#i can feel the judgmental looks from miles away </3

[koishua]

everyday i see hot men and women in their late twenties and i think to myself: no vera they're like ten years older than you, you're still technically a minor you SHOULDN'T—

[motherlvr]

3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

SPOILERS FOR ATSV

read part 2 here!

3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.

Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)

A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out

1.

Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.

"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.

Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.

"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.

After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.

It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.

After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"

Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.

You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.

2.

Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.

Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.

While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.

"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."

Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"

Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.

You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.

You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.

3.

If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.

"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.

"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.

"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.

You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.

The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.

You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.

Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.

+1

Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.

As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.

Oh, great. It's the Prowler.

This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.

As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.

I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.

"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.

You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.

The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.

"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.

He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.

His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."

Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.

"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.

Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.

“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.

"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.

"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.

When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.

Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.

"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.

Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.

He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.

Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.

---------

part 2!

[gtgbabie0]

thank you! in that case may i request a comfort fic where leon sees the readers old s.h scars for the first time? maybe they’re on the couch or in bed together and he sees them and comforts the reader? i know you said it was okay but if at any point you don’t feel comfortable writing it please don’t force yourself to :)

-Leon Kennedy x reader

Hope this is okay my love! Take care of yourself &lt;3

cw for old sh scars

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“What you thinking bout pretty?” Leon whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before joining you on the sofa, lazily wrapping his arm around you and bringing you to his side.

You’re miles away looking down at your hands, your eyes studying the small lines, how some connect and some lead to nothing, “Mm not much, just how stupidly handsome you are” you smile as Leon rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, real smooth baby,” he says, noticing the way your eyes crinkle with joy as you let out small giggles.

The house is quiet apart from the slight potter patter of the rain against the windows, and the commentary of the ocean documentary that’s playing on the tv.

Leon beings to draw patterns against your hip as you lean into his side and without thinking you brought your legs up onto the sofa, knees against Leon’s thigh, and your heart practically sinks when the fabric of your shorts rise to the tops of your thighs, revealing the scarred skin.

And Leon studies the lines that are scattered against your skin, how they’re all different shapes, and his heart breaks at the sight.

You quickly plant your feet back onto the wooden floor grasping at the fabric as you pull it down, and you’re praying that Leon hasn’t seen them but the look on Leon’s face tells a different story.

His brows are pulled together with worry, his mouth slightly agape as if he couldn’t believe the sight, and your mouth goes dry and all the words want to say wedge in the back of your throat.

“Leon— it” you wince at how shaky your voice is and you’re shocked when he grasps at your hand with a sad smile, “I’m sorry, they’re old— I was in a bad place and I- I’m” you trail off struggling to find the words and panic seeps into your heart as you try your best to explain yourself before Leon can conjure up any negative conclusions.

And you’re surprised when his hand cups your cheek making you look up at him, his face is soft and loving yet there’s still a thread of worry that’s woven through his face.

“It’s alright- it's alright, baby, you don’t have to explain anything to me, not if you’re not ready to talk about it yet, okay?” He says with a loving smile, and nod whispering a small ‘okay’.

And you’re shocked, you’re so used to others' judgment, having to hide them with shame but with Leon it’s different.

“You don’t have to cover them around me- it's just I don't want you to feel like you have to hide them for my sake” he presses a kiss against your hairline, you’re swimming in his love and you sigh as tears well up in your eyes while you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

He can feel a small damp patch against his shirt as you cry and he rubs the expanse of your back, letting you cry against him, “Thank you, Leon— so much” you whisper your voice wobbles.

“Baby you don’t have to thank me,” he says, and you almost can’t believe how caring he is, how patient he’s being, “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it I’m here, always.” You pull away from him looking at his soft eyes as he wipes away your tears.

“Okay— I love you Leon” you whisper and he kisses your forehead bringing you back into him.

“I love you to baby, so much” he replies and a comfortable silence blankets you both as you zone back into the ocean documentary that’s still playing on the tv.

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[specialinterestshows]

I am begging please write a finndamian fic where Damian is jealous Jealous of jd like ready to beat his ass in the ring jealous because he’s always around Finn and Finn seems to Like jd around to the point he defends jd n not Damian n it’s just a lot of jealous Damian (sucker for it) that ends in Finn or Damian just like exploding everything coming out and then u know ends with damianfinn .. I just think the way u somewhat explored it in ur rhea x reader fic was beautiful and I need more of it and especially because the way Damian gets on raw abt jd like when Finn thanked jd during that one segment and Damian had the most dramatic eye roll or how every time jds around Damian’s angrily like “why is he even here” or when jd TALKS to damian n he looks ready to punch his face in and I just want the inside of Damian’s jealous mind sprawled out in a fic u write u know I mean obviously you don’t have to but ur a mastermind to ME ! Sorry this is all rushed I just am a sucker for finndamian n jealous!damian (jealous!finn too tbh but we r getting sm jealous!damian it never leaves my mind) I hope this somewhat makes sense to you 😭😭😭

Thank you so much for the lovely compliments! I can do that!

The following is the first section of a 3-part Finn Balor x jealous!Damian Priest ficlet, My M.O. (Missed Opportunity). Anyone can let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next two sections!

Warnings for this section: Rejection-sensitive dysphoria, jealousy

My M.O. (Missed Opportunity) (Part 1/3): 200 KM/H In The Fastlane

"No me toques, cabron," Damian snapped as JD McDonagh tried to help steady him, JD flinching away at the command, "You've done too much already."

"I'm so-" JD began to apologize for accidentally hitting the limping man with his own briefcase in front of a live audience.

"Don't care!" Damian yelled, grunting as he lifted himself up onto the exam table, ignoring the worried looks from the other members of the Judgment Day that surrounded him as he continued, "Just leave."

JD immediately looked over at Finn, who looked back and forth between Damian and JD. The latter sighed, turning and slowly walking away from the Judgment Day.

Seeing this, Finn gave Damian a fleeting look of apology before hurrying to catch up with the dejected man. As much as Damian's leg hurt, watching Finn decide to go after JD hurt more.

“Like I don’t even matter,” Damian muttered to himself.

Rhea looked like she wanted to say something, but the medic walked in, followed by two people wheeling in a portable x-ray machine. Dominik gave Damian a pat on the shoulder before moving out of the way, but nothing could make Damian feel any better about his current situation. Wounded by the man who took Finn from him - on the night he needed to cash in, with the very suitcase JD gave to him as a show of camaraderie. What a joke, Damian thought.

Damian winced as he moved his leg to the position the medic instructed and did his best to remain still for the x-ray, despite his blood boiling. Ever since JD McDonagh showed his face and started sticking his nose in Judgment Day business, nothing seemed to go right for Damian. Even his timing was terrible; Damian had planned on talking to Finn about the way he had been feeling the night JD first started interfering. It had taken him days to work up the courage to talk about-

But it didn’t matter now. Finn stopped hanging out with Damian before and after shows, Finn’s time now being consumed by whatever he and his “old friend” did together. Nothing hurt quite like a man he had once considered his best friend never mentioning this “friend” he seemed to like so much more than Damian. Now, every time he saw JD McDonagh's face, Damian saw the life he could be having right now, with Finn - and it felt like it was hundreds of miles away.

The moment Damian limped out the door - having been told his bones were intact, but he still needed to go easy on his leg - his eyes landed on JD, Finn close behind him.

“Not in the mood, blanquito,” Damian growled as JD opened his mouth.

“You two stay civil while Dom and I bring the car around,” Rhea ordered, walking between JD and Damian on her way through the parking lot.

“Just wanted to apologize,” JD muttered under his breath.

“No va a cambiar nada,” Damian spat, feeling a deep ache in his chest as he caught a glance of Finn putting his hand on JD’s shoulder before looking out into the parking lot instead.

“Look, Damian,” Finn began, making the man he was addressing look him dead in the eyes.

“I’m sick of this!” Damian exploded, “Stop defending him!” - Damian couldn’t stop himself from gripping Finn by both arms as he kept shouting - “Que estás haciendo con el? He’s just some guy!”

“He’s my friend!” Finn replied, angry, but mostly confused, “He’s important to me!”

“And I’m not?” Damian yelled, wincing as Finn shook off Damian’s grip and he had to put more of his weight on his injured leg.

“Fuck, sorry-“ Finn said, moving back closer to Damian to try and give him something to lean on.

“Save it,” Damian stopped him with one hand, having already found his balance again. Then, seeing Finn look a bit hurt, he added, “But thanks.”

Rhea soon pulled up the Judgment Day’s rental car as close as she could to the curb, Dominik lounging in the passenger’s seat next to her.

“That’s my ride,” Damian said to Finn, limping toward the back seats, “Y no voy a sentarme con tu novio, so don’t even ask if he can come with.”

[end part one of three]

Part 2/3: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/730942190172454912/my-mo-missed-opportunity-part-23-a

[leighsartworks216]

Period Pains

Darkiplier x AFAB!reader

My period just started today and it’s killing me and instead of thinking about how I want to rip my uterus out, I’m writing this drabble

Warnings: talk of period stuff, if this subject will give you dysphoria please don’t read, just some fluff

Word Count: 843

Masterlist

When the sun rose and the birds began chirping, Dark awoke expecting to find you curled into his chest. Often he’d wake up closer to you than he ever believed possible, the blankets a tangled heap tying you together. But today, his arms were empty and the side of the bed opposite his was empty.

He searched the room first, but wherever he looked there was no sign of you.

His body cracked and creaked as he finally dragged himself out of bed. He no longer groaned and winced at the pain that rippled through his once-dead shell, though some days were worse than others. Today, he was grateful it was only a dull pain. It would have been completely unnoticeable had you been there.

The only sound throughout the small house he resided in with you was his footsteps as he padded down halls, peeking into doors. Your vacancy was beginning to worry him. He could feel afterimages of himself re-checking rooms, looking around frantically, grabbing at the walls to propel themselves forward. They were startled away when a beep sounded out from the kitchen.

Dark, in all honesty, didn’t remember walking the rest of the way there. If he teleported, he didn’t think too much on it, because he was too focused watching you pull out a tray from the oven.

“Dearest,” his sudden presence made you jump and almost drop the tray, but he had the good sense to wait until you were holding it over the stove to speak, “what are you doing baking at this hour?”

You awkwardly turned off the oven as it began to beep again, and pointed to the clock on the wall. “It’s only 7:23.”

Even though his eyes were completely dark, you could tell he rolled them. “You know what I mean.” He gestured around the kitchen to the mess you’d left out, not judgmentally, but certainly accusatorially. “Why did you get up so early to make brownies? I would have been happy to help you when we woke up, together.”

“Uhm, well, you see,” you fidgeted with your hands, talking almost a mile a minute, “I woke up at like 3 and I was really craving chocolate so I got up and I had a little bit of candy, but then I remembered we had brownie mix in the pantry so I just sorta impulsively decided to make them.”

Dark’s brow furrowed. “You don’t usually have cravings that strong, dear.”

You fidgeted even more, but now you wouldn’t meet his gaze. You played it off as though you were simply grabbing a knife to cut the brownies.

“My love, tell me what’s wrong,” he cooed. When you turned back toward the brownies, Dark was standing in front of them, worry pulling his face down and colors flickering to each side of him. “Please talk to me.”

“I want to it’s just...” You felt warmth rise to your cheeks as you looked away from him once again. “It’s really embarrassing to talk about.”

“My dear,” he began, firmer this time. One hand wrapped around your waist as the other cupped your cheek to get you to look at him. “I love you. No matter how embarrassing something may feel, it will not stop me loving you. Now, tell me what is wrong so that I may help you as efficiently as I can.”

You took in a deep breath and fiddled with the front of his pajama shirt. He waited patiently for you to find your voice. When you did, it wasn’t at all what he had been expecting.

“I got my period last night,” you murmured. “Now I just have really bad cravings and cramps and I wanna cry but I don’t have any reason to and-”

He shushed you softly. “It’s alright, love. One thing at a time, yes?” Once you nodded, he kissed your forehead. “We’ll have brownies for breakfast, and I can supply you with any other foods you may be craving throughout the week. If you wish to let out your over-active emotions, I suggest we watch a film. Finally, you should take medication for your cramps, and I would be more than happy to cuddle with you if that would also help. How does all that sound?”

Something wet touched his thumb and he looked down at you, worried he had messed up somehow, because, sure enough, you were crying. He removed his hand from your waist to cup your cheek, using his thumbs to brush away the tears that fell from your eyes and slipped down your cheeks.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, I-”

You shook your head, sniffling. The hand that wasn’t holding a butterknife held the back of one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m okay,” you assured him. “I’m okay. It’s just- No one’s ever offered to do so much for me when I’m like this.”

“Dearest, you deserve the world.” He pressed several kisses to your forehead and your wet cheeks. “Especially, when you are like this.”

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

happy new year kat! ✨ I'm here to ask you some fun questions from the writer goal ask list ☺️

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

hello!! happy new year!! :3 i hope you're having a good holiday 🥰

send me some writer asks!

💖 what is your primary writing goal for this year?

probably to write and publish this mafia fic! i have some key scenes plotted/written out so hopefully i can actually churn out this fic at some point in time i do have a few other WIPs but i'm hesitant to set a goal for those until i get this mafia fic done uwu

🥸 does anyone in irl know you write fanfic or original fiction? if not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

yea i'm pretty open about it LMAO i used to not be, and then i kinda realized that if they're gonna be judgey about it, i dont really want them in my life, and just got sick of keeping up a facade for irls. not everyone knows that i write smut tho lololol

💥is there a chapter, scene, or wip you're most excited to write? share a snippet or tell us about it!

*digs thru mafia fic to find something that doesn't give away spoilers* here's a lil scene that made me 💦 while writing it

“Care to explain yourself?” Levi finally broke the silence as he frowned at you. In truth, he knew why you were there and who you worked for, but he wanted to hear it from you. Although he knew that the information that Eld had dug up on you was undoubtedly true, there was a small part of him that hoped for a simpler explanation. “Explain what?” you scolded, looking directly into his silvery eyes. “I think you’re the one that needs to do the explaining. Why the hell are you chasing me around?” “Why the hell did you feel the need to run?” he retorted. You fell silent, knowing that Levi had a point. You didn’t have a good way to explain why you had to run without revealing the truth. You were trying to leave the vicinity after sneaking the toxin into Dimo’s drink. You could have simply told Levi that you had to leave, but the fact that you broke out into a sprint to get away from him meant that you were purposefully trying to get away. Levi was clouding your judgment. On any other day, you’d talk your way out of the situation, only resorting to running in life or death situations.  He scoffed upon seeing that you couldn’t come up with a good response, taking a step back before leaning forward towards you again. You shivered as you felt his lips brush up against your ear. “I know you poisoned Dimo Reeves’ drink,” he whispered into your ear and you felt your blood run cold upon realizing that he knew what you were there for all along. “Needless to say, your little assassination attempt didn’t go as planned.” You opened your mouth with your mind going at a million miles an hour to try to come up with a way to deny his accusations, although they were undoubtedly true. “You’re from [reader's organization that I don't have a name for yet], aren’t you?” he asked without giving you a chance to respond.  You were frozen in shock as you listened to Levi list off your first and last name and your position as an assassin for [reader's organization]. “Don’t ask me how I know,” he mumbled before stepping back so that he could look into your eyes directly again, “but I do.” You were much too aware of how he felt against you right now. That, plus the anxiety creeping into your body from realizing that he knew who you were all along, made it next to impossible for you to think.

spoiler alert, the next chapter opens up with him interrogating you by eating you out and not letting you finish until you confess (✿◡‿◡)

[vinmauro]

edancy for this ask game bc u knew i was gonna ask JBDHKJ

both you and @keerysquinn asked for edancy so i'll answer both here<3

when I started shipping it if I did: july 2022 bc of kai. 7 miles rewrote my brain. actually i am pretty sure that i asked about your rarepair and i was instantly on board.

my thoughts: there's just so much potential with them. you can go with before show vibes, au vibes, after show eddie!lives vibes. there is so much. seven miles can't be for nothing!!

