you're a few months along, he was walking right at your side. He never went inside the Keep, so when you went inside Ghost would stay in the yard, acting like ... well, a ghost, waiting for you to come back out.

It gave Jon a lot of comfort to know you had a shadow. He couldn't always be by your side because of his duties, especially if Robb traveled, and he was relieved to know Ghost was suddenly so attached and keeping you safe. The direwolf had always been fond of his wife, but in a distant way - maybe once in a while you could stoke his neck or he'd follow you for an hour out of curiosity ... but that was all. Now he was lingering, pressing his nose at your abdomen and huffing, allowing plenty of head pats and ear scratches. Jon is very endeared by it all. He'd sit right at your side, close as possible, and laugh as Ghost huffs and tries to press between you two. White fur absolutely everywhere.

The direwolves being so close and oddly affectionate means you can get away with a lot more - like, say ... sitting them down and letting you brush them, teaching them to sit or lay down, putting food on their nose and having them wait for the signal to eat it. Robb is aghast that Greywind is actually being obedient (until he gets tired of it), Jon just laughs and doesn't expect Ghost to stick to it. He assumes once you have the baby, his direwolf will go back to his adventurous, aloof self. In the back of his head, Robb is a little worried Greywind will get possessive once the baby is born. He plans to bring Greywind with him on his travels, in case he gets too overly protective of you and the child.