What makes me happy about them: a bit same as before, the possibilities and potential with them. that there is a shared survivor's guilt, in a sense, that they don't necessarily have with other characters. chrissy may not have been eddie's best friend so the emotional baggage there is different, but they both failed to save someone lost to the upside down. and that they both went into that final battle knowing that there was a chance they wouldn't get out but it had to end. i think they really could have had something. platonically. romantically. anything.

What makes me sad about them: that people are rude about shipping them, that eddie's dead, that their potential isn't realized.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: mischaracterization of nancy which i don't see often bc there's so few of us but i think that would be one thing to annoy me.

things I look for in fanfic: anything with them tbh. just more. more than i can give.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: i mean i ship steddie, hellcheer, ronance, etc. just like eddie x happiness, nancy x happiness.

My happily ever after for them: eddie & nancy living in boston enjoying their lives away from hawkins, away from grief and judgment. basically the ending of i will love you without any strings attached. (shameless fic plug)

who is the big spoon/little spoon: i think personally they switch. depending on how either is feeling. eddie loves being the little spoon tho i'll say that.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: reading together. either one reading out loud or both silent. usually next to each other. or my favorite thing to picture is one sitting with the other's head in their lap and there's a hand absently playing with the other's hair.

send me a ship, a character or ask me to rank 5

[otherdimensionalapple]

hii : 3 im not sure if your personal readings are open right now so please ignore this if they aren’t and im so sorry, i just couldn’t find it on ur page

if we’re allowed to ask for more then one reading, can i get a reading on my f.s. personality?

initials: hdcm

big three: scorpio sun, leo rising, aquarius moon

two favorite emojis: 🥳☺️

i hope i followed all the rules 💜thank you so much for your time and energy

disclaimer: I'm really sorry for the late reply. I'm back now and I will try to finish the reading requests in my inbox! Fyi, I will try to keep my readings shorter, so that I can get more readings done. I still hope you enjoy the reading nevertheless.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐒

They seem to be very independent and wise. Someone who is self confident and ambitious. Their independence truly makes them stand out from the crowd. They could be something like an entrepreneur. They are the type that doesn’t take no for an answer and can spot insincerity from miles away. They highly value honesty in others and aim to be as honest as possible themselves. They don’t like keeping people in suspense and won’t allow others to treat them this way either. I think when they feel disrespected in any type of way, you can be sure they will take action accordingly. You won’t see such a person stay in a situation that doesn’t do them justice anymore. Although they might come across as unemotional to some, they are quite empathic. They are someone who has high standards and is prone to perfectionism.

They might actually have a very friendly personality. They often only feel happy once they are in a deep and meaningful relationship. They might always be looking for true love and once they have it they feel at peace with themselves and the world. I think they would do almost anything for love. They might care about their appearance and work hard to have a great career so that they will be attractive to their partners. The motivation behind why they put in all the effort is so that they feel more worthy of finding and keeping love.

They could be very robust with plenty of energy. I think they care deeply about those around them and are very generous. They might have a good singing voice and they might be strong and reliable. If they are spiritual, they show their spiritual side through good deeds, patience, and generosity. They are the type that loves to laugh and is drawn towards entertainment of all kinds. Very loyal person.

They might often get lost in their heads and be unable to see the bigger picture. I think it is not uncommon that they get fixated on non-important details and issues. Their prioritization is often poor and they become confused as a result. They might often feel misunderstood, and they make snap judgments. It could be that they often focus more on appearance and image over substance and truth.

@kisskissjk

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - April 18, 2024

Wake up - the eruptions are here!

Zephaniah 2:2-3 Before the decree is issued, Or the day passes like chaff, Before the Lord's fierce anger comes upon you, Before the day of the Lord's anger comes upon you! Seek the Lord, all you meek of the earth, Who have upheld His justice. Seek righteousness, seek humility. It may be that you will be hidden in the day of the Lord's anger.

Today, Indonesian authorities issued a tsunami warning after Ruang Mountain erupted, sending ash thousands of feet into the sky. They ordered more than 11,000 people to evacuate the area.

This brings to mind a story from the late 1800s, when witnesses to a volcanic eruption were convinced that it signaled the end of the world.

It was 1883, and Captain Sampson of the British Navy witnessed one of the greatest volcanic eruptions in history, which took place in Indonesia. The eruption was so powerful that its shock waves traveled around the world seven times. The volcano shot miles of debris into the atmosphere, which fell to earth as far away as Madagascar, over a 2000-mile distance. Captain Sampson wrote in the ship's log: "I am writing this blind in pitch darkness. We are under continual rain of pumice stone and dust. So violent are the explosions that the eardrums of over half my crew have been shattered … I am convinced that the Day of Judgment has come."

These men witnessed something extraordinary, and it caused them to ponder the inevitable question -- Is this the end? What was the crew thinking and feeling as they were deafened by the massive explosions and blinded by the clouds of smoke and ash? To them, it must have been as if the sun had become like sackcloth! Did this experience change their lives? Were they now powerfully aware of how fragile life is? Did they suddenly begin to examine what their lives had consisted of up to that moment?

Imagine yourself in that boat as these events are taking place. Now picture yourself in the present moment … are you thinking about what your life has been about or what it is now? Are you thinking about what it could be??

Wake up. Recognize that eruptions are already taking place, and these are the Lord's warnings to this sleeping world; warnings that His return is NEAR! We are privileged to be witnesses and participants in the most extraordinary times as the end of the age draws near. But God is looking for people who are awake, wise, who understand the signs of the times, and who know Him … so they can take action and shine like stars in a darkening world-- will you be one of them?

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Dallas, TX) (Baltimore, Maryland)

Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. - https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: We are planning our summer Tour so if you would like us to minister at your congregation, home fellowship, or Israel focused event, be sure to let us know ASAP. You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

[brian-stackhouse]

I’m 6ft6in / 198cm tall, 380lbs, FAT, no tattoos, and no piercings. I don’t have kids, I don’t want kids, I definitely don’t want to be a step-dad, and I’ve had a Vasectomy. I’m debt-free, drug-free, and disease-free. I have no criminal record, I don’t smoke, and rarely drink. I spend most of my money on restaurants, and traveling. I live 70 miles east (inland) of Los Angeles, in San Bernardino, and own a barren, empty, 880sqft, upstairs, apartment flat, with no furniture, and a mattress on the floor.

I’m quiet, dyslexic, Pisces, INFP, left-handed, an auditory learner, and an only child. I love museums, tombstones of forgotten heroes, nonfiction audiobooks, podcasts, and SiriusXM. I loathe dogs watching me eat, gravel trucks, political parties, meaningless banter, negativity, hype, and people who project their biases onto me because I have a dumb, grumpy look.

I was 200lbs lighter, and used to spend 3 hours a day doing cardio 7 days a week so I’d be awesome in bed. I’ll have to find another motivation for utilizing my multiple gym memberships; because everyone thinks they’re smart, a good driver, or good in bed. While a good meal has been more rewarding than being thin, I intend on having a 2nd act.

I’ve finished at least 5 nonfiction audiobooks every week for the last 20 years; and in that time I’ve given up on twice as many that didn’t interest me. As I drive for work, commute to work, and commute to school; nonfiction audiobooks are my world away from the traffic, the road rage, and the judgment of those hurried west-siders who probably cringe at the thought of being me.

I love driving because I’m free to spend my time thinking about the things I choose. I could make more money but having a reason to rush home would be preferable. I want to be more than just a steady paycheck, or a sturdy sperm donor to some bored, suburban, working-woman that’s looking for a man to make her laugh. I’d like to think that I haven’t given up on finding a wife, but my 5XLT shirts from KingSize foretell something else.

Before Covid I traveled to more countries than I can remember. I liked researching cheap international flights, and possible itineraries when I was stuck someplace dull. Since my parents are deceased, a goal of mine is to acquire transferable skills so I can live anywhere in the world someday; hopefully before I become a faded copy of the man I am today.

I’m a very hard sell. It seems that money has never gotten me anything more than liberty; and only my own ignorance to that, has ever taken away from life’s freedoms. I value experiencing, and learning new things over possessions, and status. Notwithstanding, I still strongly believe in personal property rights, and the 2nd amendment.

Conversely, as I begin to look back with a broadening vantage onto the meandering path that brought me here. I can clearly see now that at no time did I ever choose; the internal motivations or people, that gave my life the most meaning.

Being born, and living my entire life in the Los Angeles area; has unjustly led me to believe sometimes, that most people don’t know how to be happy with themselves without trashing others; and that the nuclear family was a romanticized notion that never actually existed; supposing I know these things not to be true.

I’ve learned the hard way that thinking the universe was meaningless, and completely random; only led to more of the same wasteful behaviors in my own life. I’m not at all religious; however, I would rather spend the rest of my life alone; than bring one more child into this world that does not grow up in an intact loving home, with a strong connection to god.

While my gifts, choices, and experiences have set me apart, and kept me estranged from others; I’m still hopeful because I’ve learned the most from the people I thought I’d least want to meet. Therefore I try not to believe everything I think.

When I wander from what I know, I feel as though this journey is my own, and in that moment I feel anything but alone. When I think about all the things I love about life, I feel indescribably loved. I’m grateful for the time you’ve given me. I share this awkward writing of a simple life with you in the hope that its beauty is mutually appreciated, for my truths might be the only thing I’ll ever have to offer you. Take care….

[scuttling]

Time After Time - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 7,362 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Coworkers with benefits, Rough sex, Anal sex, Praise kink, Biting, Mentions of drugs in passing, Angst Summary: Your relationship with Aaron is born of a mutual need for casual stress relief, but soon enough it leaves you feeling in over your head. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read below! “Okay, so tell me what you did,” you say softly to your sister when you are both seated at the kitchen island with cups of chamomile tea. “No judgment.” You held her while she cried, grabbed a makeup remover wipe so she could freshen up, ordered some soup and sandwiches from the deli down the street, and now you need to know the severity of her situation so you can figure out how the hell you’re going to clean it up.

“Well, uh. I was hanging out with this friend of mine, Mike. He was going to take me to a party, but he said we had to make a stop first.” You can see where this is going from a mile away, exhale deeply and rub a hand over your head.

“Let me guess: Shady part of town, drove down the street very slowly? Someone approached the window?” She bites her lip, nods her head. “Alright, so your friend Mike is a drug dealer. What happened next?”

“Well, he made the—the deal, and handed me the money to hold, and we were getting ready to leave when someone else flagged him down. He said the guy didn’t look familiar, and he usually doesn’t stop for anyone he doesn’t know, but money is money, so he slowed down again. He was almost to the car, but the first guy yelled out that it was an undercover cop, and so Mike sped away.”

“Is that it?” you prod gently when she looks down at her hands.

“No. We went down the block, and I was mad at him, so I told him to stop and let me out of the car. He did, and I got out, and then these two cop cars came flying down the road and stopped in front of him with their lights and sirens on. I... freaked out and I ran.”

You purse your lips, inhale deeply, try to calm your thoughts before you lose it on her, ask why she’s so irresponsible she can’t even stick around to face the consequences of her actions.

“Was Mike arrested?”

“I didn’t see, but I’m guessing, with the drugs and money, yes?” She’s close to crying again, her voice small, childlike, and you reach over and cover her hand with yours.

“It’s alright. I’ll drive you down to the station and we can tell the police what happened. It’s better if you get ahead of it, in case they want to put a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Wait, what? Arrest? But I didn’t do anything!” She looks up, eyes wide and wet, puts her other hand on yours and squeezes it almost too tightly. “I swear I didn’t do anything. I don’t even think Mike knows my last name. I could just lay low.”

“The police will figure it out, believe me; we’ve gotten a lot of information on less than a first name.” She lets out a rough, broken sob, and you rub a hand up and down her back. “Hey, listen. You came back here, came to me for help, so we have to do this the right way. I need you to trust that this is the best way.”

You’re about to suggest she get changed so you can head down to the station when there’s a knock at the door—the food you ordered, certainly. You excuse yourself, push her mug of tea toward her, and then head for the door; you don’t even check to see who is on the other side, certain it’s the delivery driver, so you’re surprised when it’s Aaron, looking determined, with the bag of food you ordered in his hands.

“He came right as I was walking up, so I paid for it,” he says, handing you the bag. You take it from him, open your mouth to thank him, but he raises his palm and you pause. “I know what you’re trying to do: push me away so you can prove to yourself that people always leave, that you can’t rely on anyone. Well I’m not going to let you; I’m staying.”

You swallow at his words, feel that familiar ache in your chest that is almost always accompanied by that serious look on his face, and then remember your crying sister and her troubles, sigh and briefly close your eyes.

“Thank you, Aaron, so much, but it’s not a good time.” He shakes his head.

“It may never be a good time for you, but I’m here anyway. I’m not leaving you tonight.” You set the food down on the entryway table, rest your hands on his chest like you’ve done so many times before, look up into his eyes.

“And that’s… sweet, and kind, and lovely, I appreciate it, really—but you should go.”

“Who’s this?” your sister asks with a sniffle as she walks around the corner and sees the two of you standing by the door. You step away from him, let your hands fall to your sides.

“This is Aaron. My boss,” you explain, because the rest is too complicated for tonight, and she snorts, crosses her arms.

“Huh. Guess I misjudged Little Miss Perfect, if that’s how you greet your boss.” You wonder what’s set her off, how she went from upset to angry so quickly, but in the back of your mind you remember that’s just the way she is. “Hi, I’m the fuck up sister, I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” Aaron looks over at her, her watery eyes, defensive posture, and then back at you; his expression softens, goes from profiler to concerned… whatever he is to you.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say casually, your go-to line, and he takes a deep breath, puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Let me help you. Let me prove that you can rely on me. Please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, too overwhelmed by your fight, and then your sister’s baggage, and his sudden reappearance, not to mention you’re still starving—oh, and you were cracked in the back of the head with a shovel just mere hours ago. The fact that it’s still Sunday is kind of blowing your mind.

“Alright, you convince her that she needs to turn herself in to the DC metro police.” Aaron looks quickly to your sister, then back to you, to your sister again.

“What? Turn herself in for what?”

“She was in the car with some dumbass who was dealing drugs; she got out of the car to walk home, and then police surrounded the car and she fled the scene.”

“Why did you run?” he asks her softly, addressing her directly for the first time, and she throws her hands up.

“I was scared! And—you know, she’s a federal agent, or whatever. I didn’t want to humiliate her,” she says quietly, with a shrug, and you huff a laugh.

“Don’t pretend for a second that you were thinking about me while running from the police. You were covering your own ass, as usual.” Just like that, her somewhat open expression becomes closed off, guarded, much like your own.

“I don’t know why you think I’m this selfish jerk. Of course I thought of you, I always think of you. You have always treated me like a baby, but I’m not.” Aaron, used to diffusing situations far tenser than this one, takes a step closer to your sister, so he’s between you, raises his hands.

“Alright. We’re going to the police station; I’ll drive. If there’s a warrant out for your arrest, they’re going to come here looking for you, anyway. It’s better for you if you go in of your own accord,” he explains, and she nods like it makes sense to her. “You should change into something less casual, but still comfortable, in case they detain you for a while—that's the worst case scenario, but it helps to be prepared.”

“You can get something from my closet if you need,” you offer, feeling a little tamer as Aaron steps in to control the situation; you can’t deny, it feels really good to let him take the lead. “I’ll be right there.” She nods, heads for your bedroom, and Aaron stops you with his hands on your shoulders.

“My guess is this food is here because you haven’t eaten yet, so you must be starving. You sit down for a moment, eat something, okay? I’m going to make a few calls.” He leans in to kiss your forehead again, but this is sweet, tender, not sorrowful and heartbreaking like the kiss from before. He pulls back, heads for the living room, and you grab the bag of food, take it to the kitchen, and eat half a sandwich, a few spoonfuls of soup.

Your sister comes out looking more put together, a simple, practical outfit she’s pieced together from both of your wardrobes, her face cleared of makeup, hair pulled back tightly, neatly. She looks like she could be going to a job interview, which is a cute—and then depressing—thought, considering the circumstances. You stand, squeeze her shoulder, and then instruct her to eat something while you go get dressed.

You’ve just tucked a white button-down blouse into a pair of black jeans, slipping back into your work persona as quickly as you’d shed it, when you hear the soft rap of knuckles at your door. You call for Aaron to enter—and it is Aaron, you can easily tell by the softness of his knock—and he looks you over with a penetrating gaze, then steps closer, rests his hand against your throat like he did earlier in the evening.

“I assume you were too caught up in your sister’s situation to remember these,” he murmurs, and when he presses his thumb lightly against your skin, you feel a jolt of painful pleasure and your face heats.

“Shit. She didn’t say anything,” you groan, thinking of the two bite marks he left, and he softly laughs, pulls away.

“She was caught up too, I imagine. Are you going to cover them up, or just change? I put the food away, started the car.”

“Well, I’m running low on turtlenecks; someone needs to remember to bite me in a less conspicuous area next time,” you tease, and then you flash back to your argument, how that could have been the end—no more next time. He seems to recall the memory too, looks a little lost, then serious, and you lean up, wrap an arm around his back, pull him close for a slow, gentle kiss. “I know we have a lot to talk about, and I’m—I’m sorry I hurt you earlier. You didn’t deserve the things I said, my behavior.”

“I didn’t,” he agrees, but he takes your chin in his hand, tilts your face up so he can brush his lips over yours. “And we do have a lot to talk about. But one thing at a time: let’s go hand your sister over to the authorities.” “Alright, so she’s able to go home tonight,” Aaron says approximately half an hour later, when he walks over to where you are seated in the police station, waiting for news; you’re not used to being the one on this side of things, and the lack of updates has put you on edge. “I told them I would personally see to it that she attends her hearing. She’ll have to stay in DC at least until then.”

You stand up, nod in understanding, cross your arms to hold yourself together, not to defend.

“You didn’t have to do that—leverage your position, or your contacts, whatever you did to make that happen. I could have bailed her out if they wanted to book her.”

“I know. This isn’t about obligation for me, it’s about wanting to help you and your family,” he says softly, and he presses his palm to your back, the warm weight of it comforting and very much appreciated.

“Thank you. I truly am grateful and I know she is too.” He laughs softly, nods in agreement.

“Yes, she is; she already expressed her gratitude… among other things.” His playful tone of voice makes you groan.

“What did she say? Did she ask you why you’re wasting your time with someone so obviously guarded?”

“I believe her exact words were ‘emotionally stunted,’ but essentially yes.” You sigh—at this point she can spend the night in jail for all you care—but he just smiles. “She also said you’d be quite a catch, if you just let someone in for a change. I told her I intend to break down your walls slowly,” he murmurs, and he brings his other hand to your cheek. “Tenderly.”

He leans in to attempt a kiss, and you’re just a few inches apart when your sister clears her throat, approaches the waiting area. You pull back, and she’s holding in a grin, her eyebrows raised.

“Knight in shining armor gets the girl, I see.”

“I think technically you’re the damsel in distress in this situation,” you counter, with a look of your own. “Now that that’s all cleared up, do we need to have a talk about being selective when it comes to the people you spend time with?” She rolls her eyes, and Aaron gestures you both out of the precinct and toward the parking lot.

“No, we don’t. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Still making decisions like one, apparently.”

The drive back to your apartment sounds very similar, sisterly banter back and forth, and when you arrive, you invite Aaron upstairs for a drink. Your sister makes a beeline for the bathroom, to “wash the stench of that police station off,” and you and Aaron are headed to the kitchen when it hits you.

“So you came here right after we landed—you sat in your car for a while and debated coming up, but you drove here right away. And then you never actually left, just… debated some more? And didn’t go home to eat or anything?” He looks much softer, his jacket off now, tie removed, sleeves rolled up, and he ducks his head, shakes it. “Yeah, that’s very like you. Sit down and let me heat up something for you to eat.” You open the refrigerator, take out the leftover soup and sandwiches, and he’s right behind you when you set the bag on the counter.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly, leaning in, and you meet him halfway for the kiss that was interrupted at the precinct; he moves his hands to your face, kisses you slowly, deeply, and when you eventually step apart, you sigh, pleased.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me, okay?” You touch his cheek, then drag your hand down his chest, his stomach, and push him toward the nearest stool, a playful smile on your face. “It’s the least I can do.”

You eat together, and eventually your sister joins you, fresh from the shower and looking much better than she has all night. She has some food, too, joins in on conversation between you and Aaron, even makes him laugh; when he excuses himself for the restroom, she smiles fondly.

“I thought he was going to be stuffy and boring, but I kind of like him.”

“He put his ass on the line for you,” you say between spoonfuls of tomato bisque, and she shakes her head lightly.

“Oh, he didn’t do it for me. He did it for you.” You look up at her over your bowl, make eye contact, and she shrugs. “I know he’s not my type, but he’s handsome, and a good guy. He deserves a chance.”

“I know. I want to give him one.” She must hear the hesitation in your tone, because she stands up, picks up her plate, and comes around to give you a hug, her arm slung across your shoulders.

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but I know guys, and he’s not one you want to let get away. Open your heart a little bit—and if he proves me wrong, you have guns. Use them.” You pull back, eyes wide, almost scandalized, and she laughs, rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Kidding! My glamorous life of being an accessory to crime ends tonight. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him, anyway.” She plants a loud, smacking kiss on the top of your head, then takes her dinner to her room; she passes Aaron on the way, and she tells him good night and pointedly shuts the door behind her.

The two of you share a look, then speak at almost the exact same time, words overlapping.

“I should probably get going.”

“You could stay the night.” You blink, frown. “Oh. Well, yeah. Okay.”

“No, no. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay.” You just look at each other for a moment, as if trying to measure your expectations; you give in first, step toward him and pull him to you by his shirt for a sweet, gentle kiss.

“Would you like to shower? Get some rest?”

“Yes,” he says, hushed, and then he brushes his lips over yours three more times. You melt against him, let his strong arms pull you close, bury your face in his shoulder and take a moment just to breathe him in. The day has been a whirlwind, physical pain, then emotional, and you already gave him up once; you can’t imagine letting yourself do something that stupid again.

When you’ve had your fill—though will you ever, really, have enough of Aaron?—you guide him to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. You put efficiency aside and take your time undressing him, pulling his belt off slowly, reaching into his pants and untucking his shirt in a way that’s a bit more hands-on than is strictly required. You get his shirts off, kneel to remove his shoes, socks, pants and boxers, then stand and run your hands over his body, slow and appreciative.

You look up at him, want to speak, but nothing comes out; he understands, though, hears what you aren’t saying, and takes your clothes off just as reverently, almost like he is worshiping each piece as it's removed, as it gets him closer to what lies beneath. You can feel his desire, but it’s simmering, not boiling over like it usually is between the two of you; when you are both naked he pulls you close, smooths his palms over your skin, then takes you to the bathroom and turns on the shower like he’s done so many times before.

You stand beneath the stream of water together, closing your eyes and letting it soak you from head to toe; it doesn’t wash the day away, but somehow makes it sink in, the severity of what happened, what could have happened—to you, to your sister, to you and Aaron. As usual, you know Aaron will make you feel better every way he knows how, but you don’t want to feel better tonight; you want to feel what you’re feeling, for better or worse, and let him be there for you anyway.

“Baby,” you sigh into the steam between you, and he pushes you back against the wall, leans in so he can kiss you passionately, hot and hard. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck, slide your fingers through his wet hair, and clutch at his back, strong and slick and warm beneath your fingertips.

You kiss and touch, grinding your wet bodies against each other, scraping your nails along his back, moaning and gasping for air. He takes the brunt of the spray, lets it pour over his head without complaint, and you hold him so closely, so tightly you feel you may be the one to hurt him for a change. “Can we make love?” he pants, looking down at you, and you respond by wrapping both arms around him, letting him lift you up and turn off the shower, carry you out to the bedroom.

You leave thick drops of water in your wake, soaked footprints, and he holds you effortlessly as he pulls two large decorative pillows off of the bed and tosses them onto the floor, then lays you back on them; you open your legs for him, and when he covers your body with his, you run your hands up and down his back, over his arms, pull him to you for more kisses.

His fingers move to your pussy as you kiss, rubbing quickly, deliciously over your clit and lips. His mouth finds your throat, sucking softly just over one of the aching bites he left before; he presses two thick fingers inside you, smoothly, easily, and hovers while you gasp, watching your expression change as intensely as you watch his.

“God, you feel good. Just like always: soft and wet and perfect,” he murmurs, more talkative than he’s ever been, as he thrusts his fingers inside you. “Do you want to come on my fingers first?”

“Yes. Mm, or, please just—oh.” You don’t finish your thought, can’t, because he changes his pace, moves quickly, roughly, nips at your chin, and your body trembles with pleasure, sensations so strong your mind nearly goes blank from them all. You clutch at his arm, feel the muscles working, flexing, and peer up into his eyes.

“Do you want this, angel? Or do you want me to stop?” he asks, even though he knows that isn’t what you want, and you buck up against his hand, whimpering. A pet name from him is like a gift, makes your face heat, and you feel instantly ravenous, desperate for any and all contact.

“Don’t stop, Aaron, please. Oh, fuck, don’t stop.” He bites at the curve of your ear, fingers pumping, his warm breath pimpling your flesh and sending a chill down your spine.

“I won’t stop until you’re coming; even then, I won’t stop, if you don’t want me to. I’ll make you feel so good you never want to let me go.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and dig your fingertips into his hips, breathing heavily against his hair.

“I don’t want to let you go, baby. You make me feel so good. Come here,” you whine, desperately, and he leans up, covers your mouth with his again. “Mmm. You’re so good to me. I never want to let you go.” He presses his forehead to yours, and you pant together, breath mingling, your skin overheated and still damp from the shower. “Make love to me, please. I want to feel your body. I want to feel you moving inside me.”

He gives you what you want without complaint or counteroffer, slides his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, filling you with one complete thrust until your bodies are flush. Your head falls back, mouth open around a soft, eager moan, and he hooks your bent legs over his forearms, plants his hands and fucks you slowly but thoroughly. He almost fully withdraws and then slams back in, repeatedly, looking down at you like he’s getting off on your pleasure; it occurs to you that he might be, because he always loves to hear how well he’s doing, how good he’s fucking you, so you moan, grab for his shoulder.

“Aaron, my god.”

“Is that good? Is that how you like it?” he asks, tense with effort, his chest pushing your breasts up with each stroke, his cock deep and thick and hot. You whimper, let your eyes roll back a little when the head of his dick glides over the spot that makes your toes curl, hold him tightly.

“Fuck, yes. You know how I like it, baby. You know how to make me come on this gorgeous cock, how to fuck me with this incredible body.” You scratch your nails up his sides, lightly but enough to make him shiver, and he groans low, presses his teeth against your neck.

“I know how you like it. I know you want to hurt,” he murmurs, and you clench tightly around him, “and I know you never want me to stop fucking you.” He emphasizes the word with a rough thrust that makes your body slide over the pillows, half off of them, and you’re so close to climax that you think one more word might do the trick, if you can bring yourself to say it.

Your heart beats fast, your body aches, throbs in the most pleasurable way, and your head is just on the edge of fuzzy, overwhelmed—you figure, screw it. You’re already in so goddamn deep already, what’s just one more thing?

“Promise.” He slams into you, looks down at you, and you buck your hips into his thrusts, gasp. “Promise me. Promise you’ll never stop. Promise you’ll—you’ll be here when I need you.”

“I promise. Fuck,” he groans as you move together, faster, bodies crashing together in a way that’s almost uncontrolled. You want more of him, deeper, and he wants to be buried in you, that much is clear by his frantic pace. “I promise, I’m here. I’m here for you. And I won’t stop, ever.” He leans forward, brings his hands to the side of your throat, over your wet hair, and squeezes softly, bends for a kiss. “I’ll be here, okay?”

You nod your head quickly, receive another kiss, rougher hands as they press against your throat.

“Fuck. Don’t stop,” you beg, and you mean don’t stop now, don’t stop ever, please don’t go. “Don’t stop, Aaron.”

“I won’t, baby. Won’t stop. Fuck.”

“Fuck me. Harder.” It’s an insane request, because you both know he could not possibly fuck you any harder, but you each move your hands to the other’s waist, clutch at each other, gripping tightly, bruising, until his body tenses and his rhythm falters. “Come in me. I’m yours.”

“Mine,” he nearly growls, his voice low and scraped raw, and you feel it in your body, shiver, dig your fingers into his skin.

“Yours, baby, only yours. All yours. Make me come.” He holds you so tightly, pounds so hard—you can hear your heart beating fast, your breath coming quick, his panting groans, the rough smack of your eager bodies, chasing the high—and when you come it’s with a deep, strangled cry, tightening around him, pressing your feet against him so he’s as close as he can physically be.

Neither of you stop, desperately fucking as he spills inside you, and you scrape your nails over his shoulders, his neck, into his hair where you twist your fingers and pull; you throw your head back, gasping, and he covers your breasts with his hands, squeezes them roughly, looks down at you with such determination and desire it’s overwhelming. You whine, and he leans in, catches your lips with his, kisses you deep and wet as he softens and your bodies slow.

He slides out of you, lets your legs come to rest, but you wrap them around his waist, arms around his shoulders, and you kiss like that, passionate and slow and noisy, until you pull back to yawn and he laughs softly.

“I think it’s time for bed, angel,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your lips, and in that moment you feel well and truly fucked: you are in love, so in love it feels foreign, hurts a little in a way—you’re surprised to discover—you enjoy. You touch his face, pull him close for another series of tender, intense kisses, and he wraps his hand around your throat, soft, dominating, perfect.

You look into each other’s eyes for a long time, and you can feel yours become wet, know that when he leans in for gentle presses of lips that he feels it too.

He sits up, pulls you with him, and he cleans you up in the bathroom, rubbing his hands over your body where he was harsh, as always. You kiss softly, slowly make your way to bed and sink into it, let him wrap his arms around you from behind and hold you close; his gentle breath in your ear tells you he’s asleep almost instantly, and you sigh, wiggle against him, and let yourself succumb. Morning comes far too quickly, and both of you rush to shower, get dressed; your sister, bless her, has already started the coffeemaker, and she sits at the counter sipping and scrolling on her phone. When you and Aaron enter and he heads over to pour you both some coffee, she grins widely.

“Oh, okay. I was expecting sex, I wasn’t expecting freaky sex.” Your eyes grow wide—your throat is covered this time, as the bruises turn yellow—because maybe she heard something? You certainly weren’t quiet. “You’ll have to come up with a good excuse for those at the office,” she says, gesturing to her own neck, and your brow wrinkles in confusion before you notice the thin pink lines up the back of Aaron’s.

He looks over his shoulder at you, eyes darkening when he takes in the way your teeth press into your bottom lip, and you walk over, glide your fingertips down the scratches that you know must sting at your touch. He inhales sharply, and you’re stricken with the urge to get him out of that suit and look over his body, to search for the other marks you know you must have left but were too rushed to notice in the shower.

Your body sings for his, fingers tingling, wet between your thighs, and if it weren’t for your sister you’d take down your pants and beg him to show you again how you belong to him, to take ownership of your body in the way only he has ever done.

You clear your throat, pull away, and grab some breakfast bars for the two of you, rolling your eyes when your sister smirks in your direction.

You drive separately, of course, and you sit in the parking garage for a few minutes after he goes in; it’s not like you’ve never shown up at the same time as someone else, but you feel very conscious of the way you gravitate toward him now and don’t want to give anyone any reason to look too closely. It’s more about you being in your own head, you know, but still, you tread lightly.

In the morning meeting, Aaron turns toward the white board, and Emily whistles.

“Wow, you did a number on yourself,” she says, and it’s clear Aaron is confused when he looks over at her, until she points to the back of her neck. “You scratched yourself in your sleep.”

“Right,” he says after a beat too long, and she tilts her head as if analyzing his brief silence. “Let’s get started.”

You feel like you’re on fire, every nerve alive and exposed, and the feeling doesn’t leave you all damn day.

That evening, Aaron suggests you stay at his place: it’s to give your sister some space, he says, but you know it’s also to give the two of you some privacy. You won’t complain about that, send your sister a text letting her know you won’t be home—she replies with an eggplant emoji and water droplets, which you understand well enough, sending back an eye roll emoji of your own—and you follow him to his apartment, pull into the parking space right next to his.

He climbs out of his car, walks over to yours and opens your door, then opens the trunk, removes your go-bag, and carries it upstairs for you. It feels a lot like the first few nights you spent together, where there was a lot of comfortable silence, not much to be said, only now there’s so much to be said that neither of you seem to be able to know where to begin.

Turns out, there isn’t much talking required at all. You get his shirt off, his pants, but he’s still in his undershirt and boxers when he lays you back on his bed, undresses you, presses slow kisses from your knees to your shoulders. You curl a leg around his hip, brush your fingers through his hair, and he runs his hand down your bare side, squeezes your ass, and rests his palm over your wetness.

“I–” he begins, and you curl up to kiss him, tracing his jaw with your fingertips. Content to leave his thought unspoken, he rubs softly, kisses back, and eventually presses a finger inside of you, sinking it deep. You gasp, tuck your face into his neck, and hold him close while he thrusts it in and out, then adds another finger, collecting your moans in return.

“Baby, yes. Fuck me,” you breathe against his throat, pressing your hips against his body. Despite what you said, it’s a team effort, and he’s driving his fingers into you just as roughly as you buck against him, taking what he’s giving and a little more, too. It’s a rush, using him to come, and you wrap your arm around his shoulder and groan, grind while he praises you for fucking yourself on his hand.

“So close. Come, baby, please.” He sounds tender but urgent, and you cling to him, humping frantically, until you tighten around his thick fingers and climax; you throw your head back, hips stuttering in surprised pleasure when he adds a third finger—almost too much, but not when you’re this soft and wet, slick, open for him—just as you start to come. “That’s it. You’re so full for me.”

“Aaron.” It’s desperate, reverent, that one simple word in your fucked-out, shaky voice, and you’re holding onto his shoulders, gazing up at him like you never want to look into another pair of eyes again. You lean in—kissing him needy, messy, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt—and when he moves to withdraw his fingers you put your hand on his, squeeze. “Please don’t stop. I need more.”

“More of this?” he murmurs, hushed, his breath moist over your lips, and you card your fingers through his hair, your chest rising and falling as you waver between wanting him to pull out and fuck you senseless or to never let you be empty again.

“My ass. Please,” you softly beg, eyes wide and wet with emotion, and he catches your mouth in a kiss, lips gentle but insistent, hungry.

“Fuck, yes, let me—” He leans to the side, opens his nightstand drawer and produces a bottle of lube, then kisses you again, slicks up a finger and presses it inside. He feels so thick there, perfect pressure driving you wild and he hasn’t even begun to move; when he does, you think you could black out from the pleasure, moan louder than you have all night.

He fucks into you smoothly, shallowly, in a way that’s familiar but not quite as practiced, then wraps his free hand around the back of your neck and kisses you roughly, like he wants to consume you.

“Do you want to come like this?” he breathes when you are gasping, clutching at him, riding along the edge of another orgasm, and you bite your lip, shake your head.

“Fuck it. Please, baby, fuck me.” You slide a hand down your stomach, bracketing his fingers with your own, showing him exactly where you need him, and he pulls you close, presses his lips hard against yours, and takes off his boxers, prepares himself to enter you.

You turn onto your stomach, your favorite way to take him, use your hands to make sure he has enough space to work you open appropriately. When he’s ready, he confirms that you’re ready, then slides in, his hands on the bed on either side of your shoulders.

He feels incredibly good, like he always does like this; it’s a tight fit, but smooth and slick, and there’s pressure, but not pain or discomfort. He leans over you, mouth at your ear, and whispers filthy praise as he slowly thrusts, words you never thought you’d hear from him, things like so tight and all mine and perfect fucking girl.

He runs a hand down your side, presses his fingertips into your hip, and you reach back for him, cover his hand with yours and squeeze. “Yes, baby, fuck. You’re perfect, you’re—you’re incredible. Made for me. Fit so well.”

“I’m made for you,” he rasps, leaning in to press his forehead to the space between your shoulder blades. “To take care of you. To love you.”

You expect to feel a lump in your throat—your usual panic at the word that always feels too real for comfort—but instead of pulling away you just want to be closer, want to feel him deeper. You moan loudly, lowly in the back of your throat, shift to wrap your hands around the backs of his thighs, and work your hips into his thrusts.

Together you move faster, harder, and you feel so erotically full of him that you’re close just from that; he slides his hand beneath you, though, finds your soaked pussy and curls two fingers inside, and you find your release abruptly, spasming around his fingers. You make a high sound of indescribable pleasure, and he makes a low sound like he’s trying so hard not to come in you but can’t resist, and you dig your nails into his thighs while he fucks you until he’s spent, empty; he pulls out of you slowly, shifts his weight, and lays beside you for a moment, combing his fingers through your hair.

“Mmm,” you hum softly as he scrapes his blunt nails over your scalp, and he kisses your cheek, then your lips, and leaves you briefly in order to clean himself up. You know he’ll return to clean you up as well, but you manage to roll yourself out of bed and follow him, and you’re both freshened up and back in bed with just enough time to close your eyes and drift to sleep. You’re in his office a couple of days later, alone, because he had to step out to take a call, when Penelope walks in with a file folder in her hand. She freezes when she sees you, looks around with shifty eyes like she’s considering just turning around and abandoning her task, and you laugh softly.

“He said he’d be right back, Garcia. You can leave that with me, whatever it is.”

“I don’t think I’m—he said I should give this to him, I don’t think I should—” Your smile falls, because she seems genuinely concerned, but you quickly believe you’ve found the source of her distress.

“If it’s about my sister, I already know he enlisted your help. I’m not upset that you know about it.” She blows out a relieved breath, the tension in her shoulders melting away.

“Oh thank god. You know I feel really creepy digging into people’s personal stuff, and I really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sure you’re upset about it.” You shrug, your posture relaxed again after a moment of concern.

“I’m not upset. She did something stupid, yes, but we’ve discussed it—and it’s not like she was actually arrested or anything. Then I’d be pissed.”

This time, Penelope goes as pale as a ghost.

“Well… she was, though, sweetie. Arrested, I mean.” You shake your head, smile, but you’re sure it looks confused.

“No, she has a hearing, but she wasn’t booked. There was no bail or anything.”

“She was booked. There was bail. Hotch paid it; I thought you knew that.” She flips open the file, lays it over her arm and sorts through the pages until she finds the one she wants. “Right here. Five thousand dollars bond on a $50,000 bail, paid by check by Aaron Hotchner.” You stand up immediately, reach for the file, and she hands it over looking like a child who’s been caught doing something unforgivable. “I thought you knew.”

You scan the page, reading with your own eyes exactly what Penelope said aloud, and you feel your jaw clench, teeth grinding together in both irritation and a red hot surge of anger.

“It was nice of him,” you can faintly hear her say, but your pulse is thumping in your ears and your whole face warms in embarrassment. You take a deep breath, because the last thing you want to do is snap at her—she’s innocent in all this, just the unfortunate messenger, but Aaron is not innocent and you’re finding it hard to keep yourself in check.

Aaron walks in a moment later, looks at Penelope’s pale face, then at you; Penelope looks at him, then you, then the file folder, then turns tail and sprints out the door as fast as her purple patent pumps will allow her. Aaron’s expression is unreadable, but you’re sure your emotions are written all over your face.

“How. Could. You.” The words are tense, released through gritted teeth, and when you look up at him, his brow is pulled down in confusion, which only makes you more upset. “You paid $5000 to bail my sister out of jail and then told me she was never arrested. Why would you do that? Why would you lie?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and you surge on, almost delighted by his lack of response. You are well and truly pissed, and it’s making your throat raw and your tongue sharp, a combination that means you are likely to regret what you say next—unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You were stressed. I didn’t want to add to your plate. I knew I could handle it for you,” he says confidently, and while he did handle it, it's the way he handled it that’s got you so enraged.

“You paid $5000 so my sister didn’t have to face the consequences of her actions. That’s not your choice to make, Aaron—not to mention you lied to me.”

“Don’t do this,” he murmurs, nearly pleading, and he takes a step toward you, palms out. “I only wanted to help your sister and to prove that you could count on me; don’t use this as a reason to push me away again, please.”

“I’m not pushing you away,” you begin, and he seems to sag in relief, ever so slightly. It’s one of the things only you notice about him, because you are always looking, have become so familiar with his body language, the things he says without saying. “I’m done this time. We’re done.” You look toward the door, eager to make a run for it as well, but he steps in front of the doorway; it’s not enough to block you, he wouldn’t do that, but it’s clear that he wants you to stay.

“We can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to say.” You take a step forward, close the case file, and press it against his chest, look up into his dark eyes. “I can’t trust you. I can’t count on you. I can’t want you, can’t… love you. Not like this.”

“How can I make it right? I’m sorry, I should have asked. I’m sorry, I should have told you.” His voice is low, calm, but those eyes tell a different story; you have to look away.

“The only thing I want you to do is pretend this never happened—my sister, the sex, any of it. Let’s go back to you being my boss, me being your employee; that’s all I want from you, Aaron.” You swallow hard to keep from crying, remove your hand from his chest so he’s forced to grab the file or let it fall to the floor. “I’m sorry: that’s all I want from you, Hotch.”

You walk out his door and down to the bullpen, take a seat and unlock your desktop, ready to finish your 9-5 and head home alone for the first time in a very long time.

Taglist 🤍 @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @thinking-bucky @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr @ssahotchnerxx @vintagesubmariner @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @hotchnerxo

[axwalker]

CREEP 3: You're just like an angel

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

Synopsis: Drake is a hurt, angry teenager. After being rejected by Lexie, he spends two years bullying her until he discovers the horrible truth behind her rejection. 

MASTERLIST HERE

In this chapter: Lexie gets to know more about the boy hiding behind the monster. 

A/N: This is Lexie’s POV. We’ll be in Drake’s head in the following chapter. 

A/N 2: Thank you to my beautiful prereader @burnsoslow​

Your suggestions made all the difference! LOVE YOUU ❤️

A/N 3: Thank you to @mskaneko​ for the edit that closes this fic. It’s gorgeous! I love youu ❤️

Words: 5,108 🙈

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love, abuse, bullying. 

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express love. 

This is a dark love story. If you think this might trigger you, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS --As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapters. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic; please do not hesitate to ask!!

LEXIE

Watching Drake put my duffel bag on the back of his motorcycle, my pulse is getting out of control on my neck. This is happening. I’m leaving home. I’m getting out, and I’m never coming back. And Drake Walker, my tormentor, is helping me. He actually defended me. The fact that I’m being helped by the person who called me a future trophy wife this morning makes this moment even more surreal. He’s had this tormented expression on his face for the last half an hour that’s stupidly making me want to hug him or make him feel better. For what, though? I don’t know. I don’t owe him anything, and still, I have this pressing need to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him everything will be okay. 

When it comes to Drake, my emotions have never been truly logical. One second I hate him, and the next, I’m whispering his name in the darkness of my room, my fingers sawing against the wet cotton of my panties. My feelings for him are incredibly confusing…but I know asking him to back off was the right move. Even if I secretly miss his presence everywhere I turn. In my unstable world, there was something comforting about knowing he would always be there. Watching me. Hating me. Wanting me. That last part was never in doubt. He’s made that clear many times. That if I wanted, he would “give me a nice long hate-fuck in the back of his trailer.” And he’d always say, “No one has to know, baby,” in that deep, hoarse tone that keeps me up at night. Makes me shove my fingers down the front of my panties and struggle to breathe, sweating through my covers to an orgasm. I’m having those particularly sexual thoughts when he looks over at me, and I don’t quite manage to hide my lust. His movements slow, a dark eyebrow arching as he fixes on my mouth, my breasts. I’m a real hot mess right now. Beaten and bloody, but there’s no denying he’s still attracted. It’s always there in the rise and fall of his chest, the clicking of his jaw. The tenting of his jeans. How many times have I turned in class and—avoiding his gaze—locked eyes with his jeans instead? At least that’s one thing us poor fuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck.

 Well, if I thought sympathy was a strange emotion regarding this boy, jealousy is even more confusing. Why should I care that he’s been with other girls? Obviously, he must have been with hundreds of girls to get good at sex. It’s none of my business, is it? I’m almost rid of him. And I don’t want to be jealous. Still, when he holds out his hand to help me onto the bike, I ignore it with a raise of my chin and climb on myself. You’re almost rid of him, Lexie. Get a ride and say goodbye. Unfortunately, I may have been a little overenthusiastic in asking to be taken to a motel. I’ve never been to one, but I know a credit card is required—and I don’t have one of those. Nor do I have enough cash in my wallet for more than one night. I need to figure out an alternative plan fast. Still looking damned tortured, Drake places his helmet on my head and gently buckles the chinstrap. Swallowing loud enough to hear over the passing cars. Helmetless, he brings the engine to life, the vibration so exhilarating; I wrap my arms around his middle on reflex.

I can feel taking a deep breath. “Lexie…” He can’t see me, so I give in to the impulse to press my cheek to his leather jacket, absorbing the warmth and his smell, earthy and so masculine. 

“Yes?” Drake clears his throat, his voice even more profound. “My dad left me a cabin a few towns over. Near Portavira lake.” He pauses. “It’s very rustic, but I’ve been fixing it, so it’s clean, and it has a bed and some supplies. I could take you there. You’d be safe.” 

It’s dangerous to start accepting more favors from him, but what choice do I have? My father made sure that I’m helpless. He did it with my mother and now me. Isolated us from everyone who might be a friend. I’ll accept his offer, but only because here and now, I promise myself I’ll find a way to help myself in the future. To leave my father and his house of horrors in the past. Maybe it can’t be done entirely alone. Maybe accepting help is the only option. That doesn’t mean I’m forgetting the way he treated me. Yes, I’m attracted to him but I also hate him. He’s made my life miserable for two years and I won’t let him --or myself, forget that. Maybe he’s hiding right now but I know Drake--as my father, has a monster underneath. His monster might not slap me or make me bleed but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. Poisonous words can hurt as much as one well-delivered blow.  

“Okay,” I say, feeling him relax. “Thanks.” I’ll accept his help for now and leave as soon as I can. 

He responds by turning on the engine of the bike again. That’s when I hear my father yelling my name from the back door of the house. His hands are tied behind his back, and he’s limping, blood coming out his nose. 

“Alexis Jade O’Brien! You get your ass back here right now, or you’ll never be allowed back! You’ll be dead to me!” 

He has to be joking; he’s been dead to me since the first time he hit me. I look back at the pathetic old man with every ounce of rebellion I have. Baring my teeth, I give him the middle finger and dismiss him. Forever. 

“Good girl,” Drake murmurs a second before driving away. I don’t look back a single time. We drive for half an hour. After twenty minutes on the highway, the trees grow denser and denser, the road deserted. We don’t pass a single car on the way to the cabin, which comforts me when I should be worried. Shouldn’t I? I can’t allow the last two years of em2otional battle to mean nothing. To melt away in the face of tonight’s act of kindness. I meant what I said. I need Drake to leave me alone. To release the hold he has on me. I’ve cut one negative force out of my life tonight. The last thing I need is a replacement. But as I grow tired against his strong back, his woody and manly scent lulling me, encouraging the trust he doesn’t deserve, I worry leaving him might be easier said than done. Especially when we arrive at the cabin, and he lifts me off the bike, cradling me to his chest like I’m made of crystal, a moment too long before settling me onto my feet. It’s hard giving up his warmth, but I push off his chest, creating distance between us. He watches me back away like I’m breaking his heart. 

“There is a shower inside,” he says quietly. “You can finally get the, uh…” He blows a breath. “…the blood off.” The sun sets as we stand there. It’s nothing like the light of the night we kissed. This time it's brighter, more intense. It must be the higher elevation. 

“You’re not hurting anywhere else?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Why is he breathing so fast? “What’s wrong, Drake?” 

“What’s wrong?” He fights through a humorless laugh, sliding his hand through his hair. “Where do I start? Most urgent is…I know you’re going to want me to leave you here alone, and I don’t think I can. Look, if you want to lock the doors, I’ll sleep outside on the ground, Lexie, but please don’t ask me to go.” 

He’s right. I was going to tell him it’s OK to go back to his trailer. There was a convenience store with a payphone a mile down the road. If there is no working phone in the cabin, I can still make calls, if necessary. I’m not sure what my next move will be, now that I’ve run away from home. But I know I’ll never be able to think with a clear head as long as Drake is around, looking at me like that. “Drake…”

 “It’s just that once I leave, I know that’s it. You’re going to shut me out again. And this time, it’ll be your choice.” He paces away, still raking his fingers through his hair. “I deserve to be cut off. Fuck, I know that. Believe me when I say I hate myself right now, but if there was something I could do to make up the last two years to you, even just a little—” 

I shake my head. Nothing can make up for the two years I spent loving him while he tortured me. There will be nothing between us. 

“I understand.” His fingers rake his hair one last time. “You can go in the cabin. I’ll sleep outside; that way, I’ll be sure your—father won’t be back.”

Despite myself and my better judgment, I worry about him. “Outside? It’s cold and dark; I can go to a motel.” At least for one night, I’ll figure out what I’ll do after tomorrow. 

“No way. Look, I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Just go inside and try to rest; I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

Used to what? Sleeping outside? “Isn’t there a couch or something?”

He shakes his head. “The cabin was in ruins until six months ago when I started working on it. There’s only one bed, but there’s a rug next to the fireplace. Please don’t leave. I—I need to know you’re safe.” 

I know Drake would never abuse me physically. I might be naïve, but I just know he would never do it. And as much as it’s difficult for me to understand why I feel safe with him here. Still, I have to be smart, my instincts tell me to trust him, but my instincts have been wrong about him before. 

“Does the room lock?”

“It does with a bolt that can’t be opened from outside. But you’re safe with me, Lexie. I swear.”

It’s his miserable look that makes me decide. “Okay, if it locks, I can stay here.”

We go inside, and he leads me to his room. When my bag hits the floor next to his bed, I get even more nervous. I just left everything I know behind me and have no idea what’s coming next. School will be over in a few weeks, but I can graduate earlier, thanks to my credits. I’ll need a job, save some money, get an apartment and apply for college in Cordonia. It’s overwhelming. 

I don’t want to cry in front of Drake. I don’t want to show him I feel weak, sad, and pathetic, but something inside of me suddenly breaks, and before I can’t do anything to stop it, I’m sobbing.

Drake is sitting on the bed in a second, and he’s pulling me into his lap, trying to calm me down. “Shh Lexie, it’s okay. Cry all you need to. I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeats in a litany as he rubs my shoulders, kisses my cheek, then my nose. Why do I feel so safe with him? Why, after everything he put me through, do I want to be here with him more than anywhere else? 

“Let it all out, Lex. You’re so strong, baby.” He takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to gently clean my tears. The piece of fabric seems so incongruous in his rough hands that I can’t help but smile a little. 

“Is this yours?”

He shrugs. “My dad collected them. After he died, my mom gave all his stuff away. This handkerchief is the only thing I have left of him. And this cabin.”

“I’m sorry, Drake. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He smiles. “Ruin it? Impossible. If anything, now it's even more special to me.” 

The softness in his eyes looks so sincere it scares the hell out of me. I can’t let myself forget who Drake really is. I stand up from his lap and put my bag on the bed. 

“I’m really tired; I’d better go to bed.” 

“Okay … can I just look at your wounds?” he asks as he inspects my face. “You have some nasty cuts,” he adds, his fist clenching. 

When I nod, he takes my hand and leads me to his bathroom. The room is as simple and modest as expected. Block walls, no tiles on the floor, no curtain on the shower, and an old toilet. A million years away from the white marble bathrooms in my house. 

He follows my gaze and blushes. “I’m sorry. This is not what you’re used to. I—uhm, I’m slowly putting it together when I have time and some money. I’m good with my hands.” I look at said hands, and there’s no doubt he’s good with them. They look big and calloused. Capable and rough but so gentle with me. I want them all around my body. As if he had listened to my silent demand, he grabs me by my waist and sits me on the counter next to the sink. My legs part on instinct, and he puts himself between them. We don’t talk for two long minutes until he opens the faucet and wets a towel. 

“I just got the water running this week; Come on.” Gently --almost reverently, he washes and cleans every cut, every injury. Softly he brushes his thumbs over my face. He doesn’t speak as he does, but there’s a tension between us. A raw feeling that has always been there. 

“Tell me about yourself,” I blurt out, desperate to break the moment. 

“There’s not much to say. Sorry, Lexie!” he exclaims when I wince. “Does this hurt?”

“A little. I. need a distraction. Why do you live alone? I know your dad is –uhm, gone, but where’s your mom?”

“Gone too.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Drake.”

“Don’t be. She was a bitch. She died in a car accident two years ago. She was living in Texas back then.”

“I don’t get it. Two years ago, you were here in Cordonia.” 

“Yeah, she left me after my dad died. Took my sister and left me here. Reminded her too much of my dad, she said.” 

I remember Jackson Walker. Everyone in Portavira does. He was Liam’s dad's bodyguard and died protecting him. But that was five years ago. If his mom left just after his passing, that means Drake has been living by himself since he’s thirteen years old. It can’t be.

Drake turns around and opens a box in the corner of the room. When he turns back, he’s holding a Band-Aid. 

“I keep these around. Construction can get nasty sometimes. Come here, Lex.” He cups my chin with one of his big hands while he cleans a cut next to my eyebrow. His touch is leaving goosebumps all over my skin. I hate to be this affected by him.  

I clear my throat to avoid the embarrassment of talking in a squeaky voice. “So, who were you living with?”

“No one. My aunt got custody when my mom left, but her husband didn’t want kids. He made her choose between him or me, so I’ve been living on my own since I’m thirteen.” My heart breaks then. Not only at the fact that he had to live by himself when he was still a child, but at the way he says it. Matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that his mother, his aunt, and his uncle abandoned him. As horrible as my dad is, I’ve never had to fend for myself. And my mom loved me so much. If cancer hadn’t taken her away, she’d be here fighting for me. Drake has no one. I can’t help the tears glistening in my eyes. “Hey! Don’t cry, Lexie,” his thumb moves from my eyebrow to my cheek as he wipes the tears off my face. ”I prefer to live by myself than go to a foster house. And Leona checks on me now and then.”

“If your mom died, where’s your sister?”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t pronounce a single word for a few minutes. Finally, he clears his throat and speaks. “Savvy was with my mom in the car. She died too.” 

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t. Nothing seems like enough. Sorry is such an empty word—a stupid cliché. I’m horrified at my own muteness, so I do the only thing I can think of. I hug him. At first, he just stands there, his arms hanging at his sides. But soon, I can feel him giving in, his heart beating hard against my chest. He encircles his arms around me, wrapping me in the tightest hug possible. I don’t know who’s comforting whom anymore. I only know that I love being here, and I hope it’s giving him a little solace, this hug.

 It doesn’t mean I’ll forgive or even forget what he put me through, but no one deserves to go through that kind of pain alone. 

“I’ll be outside, Lexie,” he says when he finally lets me go. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call for me, okay?”

“Wait!’ I yell, so he turns around. “Are you really going to sleep on the floor?”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he hesitates as if he’s going to add something important. “Good night, Lexie.” 

“Wait,” I feel my cheeks redden just thinking about what I’m about to propose. “You can sleep here, I-I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Never,” he says, a determined look on his face. “I would never hurt you that way, and you have no idea how much I regret how I’ve treated you in the past. But I’ll be okay sleeping outside. I know you’ll feel better sleeping here by yourself.” 

I can’t deny that. I meant what I said about trusting him not to hurt me, but I can’t forget what he did either. “At least take this pillow and the blanket. I’ll manage with the pillow and the cover left.” He hesitates, so I insist. “Please. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

After taking them and giving me one of the saddest smiles I’ve ever seen, he closes the door behind him and leaves me alone in the room. I lie on his bed, incapable of sleeping. The pain in his eyes when he told me about his little sister haunts me all night long. 

The following day I toss around in bed, confused and angry at myself. I can’t have feelings for Drake Walker. I can’t forget the insults or the anger in his eyes, the hurt that his words caused me every -single time. I just can’t. I hate what happened to him. I genuinely do, but iI have to think about myself. Denying that I’m attracted to him would be preposterous. Our chemistry is strong and undeniable, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps I just need one night with him, so I can move on with my life. Get him out of my system.

When I finally leave the bed, I find a note under my door: Went to buy some groceries, be back soon. DW

I go to the room where I assume he’s going to build the kitchen. For now, there’s only a more-than-a-few-years-old microwave and a cooler. I open the cabinets, but there’s barely anything there. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. I feel my heart slamming in my chest; if it’s my father, I have no means of defending myself. I’m about to escape through the back door when a woman’s voice starts yelling.

“Open up, Drake. I’m not in the mood today.” 

I open the door because the voice sounds familiar. I recognize Leona, the principal’s assistant. And I know she’s related to Drake.

Leona arches an eyebrow when she sees me. “Ms. O’Brien, what on earth are you in my nephew’s cabin? Does your father even know where you are?”

“I’m 18. I don’t have to tell my father where I am.” I answer in a much bolder tone than I feel.

She shrugs, clearly uninterested. “Well, I brought this to my nephew. Tell him I want those signed by next week. We’re not going to lose thousands of euros because of some dumb nostalgia.”

She hands me a big manila folder, I take it, but she doesn’t let go. “Maybe you’re the one who can convince him.”

“Convince him about what?”

“His father Jackson left him this piece of land, but it isn’t worth a dime without cattle or money to invest in it. But, a couple of months ago a big company approached us, they wanted to build a landfill here. Drake refuses to sell. He thinks he’s going to honor his dead father by rebuilding this old piece of crap, but he will never have the money to do it.” 

“Never.” The deep voice that comes from the entrance startles us both. “This was my dad’s dream. He wanted a ranch, and one day this place will be one,” Drake says, “I told you already, Leona. I won’t sell; I don’t care how much they’re offering you to convince me.”

“I’ve never denied that they’re offering me a commission for the sale, Drake. But I still think it’s the best move for you.” Leona leaves the papers on the table, turns and leaves the cabin. 

“You love this land?” I’m genuinely curious. 

He slowly nods. “It’s all I have left of my dad. He’s the only person that ever gave two damns about me.”

“That says more about your family than about you, Drake.”

He looks directly at me. His gaze doesn’t leave mine for a long minute. I want to get closer to him, to touch him. Not only to offer some comfort but because my body reacts to him in the wildest way. Just standing next to him in the kitchen, I feel my heart beating faster, my hands trembling harder, my sex getting wetter. The response he gets from me is maddening. And it’s making me insane. There’s no freaking way in hell; I’m going to have feelings for Drake Walker.

“I- I need to take a shower. I’ll eat later.” Without giving him any time to respond, I run to the bathroom and shut the door. I open the shower and get inside, desperate for some release, anything that’ll take my mind off him. His stupid perfect smirk and deep eyes. That voice of his, intense, soft, and deep at the same time. Those big hands, calloused and capable. Hands that I just know would know precisely how to touch me. Before I realize it, I’m coming as quietly as I can. Sadly, my relief only lasts a few minutes, my body needs him --Drake Walker, and no substitute would do. 

When I come out, he’s waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee and a couple of white chocolate-strawberry muffins---my favorite kind. 

We eat in silence, but I don’t feel the weight of it as I usually do. Ours is a companionable silence. 

After breakfast, we decide to take a hike next to the lake. A bit of exercise and the lake’s breathtaking landscape might be exactly what I need to stop thinking about my father and the confusing feelings I have for Drake. 

“I think I need a job. Do you know how I can get one?” I hate that I’m so spoiled, but I’ve never lifted a finger in my life. I have no idea how I can get a job. 

“Uhm sure. Here in Portavira?”

“Actually, I was thinking of moving to Cordonia city after graduation. “Drake stops walking for a second. “It’s too late to enroll for next semester, but I can get a job and start college next year.”

He finally starts walking again and nods slowly. “What do you want to do?” 

I blush. My dreams don’t include being famous or rich. All I want is a good, quiet life. Falling in love, having a family. Doing a job I’d enjoy and traveling as much as possible -even if it’s on a low budget. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

Drake looks at me. “I swear I won’t, Lexie. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll find dumb. It’s just not possible.”

“I love books. They offer you new worlds. They allow you to escape and be someone else for a few pages. You can never be alone when you’re reading a book. I’d love to have a job where I would be surrounded by books. Maybe become a librarian and then open a bookstore one day.”

Drake nods but doesn’t reply. I knew he would find my dream stupid.

“I know it’s not much-“

He stands in front of me and tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s amazing, Lexie. I was just thinking how great you’d be at it. Remember the top 5 assignment for Mr. Daniels?”

Of course, I do. Mr. Daniels, our English teacher, asked us to make a list of our five favorite books and recommend them to the class. 

I nod. “Yeah”

“Well, I read all the books on your list. I checked them out of the school’s library and fuck, I loved them all. Especially the one from that Krakauer guy.”

“Into the Wild?”

“Yep. I really enjoyed it. The way that guy Christopher reinvented himself spoke to me.” He holds my gaze. “You’d be an awesome librarian, Lex. You would also be an amazing writer. I remember that short story you wrote for Mr. Daniel’s class. The one about the lonely girl and how she traveled through time with her mind. You have no idea how much I loved it.”

I can’t believe he remembers that story. We had that assignment more than a year ago. “I’ve always wanted to write, but my dad thinks my stories aren’t good enough.”

“Your father is a dick. Your stories are amazing.” 

He looks at me in a way that makes my knees weak. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, so I feel it again. The connection with him. The desire. Maybe the only way this would go away is if I give in to it. 

“There is something you can do for me,” I say, surprising myself. As soon as those two words are out of my mouth, though, I know there is something I need from Drake. 

And he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Get you out of my system.” 

He stands still as a statue. “What?” 

“Get yourself out of my system.” It starts to rain, and it makes me speak louder, feel bolder and freer. “For two years, you provoked me, insulted me, stalked me, bullied me…” He makes a frantic sound, his eyes slamming shut. “And yet, I still—I still can’t stop thinking of your hands that night in my garden. How big and warm and rough they were. I can’t stop imagining you taking off my clothes. Even the ugliest things you’ve said to me, I imagine you saying them in my ear while you…while we…” 

Drake falls toward me a step, clutching the center of his chest. “Lexie—” 

“Please, get yourself out of my head. One night together. Okay, Drake? So I can get on with my life knowing fantasy was way better than reality. That I built up some unrealistic idea of what we’d be like together that we can’t possibly live up to.” My throat closes. “Get me on the road to forgetting you. Please.” As we walk, I can see the mixture of devastation and hope in his eyes. 

“And what if reality lives up to the fantasy?” 

“It won’t,” I say fast, with conviction. It couldn’t possibly live up to it. And yet I suck in a nervous breath when he crosses the divide between us, every cell in my body craving him. Fight or flight. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from wounded animal to determined predator, the rain causing his dark hair to hang low over one eye, dripping, his hands ready at his sides. 

“Are you so sure, Lexie?” 

Damn my hesitation. “Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll prove me right in one night. I can move forward without feeling like I’m leaving something behind.” 

“What if your fantasies come true tonight? Could we ever move forward as…as an us?”

 I can’t believe what he’s suggesting. “There can never be an us, Drake. Not after everything that’s happened. I’ll never change my mind about that.” I shake my head. “How can you think I would?” 

“Maybe I think if I want it hard enough, it’ll come true.” 

“It won’t,” I whisper, starting to ask myself if I’m making a mistake. Opening myself up for even more heartache and pinning for this man than I’ve already lived through. It feels like a lifetime’s worth. “One n-night.” 

“No backing out from this point on?” My heart beats urgently. 

“No backing out.” 

He’s silent so long; I’m not sure he’s going to respond. And then, all at once, he reaches me in two strides and scoops me up into his arms. I realize he’s going to bring me into the cabin, “I’ve been studying you for years, Lexie O’Brien. I’ve been hanging on to your every sigh, every expression, and mood. Years. If you don’t think I’ve obsessed weeks of my life away over how you’d like to be fucked, baby, you’re sorely mistaken.” We reach the house in a matter of minutes, and he doesn’t stop; he just keeps going until we’re in his room. And oh God, I have made a severe miscalculation. Because Drake’s showing me exactly what’s always been in my heart and mind when I thought of us together, it’s my fantasy come to life, the two of us wrapped in the arms of the other. And as he turns me, urging my legs around his waist, his ravenous mouth bearing down on mine, I realize I might never recover from this. 

[kiiiiiim]

5. Red

AO3 link if you feel so inclined. Yes I stole the premise of this from Taylor Swift don't @ me

Supercorptober 2021 - 1//2//3//4

Loving Lena is red.

It doesn’t make sense, Kara is well aware of that. Using a color as an adjective is not the proper way to describe how you feel about someone in any language, human or alien. If she were to sit down and write an official article and assigned palettes to her interviewees, Andrea would probably think she’d had a stroke at the keyboard.

And yet, red is the only word to describe it. Red, and every single shade in between.

It’s the dark hue of lipstick, almost maroon, that makes Kara’s breath come short the first time she sees Lena apply it. The piqued eyebrow as she smirks at Kara’s gaping mouth in the bathroom mirror behind her. “Like it?” She turns around, pushes the door shut with one palm, and leans in, tantalizingly close and not close enough at all. “Bet it would look good on you, too.” Lena doesn’t make it to the gala that night.

It’s the sight of Lena snuggled on the couch, an old faded Supergirl cape wrapped around her body, cocooning her like a cute little bug. It’s the sleepy smile she gives her when she wakes up, stretching languorously and opening her arms wide to welcome Kara home, falling back asleep together on the couch that is definitely not made for two horizontal sleepers.

It’s the bright red of blood rushing to color her cheeks, her neck, fire pooling in the pit of her stomach with every desperate kiss and fevered touch. It’s both the inferno and the embers, the heat that feels like it could burn her impenetrable skin to ashes and yet she would beg for more. It’s the way she can feel the warmth of Lena’s shuddering body without even touching her as they lie side by side in the aftermath.

It’s kryptonite, but not kryptonite. Because while red kryptonite clouds Kara’s judgment, red with Lena has never made her see things more clearly. It centers her, grounds her, keeps her from jumping the gun when it would be better to take a different approach. It helps her see things from another point of view, one that isn’t always solvable with brute force and superpowers.

It’s the way cherries taste on top of their ice cream, the maple leaves turning as they walk in the park, the little hearts Kara draws on sticky notes and tapes to Lena’s forehead while she’s still asleep. It’s the red roses on Valentine’s day and the brand-new stocking on the mantle at Christmas, Lena’s eyes filling with tears as she traces her name with trembling fingers, because she’s never had one before.

It’s early sunrises and late sunsets and stars that glow red millions of miles away. It’s Kara pointing where Krypton used to be, suddenly overcome with emotion as she folds into Lena’s arms right there on the blanket, the soft country sounds of Smallville and Lena’s gentle hum a soothing lullaby.

It’s bright. It’s intense. It’s hot and powerful and makes her both weak and strong at the same time. It’s a contradiction and an accord, it makes sense and it makes no sense at all, the way Lena makes her feel.

There’s no other word for it. Loving Lena is everything she’s wanted, everything she’s ever needed, everything that was promised when her parents sent her away, and said she would find a new home on Earth. It’s her broken heart mending after so many years of being alone.

It’s red. Loving Lena is pure, primary, red.

[yslkook]

red card - on the defensive (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader (soccer captain jjk) summary: you and jungkook run in the same circles, and yet after three years, he struggles to get your time of day. you think he’s cocky and he’s going to change your mind. word count: 5.1k warnings: cursing, alcohol/drinking (lots of it), suggestive content a/n: this story is for @cutechim​, it went down in the DM’s and came to life. this is my entry into the blond jk foray!! enjoy<3

red card masterlist

“What should we drink?” Hana shouts over the music to you in the crowd.

“Uh… let’s do jagerbombs,” You shout back, even though you’re both relatively close to each other at the bar. You peer behind you at the group of people you’ve congregated with this afternoon, counting a total of four. 

“Can I have… eight jagerbombs?” You request of the bartender, who raises his eyebrow at you.

“Why am I not surprised,” He says with a roll of his eyes, “You’re all gonna run me dry of my jager.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” You mutter. And you’re right- it’s happened at least twice over this summer, when you and your friends made a weekly appearance to this bar. The bartender knows you and Hana by your faces at this point and you’ve jokingly asked why your usual order of jagerbombs or tequila shots aren’t ready upon arrival.

These weekly occurrences were sponsored by your job at a law firm near your university. And by sponsored, you mean that your bank account takes a minor hit on a weekly basis. Since university had let out, you’d made yourself available for as many hours as possible- after all, you needed a way to fund these days and nights out.

While juggling a summer class three days a week for three hours each day.

But you weren’t completely financially irresponsible- you drew the line… eventually. Certainly not after eight jagerbombs though (you’d stopped questioning how you could easily drop that much money on alcohol these days). At least it's summer happy hour and you’re not paying full price.

Besides, you and your friends rotate rounds. Hana will get the next one, and then one of the guys, and so on and so forth. You’d gotten two extra specially for you and Hana, but nobody needed to know that.

You love these summer days, when it’s nothing but you and your friends enjoying the breeze and the vibes of a fun afternoon (that inevitably leads to a night of more recklessness). Nothing can take the tipsy grin off of your face or the arm looped around your best friend’s shoulders, except-

Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook.  You don’t mind Jimin as much (mostly because of Hana, who’s been harboring a not so secret crush that is definitely bordering more on love than a simple crush on him for who knew how long). But still, when all three of them are together, you make your disdain very known and obvious. At least you think you do.

Some of the star players from your university’s soccer team, and the captain himself, Jeon Jungkook. They walk into the crowded, noisy bar as if they own the place and you can already see heads turning. You roll your eyes and tell Hana to get it together when she starts giggling and waving at Jimin.

Your eyes seem to meet the back of your skull when all three of them saunter over towards you and your friends. It’s not that you have anything against them per se, it’s that you find them as a unit quite annoying and you know of their reputations. Or, you think you know of their reputations. Maybe you’re a little judgmental. But who cares, it’s not any of their business.

Most of your perhaps misplaced vitriol is reserved for Jungkook himself and the few interactions that you’ve had over the last almost four years of being in university together. You’ve had a few general ed classes with him freshman year, but after that most of your interactions were solely at parties and any excuse to celebrate. You had mutual friends (somehow) so it was inevitable that you saw him as much as you did.

Every fiber of him annoyed you- he was cocky and arrogant… Everything you intensely disliked in a person. Hana told you that you were being mean and judgmental (not as nicely), but if it meant not dealing with this boy who got a rise out of you for no reason, then it didn’t matter. Of course, he doesn’t take up space in your mind very often. Only when you have the misfortune of running into him.

You didn’t know him, and truly, you didn’t care to. You’ll remain civil though, only if he doesn’t annoy you. Which you doubt will happen.

Jungkook can sense your iciness towards him and his friends from half a mile away, from across the bar. And the bar itself is pretty big, with an outdoor area and an outdoor dance floor, and two bars inside with tables and booths and a dance floor. Despite the space of the bar, it’s crowded with college students, young professionals, and even older corporate workers who look like they work relatively close to the bar. He knows you and your friends come here often, and if that was why he had suggested to Jimin and Tae that they also come here then that was his business.

He swallows (not nervously). You look so pretty when you laugh, he thinks. He thinks you look pretty all the time, though. He lets his eyes wander to your tight black crop top shirt with cherries printed on it and your high waisted denim shorts. Jungkook’s throat goes a little dry when his gaze reaches your thighs, but he keeps it together somehow. He doesn’t know how, considering how nice that outfit makes your tits look.

“Hey Cherries,” Jungkook says smoothly, “Flattered you got this for me.” And he plucks the jagerbomb that you paid for for yourself and downs it in less than three seconds. 

Your jaw drops. The audacity of this boy.

“First of all,” You narrow your eyes, “Who the fuck is a ‘Cherries’. And second of all, I know you didn’t just drink the drink that I paid for. Right in front of my fuckin’ face.”

“That’s a funny way of asking me to buy you a drink, Cherries,” Jungkook grins, and gazes at your chest for a second too long. You roll your eyes and swat his arm.

“I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’ll have a tequila shot, pretty boy,” You smirk at him and he smirks right back at you.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants,” Jungkook attempts, only for you to scoff.

“Congratulations,” You say flatly, “You’re lucky I’m not subjecting you to getting me two tequila shots for having to hear that line.”

“You don’t like my lines?” He’s pouty and his eyes are wide, mischief sparkling in them. You dare to think that he’s cute. Apparently all of the boys had dyed their hair blond this summer before the soccer season began and you must admit that it suits him. His hair falls over his forehead effortlessly, small hoops dangling from his ears as he smiles at you.

“Does anyone? Do your groupies?”

“Maybe I’m a little rusty…”

“Oh, I doubt that, Jungkook.”

“Well, you notice whether I have groupies or not, so maybe I’m not so rusty, Cherries,” Jungkook winks at you and you’re tempted to toss your drink at him. But that’s a precious waste of alcohol and perhaps you’re a little dramatic.

You only groan and accept the tequila shot, quickly licking your hand to place salt on and taking a wedge of lime.

“Ready?” Jungkook asks after doing the same.

“How lucky for me, that I get to do shots with our star quarterback,” You say flatly.

“That’s football, Cherries. I play soccer.”

“And I don’t care. Now, take this shot with me.”

As the afternoon blends into evening, you witness betrayal in front of your very eyes in the form of Hana inviting Jimin and his friends with you to the next bar. The ultimate betrayal.

But really, you’ve heard about those soccer boys. At least you think you have. Perhaps you know everything. Perhaps you know nothing at all.

And so the three boys follow you to the next bar as the night goes on. Nearly everyone was at least tipsy by this point, as you had all done a handful of shots following the boys’ arrival at the first bar.

You find yourself thinking that they’re not so bad, when they make you and your friends laugh easily and when being around them feels… fun. 

It’s easy to blame on the alcohol and the darkness of the crowded bar. It seems like everyone is out and about, the streets filled with college students and young professionals looking to unwind and let off some steam.

You love the feeling of the music pumping through your veins, along with the swirl of alcohol. You’re not ashamed of enjoying a drink (or several) and having a good time.

Even if it almost always results in you crossing the line and being hungover the next day.

“Wanna do shots,” You suggest to your circle of friends, eyes landing on Jungkook without you meaning to. Maybe it’s a hidden challenge and he raises his eyebrows.

“Again?” Jungkook says incredulously.

“Don’t be surprised,” Jimin mutters under his breath to Jungkook, “She’s kinda crazy.”

“I’ll take that as a yes… six shots then?” You say cheerily, ignoring Jungkook’s groan. You vaguely recall that Taehyung doesn’t really drink. How considerate of you.

Hana’s arm is slung around your shoulders, a bright (drunken) smile on her face as you pass shots behind you.

The following week, on your usual day of happy hour drinking, Hana presents you with a proposition that has you gasping and gagging, nearly writhing on the floor.

“No, for your information, I do not want to pregame at the soccer house. Thanks for asking, try again later,” You say definitively, pouring Hana a drink.

“Jimin invited us! I wanna see him,” Hana complains and pouts at you, “He said they got good alcohol for the pregame-”

“Jimin invited you, because you both like each other or whatever,” You roll your eyes, “I’m content to drink here alone-”

“We both know you’ll fall asleep if I leave you alone,” Hana says flatly, “Besides, Jungkook asked if you were coming.”

“And what do I care if Jungkook asked if I was coming?” You scoff, taking a long swig of the strong drink in your red solo cup. You cringe.

“He specifically asked if Cherries was coming,” Hana says with a near maniacal grin, “Pretend all you want that you don’t like that shit. Now go wear that top with cherries on it that makes your tits look nice. Quit being difficult.”

In the end, you end up walking the four blocks to the soccer house and you wear the baby pink long sleeved crop top with cherries on it and denim shorts, much to your chagrin (and to Hana’s delight). You’ve only been here a handful of times (maybe two or three) as a freshman for parties and hadn’t been back since.

Everyone knew the soccer house was the place to party to get shitfaced. Usually, the sophomore and junior year soccer players lived in the house while senior year players moved off campus.

You don’t know who currently lives at the house, but Hana quickly fills you in. Apparently Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook lived together off campus (because of course they did).

The soccer house has been part of the campus lore for years. Allegedly, all of the craziest, most reckless things happened at the soccer house and all of the best parties were there. You and Hana never felt that way freshman and sophomore year, instead opting to party hop at the frat houses rather than the sports houses.

How the tables have turned.

“You made it!” Jimin exclaims, outstretching his arms for a hug from you. Which you (awkwardly) return. You need more alcohol to be here, you think.

“Yeah, only ‘cause Hana told me you guys got the good shit,” You say flatly. Taehyung passes a cup of something and you eye it suspiciously but ultimately take a swig of it.

“Pretty good, Tae,” You say, raising your cup to him.

“Oh, I didn’t make that. I’m only the messenger,” Taehyung shrugs with a sly grin, “Jungkook over there did.”

You turn your head, only to find Jungkook staring back at you, lips upturned in a playful grin. It makes you roll your eyes, as most of his antics do.

“Hey, Cherries,” Jungkook greets, standing next to you after a few long strides, “It only took Jimin asking you once to come here, huh? I should be offended, considering how many times I’ve asked you-”

“And when have you ever asked me to party here, Jungkook?”

He only gives you a small smile, almost shy, and it’s a stark contrast from the generally cocky aura that hangs around him. “You just don’t remember.”

You frown a little, wondering what that means. But he gives you another broad smile quickly, shaking you from your reverie. Jungkook leaves you to your devices, being pulled away by some of the younger soccer guys that you hardly recognize. Freshmen? Sophomores, maybe? They look at Jungkook and the older guys with a playful sort of reverence- it’s clear that the team is close even off of the field. 

You briefly wonder what that’s like- having a group of friends like that. Hana’s always been the nicer, more outgoing one out of you both. She’s always made friends easily, with her sweet and genuine smiles. And then there’s you- you struggle to open up to others, always greeting anyone with the sting of sarcasm and holding people at arm’s length.

Sometimes, very rarely, you wonder how you and Hana mesh well together. When she could have a big group of great friends, you used to wonder if you hold her back somehow. It was stupid, and the first time you voiced your insecurity to Hana, she had smacked you upside the head and told you that you were stuck with her.

But still. You can’t help but feel burdensome sometimes. Maybe like you’re too much. Maybe not enough.

Hana pulls you out of your thoughts easily, an arm around your shoulder as she pulls you into conversation with Jimin and a few other girls. 

You down about half the cup of whatever concoction Jungkook whipped up for you and tried to immerse yourself in conversation. There’s a new girl here that you don’t recognize, Sunmi. She’s a transfer and the last thing you want is for her to feel left out. So you make sure to include her in the conversation and ask her questions, too.

Jungkook is not surprised that you don’t remember how many times he’s asked you to come party at the soccer house. Granted, it’s only been a handful of times over the last three years and change. It’s not like you were a stranger- he’s known you through a few mutual classes through the years, and through Jimin, too. After all, Jimin and your best friend have had this weird on and off, together but not together thing going on since the summer before sophomore year.

Maybe one of these days, they’ll get it together. Jungkook loves Hana for Jimin and vice versa- he’s never seen either smile as much as they do around each other. If only they would just admit how much they like (love) each other and put everyone around them out of their misery.

Jungkook thinks it’s a little romantic. Being so in love with someone that labels aren’t needed. There’s something poetic about that.

But Jungkook doesn’t know why you act like you don’t know him at all. You always greet him with a near frown or a roll of your shining eyes.

He doesn’t understand but he pays it no mind, instead turning his focus to the pretty woman eyeing him from the other side of the bar with her friends.

(She’s not you, but it doesn’t matter. Jungkook pushes you to the back of his mind, instead choosing to focus on the velvet heat of the woman in his bed later that night.)

With your shift at the law firm starting at 9 AM the following morning, you decide to remain relatively sober for the night (you enjoy a good time, but you try to draw the line when you can. Though there have been times when you’ve gone to work hungover or possibly even still intoxicated. It happens every so often. You’ve never claimed to be the paradigm of a working college student.)

But also, you don’t really feel like being out tonight to begin with. You do enjoy nights like this, but you also enjoy your quiet time. And it seems like this is one of those nights.

At least someone’s having fun, you think dryly, your eyes glossing over Jimin and Hana. You do think they’d be a great match- if only either of them would make it official. This dance that they’ve been doing for years frustrates you and Hana knows it. You’ve voiced it to her many times but she always says it’s not the right time.

It makes you roll your eyes. You briefly wondered if you should host an intervention and scold Jimin for taking too long- after all, if they kept playing games like this then who’s to say one of them wouldn’t move on? But it seems like they both always gravitate to each other no matter what.

He rotates around her axis and she rotates around his. It’s sweet but Jimin still puts a sour taste in your mouth for a reason that you can’t verbalize into words.

Maybe it’s the company he keeps. 

The music is loud in your ears as you dance with your group of friends, two of them in an impromptu dance off that you inevitably get dragged into. You sling your arm around Sunmi and nudge hips with her, getting her to come out of her shell a little bit and dance with her on the dance floor. She sings to the same songs as you do and gives you a bright, happy smile that you can’t help but return.

You buy a round of beers for your friends before the first yawn comes, not even at 1 AM. Hana looks at you quizzically.

You keep checking your phone for the time. Which in itself is pretty out of character for you. But you just need a recharge before the next outing…..

But you suck it up, not wanting to leave Sunmi by herself. You fight through your yawns and nurse your beer, twirling and swirling around with Sunmi.

And then you start to get hungry. Damn, you could go for some tacos right now.

“Hey,” Sunmi shouts over the music, “Wanna get food?”

“Wow, you read my mind,” You grin and chug your beer quickly. You and Sunmi both settle on the bar across the street (with the best tacos). You turn to find your friends and let them know that you’re heading across the street. Jimin and Hana both nod eagerly, Taehyung does, too.

You debate if you should ask Jungkook if he wants food- after all, it looks like he’s busy with a girl currently sending him sultry heart eyes. 

“Hey, we’re going to get food. Wanna come?” You ask, “You, too.” You look at the pretty girl who looks familiar. She probably attends the same university as you and your friends. 

Jungkook’s ears perk up at the mention of food, even with the girl currently standing in between his legs. She looks wary for a minute and before you can reassure her, Jungkook speaks up.

“Sure. I could go for some tacos,” Jungkook says, “Let’s get some tacos, Nari.”

“Are you sure, I mean I don’t want to impose. We can catch up later, Kook,” Nari says unsurely.

Jungkook will admit, this feels weird for a reason that he can’t place. The girl he’s trying to hook up with for the night getting tacos with the girl he might have a slight crush on. 

Weird. But still, there’s no harm in just having tacos.

“Trust me, you’re not imposing, Nari. I barely even like this guy,” You joke, “I’m just a big proponent of tacos and tacos should never be eaten alone. Tell your friends too, if they wanna come.”

“Hey!” 

You ignore Jungkook to reassure Nari and give her a bright smile. Nari looks at you, and then Jungkook before nodding slowly and returning your smile.

Jungkook walks Nari out with a hand at the small of her back, something you don’t miss as you chat away with Nari about anything and everything.

You even shoot Jungkook a wink when Nari isn’t looking. He groans internally- how poetic. His current crush giving him the approval of his hook up for the night (Nari knew what the deal was).

How incredibly awkward. Jungkook is capable of many things, always adapting to situations. But this is a new one and when Jimin and Taehyung catch his eye at the taco shop, they both give him a derisive smile.

Jungkook can only groan internally and eat his tacos.

Today’s Wednesday night is uneventful- Hana is with Jimin for the evening and they are likely going out with some friends. You had opted out, as you had an early shift at the law firm tomorrow morning. You’ve gone out the night before early shifts and early classes and more than half the time, you regret it the next day.

Does it mean you’ll stop those habits any time soon? Stay tuned.

But today, you just feel tired from a particularly long, difficult morning of class and your half shift that you worked until five PM. You hadn’t felt like cooking dinner (you had taken leftovers to work for lunch) and by the time you finished your homework for your natural language processing class, it was past 9 PM and your stomach was rumbling loudly.

You’ve been craving noodles, dumplings and chicken. So you place an order at the nearby restaurant by your apartment and order some extra for Hana for later or for tomorrow.

It’s only a fifteen minute walk from your apartment to the shop, and you plug your headphones in to begin your walk.

You sway on the heels of your feet as you wait for your food, saying hello to the couple who owns the small restaurant. They know you by face, from how many times you’ve been here. Your favorite comfort food (besides homemade food made by your parents) exists here. Your favorite aromas exist here and even just the smell of noodles and chicken has your tummy rumbling.

“I thought you would’ve been out,” A voice comes from your right side, “It’s the week before classes start.”

You turn your head at the voice, heart startling a bit. What in the world is Jungkook doing at your secret but not so secret restaurant?

“I could say the same for you,” You remark with a raise of your eyebrow, “I heard Jimin and Tae went out.”

You vaguely wonder if he’s still hooking up with Nari but decide it’s not your business to ask.

“Ah, well… I have work tomorrow,” Jungkook shrugs.

“Me too, they want me in at 7:30 tomorrow,” You complain, “What do I look like? A cog in the wheel that is capitalism?”

“Don’t we all?” Jungkook snorts.

“I didn’t realize you were working this summer, too. Thought you were just doing whatever soccer captains do,” You mutter, picking up your order off of the countertop.

“And what do soccer captains do, Cherries?”

“I dunno. Score touchdowns or whatever,” You shrug and laugh at the pained expression on Jungkook’s face, “And stop calling me that, Jungkook.”

“Whatever, Cherries. I’ve been working at this architecture firm as an intern. Figured it would help with post grad.”

“Oh wow, I didn’t know that was your major…”

“You definitely did, I’m pretty sure I’ve told you.”

“When-” You shake your head, not wanting to argue with him, “That’s cool. I’m working at a law firm, it’s about a fifteen minute bus ride from my apartment.”

“You wanna study law? Makes sense, because you always wanna argue with me-”

“No, I don’t really know if I want to go to grad school,” You trail off, “Hey! I don’t always argue with you!”

“You’re arguing now,” He says smugly, crossing his hands across his broad chest that you definitely do not ogle at.

“Whatever, Jungkook,” You roll your eyes, “You here for classes or anything?”

“Nah, not this summer. Just work and soccer,” Jungkook replies, “Gives me lots of time for other things.” The man has the audacity to wink at you and give you a big, bunny grin. You pretend like your stomach doesn’t flutter.

You roll your eyes, again. 

“How about you, Cherries? Any classes?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this natural language processing class three times a week for three hours each day-”

“Wait, you’re a comp sci major?” He asks incredulously, “Why are you working at a law firm then?”

“I’m working half as IT support and half as the intern,” You reply with a shrug, “It pays well and it’s pretty easy. Half of the IT support comes in the form of telling the lawyers to restart their computers for software updates. It’s so funny, you should see their amazed faces when all it takes is a fuckin’ restart. Makes a girl feel smart as hell.”

“Smart and pretty, huh?” Jungkook says with a crooked grin, “Where you been all my life, Cherries?”

“Shut up,” You say flatly, levelling him with a glare that only makes him smirk even wider at you.

“Cute,” He breathes with so much conviction that it almost makes you flustered. You clutch your bag of food a little tighter to ground yourself. 

“Me telling you to shut up is cute?” You raise both your eyebrows, eager to shield him from the heat in your cheeks.

“Among many other things, Cherries.”

“Share with the class then…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up, and why do you like calling me cherries so much,” You complain, lips jutted out in a pout, “I only wore that top once and now look. You’re referring to me as a delectable, juicy fruit. I mean I don’t blame you-”

“Cherries are my favorite,” Jungkook says, dark eyes swirling with stars. He unnerves you with his raw honesty and sincerity and he lets the implication of his words hang in between you both, your eyes wide by his statement. 

“Well, your taste is questionable because mangoes are very obviously superior-”

You both share a laugh and you’re pleasantly surprised by how the silence that comfortably falls isn’t awkward when you deflect. His name is called shortly after, breaking his intense stare. 

You let out a huff, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Hey, I’ll drive you home,” Jungkook says, pushing the door open for you to exit the shop.

“You have a car on campus?” You say, unable to hold back the awe in your voice, “That’s awesome. And uh, no, I mean, you really don’t have to, it’s only a fifteen minute walk-”

“It’s a two minute ride,” Jungkook says, “But I mean, if you’re not comfortable, I get it-”

“No, it’s not that,” You say honestly, “I just don’t want to inconvenience you-”

“You’re not, it’s a two minute ride. Now get in,” Jungkook says reassuringly, opening the passenger side door for you. He puts his own bags of food in the backseat before getting into the driver’s side.

You’ve never really been alone with Jungkook, but for some reason it doesn’t feel that strange. It’s easy to keep conversation (really, it’s banter) flowing with him- as if you’ve been friends for the entirety of the last few years of college. As if you hadn’t spent nearly every waking moment thinking of him a certain way.

He’s easy to talk to. It unnerves you, but you roll with it.

“You should come to a practice one of these days,” Jungkook murmurs. You raise an eyebrow. Why would he ask you to come to one of his soccer practices when you had only just started an acquaintance-ship? Isn’t that crossing some sort of friendship line that you both hadn’t approached yet.

It’s months later when you realize that everything Jungkook does and says is because of his kind, golden heart. He’s such a genuine person, sincerity always dripping from his warm, brown eyes. Everything he does, he does with love.

“Thanks for driving me home, Jungkook,” You murmur with a small smile. It makes his heart sputter in his chest and he easily returns it. “Text me when you get home?”

“If you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask. Cherries,” Jungkook says smugly and you gasp, affronted. “Text me when you get inside your place.”

“That’s not- I didn’t-” You stammer, sighing, “I already have your number, stupid.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” You mutter, cheeks blazing as you hurry to get out of his car. Which coincidentally smells just like him. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“‘Night, Cherry.”

You roll your eyes but give him a small wave and a smile before entering your building. 

cherries: I’m inside. Drive safe jungkook: you worried about me? cherries: no im worried about your nice car jungkook: uh huh… gonna leave now, text you when i get home? cherries: 👍🏾

It’s about three minutes later (you barely even have time to wash your hands and change into pajamas) before your phone lights up again.

jungkook: im home cherries: me too jungkook: wow you’re funny cherries: pretty and smart too, according to you jungkook: well i wasnt lying 😍 cherries: Uh huhhhhh

You put your phone to the side to put some of the food on your plate, your stomach still rumbling. You turn on the anime you’re currently watching and get cozy on the couch with a glass of wine.

And in the middle of your late dinner, your wine and your show, your phone lights up with texts from Jungkook. It surprises you that he holds the conversation even when you had given him such a dull response. Isn’t he tired of texting you by now?

He keeps you company through your dinner and you barely are even paying attention to the anime you’re watching, only giggling to yourself over Jungkook’s silly texts-

cherries: you’re so distracting, couldnt even finish this episode of fruits basket jungkook: cute cherries: i cant tell u if its cute, i barely watched it bc of you jungkook: no i meant u. Ur cute

Five seconds go by. Then ten. Your face is heated- you’re glad he can’t see you. Maybe you’ll reciprocate someday. But today is not that day.

cherries: shut up

tags: @kookdbean

[arctickat2400]

Postpartum Insecurities <> Bucky Barnes

“She’s so beautiful,” You smiled down at your daughter in your arms. You laid in the bed in the med bay of the Avengers Compound, wrapped in Bucky’s arms as he sat behind you. He rubbed your arm softly as you both cooed over your newborn.

“Do you have a name yet?” Dr. Cho asked with a smile as she took your vitals. You looked up at Bucky in question. You had been talking about names probably since you found out you were pregnant. Though, you still didn’t know what was right. But, looking at your daughter now for the first time, both you and Bucky knew the perfect name.

“Sophie Rae... Sophie Rae Barnes.” You smiled up at Bucky, him returning the gesture. He kissed your forehead as you continued to adore your daughter.

* * *

“I’ll be right back.” You said to Bucky, gesturing to the front counter of the cafe, before standing from the booth.

“You want me to get you something, doll?” Bucky questioned. He was always so sweet like that, getting you anything you needed or wanted.

“It’s alright, babe. I got it.” Smiling, you kissed his cheek and walked back up to the counter. There was a new barista working the register today. Brooke must’ve had a day off.

“What can I get for you?” The woman, Caroline, offered.

“Can I get one of the chocolate chip brownies and a java chip frappe, please?” You asked with a smile.

“You sure about that?” She started, and you could hear a bit of judgment in her voice. “With that appetite, that extra weight isn’t going anywhere. Never gonna get that gorgeous model body back.” She states, and you could feel the tears build up. Before you got pregnant, you had the perfect body and you were a very well-known model. But, then, you had your daughter and your body never went back to the way it used to be. No matter how grateful you were for your daughter, nothing could change your insecurities.

“Um… well,” You hesitated. “Never mind, then.” And with that, you left back to your table. Bucky’s head snapped up, sensing you were close. It was kinda like a sixth sense for him. Which meant you couldn’t sneak up on him like you could with your other friends.

“Hey, baby. I thought you were gonna get something to eat.” Bucky wondered as you slid back into the booth across from him. You made eye contact with him and you could feel the sadness build up more and more.

“I, uh, changed my mind. But, um… could we actually go home?” You questioned. You saw Bucky’s expression change from adoration to concern.

“Yeah, sure.” He began as he followed your movements out of the booth. You started walking out of the cafe, and you could swear you saw the barista glare at you as you walked by. You sped out of the cafe and were almost 3 buildings down the street already when Bucky caught up to you, took your hand, and stopped you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Bucky asked, more worry laced in his voice. A tear escaped your eye and you tried to turn away, but Bucky pulled you closer to him, his hand on your cheek. He turned your head to look at him and wiped the tears away.

"Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on?” Bucky questioned, his eyes glued to yours.

“That new girl at the counter... she told me that I was...” You sniffled as you said the word ‘fat’ under your breath. You didn’t want to say it, but that is what she was implying. You knew Bucky could hear you, his super serum allowing him to hear miles away probably.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just pulled you into his arms as you let a few more tears slip.

“Baby, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Let’s not make a big deal of this.” But, Bucky knew that, once she pulled away and looked up at him with that shocked look on her face, he had said the wrong thing.

“You don’t think this is a big deal?” You said, anger building up. You were speechless. Bucky opened his mouth to say something but you didn’t let him. You didn’t say anything else as you turned around and made your way back to your car. You got into the passenger’s seat, Bucky in the driver’s seat and you traveled back to the compound.

“Doll, I’m sorry. I just...”

“Don’t,” You said louder than intended. “Just don’t.” They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive to the compound.

Everyone knew you were insecure about your body. Ever since your pregnancy, you had to give up your modeling career and your body changed drastically.

You weren’t the skinny, beautiful girl Bucky had first fallen in love with. You didn’t think he’d want you anymore. But, he told you differently. He told you he had made a promise to always love you no matter what when he proposed to you. He promised that he’d always think you were as beautiful as he thought you to be when you first met. And you believed him, deep down.

But, other times, you would go through phases of depression and you would hate yourself. No one really understood, clearly. Everyone thought you were overreacting, as always. You hated your body now, there was extra weight everywhere. And no matter what Bucky told you, how beautiful you always were and always will be, you couldn’t help but hate yourself more.

You hated being mad at Bucky, but the person you loved more than anyone or anything, the one person you’d think would understand more than anyone thought it wasn’t a big deal. And, though he thinks whatever you’re going on about is complete nonsense, Bucky hates the distance between you two.

Later, in the afternoon, Steve decided to bring you and Bucky with him to meet a friend to pick up some stuff, weapons and such. As part of your job, you’re forced to talk to Bucky, as well as all the others. You’re not surprised Steve chose to bring Bucky, his best friend. Though it was quite obvious, Steve didn’t know you weren’t talking to each other, so he brought you too. You sat in the front seat of Steve’s Buggy, Bucky in the back, and Steve driving, of course. You pull up under a bridge behind a black car, belonging to Sharon Carter.

“I’ll be right back...” Steve says, getting out of the car, leaving you and Bucky alone. Everything is silent as you watch Steve converse with Sharon. You watch as she opens her trunk and you see several guns and Steve’s shield on the top of the pile.

Suddenly, “Can you move your seat up?” Bucky breaks the silence.

“No.” You answer without any emotion, just annoyance, keeping your eyes on the two blondes in front of you.

You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you just barely feel the car move seconds later as he shifts over to the middle seat. You watch a smile form on Steve’s face as he leans into Sharon, and they share a passionate kiss. You didn’t know they were a thing. You were quite surprised, to be honest, considering Peggy’s funeral was just two days ago. But you thought it was sweet. Steve’s known Sharon for a while, it seems. You smile at the romance.

“Ya know, that could be us,” Bucky states and your smile falters, remembering your fight from just hours before. You stay silent. “I’m sorry, Y/N...”

But there was something in you that just wasn’t yet forgiving. You focus back on Steve and Sharon. She gets back in her car just as Steve made eye contact with you. You and Bucky smile at him as a light blush lit up Steve’s cheeks.

About 20 minutes later, you three make it back to the compound. You get out of the car and make your way inside. A smile lights up your face as you see your daughter running towards you, a huge smile on her face.

“Mommy!” She exclaims, running into your arms. You’ve only been gone about 2 hours, but she’s always excited when you get home.

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you have fun with Aunt Nat?” You asked her, kneeling down in front of her.

“Yeah! We colored and then she taught me how to load a gun.” Sophie answered. You chuckled nervously, not really knowing how to feel about that, considering she was 6 and wasn’t ready to be around guns.

“Oh, did she?” You met Nat’s eyes from across the room and she just shrugged with a smug smile. You looked back at your daughter.

“Well, I’m gonna go freshen up. Go say hi to Daddy.” You say just as Bucky walked through the door with Steve.

She looked over at her dad and Uncle Steve, a bigger smile growing on her lips.

“Daddy!” She squealed as she ran to him. You stood up and walked away through the halls and to your room.

“Hey, baby girl! How was your morning?” Buck smiles as he holds Sophie in his arms, her perched on his hip.

“It was good. Did you know that you always keep your gun on the safety until you are ready to use it?” Sophie states with a giggly smile.

Bucky chuckles at his daughter. “Yes, I did know that. But, I didn’t think you were ready to know that yet.” He glared at Natasha from the corner of his eye.

“Daddy, can you teach me something?” Sophie asks him as he sets her on her feet and kneels down in front of her.

“Of course, doll.” He says. She was always into reading and spelling, you think she got that from you. She likes to learn with Bucky, the daddy’s girl side of her. You would always find them around the apartment, reading easy-to-read books or him teaching her to spell or write or doing whatever she wanted to do.

After changing into a pair of jean shorts and one of Bucky’s sweatshirts that went past your shorts, just as you were walking out of your bathroom, you ran into Bucky. You looked up at him as he looked down at you with a pleading, sincere look in his eyes. You wanted to forgive him, you just couldn’t yet. You walked past him into your bedroom as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. You grabbed your book and settled on the couch in your room by the window.

Bucky walked back out, shirtless and in gray sweatpants. You just had to look at your favorite outfit on him. You could never help yourself when he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He did it all the time too, knowing you loved it. He did it whenever there was no one in your apartment except you, him, and Sophie. That was almost all day, every day, always a nice sight to see.

He walked out of the room and you went back to reading, trying to focus. It was hard to focus back on something as simple as reading after seeing Bucky shirtless.

A little while later, you heard a loud squeaky laugh from the kitchen. You close your book, standing from your spot on the couch, you make your way quietly to the kitchen. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, watching the sweet sight of your husband and daughter sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge. Sophie sat in Bucky’s lap as they played around with the spelling letter magnets on the fridge. You couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky just finished teaching Sophie how to spell the word ‘perfect’. He told her to sound it out, first asking her what sound a cat makes.

Just then, Bucky looks up at you, and as your eyes meet, your face fell as fast as your smile came when you saw Bucky and Sophie together. You turn around and make your way back to your room.

“Hey, Soph, how about you go and wash up for dinner?” Bucky tells her, helping her up from his lap. “Okay, daddy.” She smiles, giggling as she runs off. He could never hold back a smile whenever she called him daddy. It would never get old for him.

Bucky made his way to his room, longing for his wife that he hasn’t talked to since that morning. He walks in quietly, careful not to scare her like he does more than he would like. He always found it cute how jumpy she was.

He finds his wife sitting on their bed, back facing him. He knew what she was doing. She didn’t have her phone or a book in her hands. She just sat there thinking like he found her doing a lot. Bucky climbs up behind her, pulling her hair back and placing a soft kiss on her neck.

“Bucky…” She starts.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I know how you are and how you feel about yourself and I just didn’t know what I was thinking.” Bucky interrupted her. He moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in his. “I’m sorry about what that woman said. If I had known, I would’ve done something about it.”

“I just thought… I thought you understood.” You told him, your voice quiet as you looked down at your hands, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Y/N, baby, I do understand. I really do. The only reason I don’t think it’s a big deal is that I always see you the same in my eyes.” Bucky paused as he lifted your chin to look into his eyes. “You will always be and I will always see you as beautiful as you were when I first met you, no matter what. And I will always love you, baby.” He finished as he brushed his thumb against your cheek. He rid away some of the stray tears, though more kept coming. But, instead of the sad tears, they were happy tears.

“Besides, all of this,” he slid his hand up my shirt and set his hand on my belly. “It came from the birth of our baby girl. So, there’s no reason to feel insecure about it, baby. It’s a good thing.” He told you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your belly.

“I love you so much, Buck.” You said as he came back up. You leaned in, your hand on the back of his neck. Your lips met in a sweet, loving kiss.

“Forever, Y/N. I love you.” He said, your foreheads pressed against each other.

Just then, you heard pots and pans banging against each other from the kitchen.

“I think our daughter is getting hungry.” You giggled, bringing a smile to Bucky’s lips. He couldn’t get enough of your smile or your laugh or your anything.

You stood up, ready to make whatever your daughter wanted.

“Y/N, can I just say one thing?” Bucky asked just before you turned the corner to your bedroom door. You turned towards him with a questionable expression.

“That cute ass of yours is not helping the way I feel right now. Especially since I haven’t touched you much today.” He states as he stood up and walked to you. His hands ran up your - his - sweatshirt and planted themselves on your bare waist. He felt you tense in his grasp. You still felt a little sensitive and insecure when he touched the places that held that extra bit of weight.

“Don’t worry, baby. Don’t feel insecure.” He whispered into your ear. “You’re so beautiful. Every inch, every bit of you, I can’t get enough.” Bucky finished. You looked up at him, a somewhat seductive smile on your lips. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. You felt his hand travel further down towards your ass and into your back pocket.

You leaned back a bit. “Dinner first, my love. Then, maybe we can do some of that later.” You told your husband. You loved watching him the way he was. You loved that he longed for you. You slid your hand into his and led him out to the kitchen where you find your daughter starting to put ingredients together for dinner. You knew she was going to take after Bucky in the cooking department. You and Bucky watched her, a smile on both your faces. You leaned into Bucky, one hand on his chest along with your head and his arm around your waist. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your head.

Note: My apologies if I've missed changing any of the name "Katie" to "Y/N". I write my stories as myself and then change my name to Y/N once I put it on Tumblr. Please don't discriminate my writing if I did miss something here or on any of my future/ other stories. I don't mean to. Thanks for reading and I hope y'all like my stories!