#listen I come home EVERY night and pick a doctor at random

[cosmic-hoboandthehighlander]

If you’re annoyed by my sudden hyperfixation on the classic Doctors, just wait until I decide I need to rewatch new who and flood your dashes with Fifteen after his premier 😅

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hello! It's my first time requesting, I don't know if you will write it or not, but I thought I'll put the idea in, basically when I had this sudden burst of idea for a story where in this story Bucky is sort of a the type of guy who likes to bring girls and ykyk, and unfortunately the reader has a crush on Bucky and they r neighbour so reader would tend to listen to the noises and it would break the reader's heart. One day, she decided to go for a walk when Bucky was *cough* w some random girl, and unfortunately, the reader was attacked from behind, and Steve or Sam found her and brought her to the Medbay, and when Bucky found out his heart broke and he confessed, bc he also has a crush on the reader but don't know how to do handle it so he just go with other girls to push his feelings aside, obv doesn't work. Ending fluff!! Love your work always🫶

You’re The One That I Want » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Neighbor!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t want the other girls he has brought home, all he wants is Y/N.

Warnings: Fluff, language, mentions of blood, crying, kissing, cuddling, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

You covered your ears with your hands and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to drown out the sound of the moans coming from Bucky’s apartment next door. You couldn’t help but feel jealous and heartbroken. You’ve had a crush on Bucky since the day you moved in next door to him, but it’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t feel the same way about you. He brings a different girl home almost every night. You put on a jacket and grabbed your phone and keys. You decided to take a walk to get your mind off of Bucky having a girl over. The night air felt refreshing. You hadn’t realized how long you were walking when you felt someone grab you from behind and pulled you into a nearby alley. The person covered your mouth to muffle your screams. The next thing you knew, you felt something sharp pierce your left side. Soon your body felt limp and you fell to the ground, everything went dark after that. Steve was walking down the street when something caught his eye in the alley. He cautiously entered the alley and seen a person lying on the ground unconscious. Something about this person seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He crouched down and carefully rolled the person over. His eyes widened when he seen your face.

“Y/N, it’s Steve. Can you hear me?” Steve says.

That’s when he felt something wet. He looked down and seen a pool of blood underneath you. He checked for a pulse. Your pulse was weak, but it was there. Steve picked you up bridal style and took you to the med bay at the Avengers Compound. While the doctors were checking you out, he tried to call and text Bucky, but he didn’t answer.

“Come on, Buck. Answer your damn phone.” Steve says to himself.

Steve was sent to voicemail for what it seems like the hundredth time. He sighed and put his phone in pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. Steve knows you’re Bucky’s next door neighbor. He also knows that Bucky would like to know if something bad happened to you.

The next morning, Bucky woke up next to a girl who’s name he didn’t remember. He grabbed his phone and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he seen a lot of miss calls and texts from Steve. He got out of bed to get dressed at the same time the girl woke up. He politely told her that he had to go to work and she left. He then made his way to the Avengers Compound.

“Why did you call and text me so many times last night? Where’s the emergency?” Bucky asks, walking towards Steve.

“It’s Y/N.” Steve says.

“My neighbor Y/N? What’s wrong with her?” He asks.

“I found her with a stab wound and passed out from blood loss in an alley last night.” Steve tells him.

Bucky felt his heart drop and his eyes widened. A bunch of bad scenarios were going through his mind.

“Where is she? Is she awake?” Bucky asks with worry in his voice.

“She’s in the med bay and still hasn’t woke up yet.” Steve says.

Bucky immediately ran to the med bay. His eyes teared up when he seen you in the bed with an IV in your arm and a breathing tube in your nose that’s giving you oxygen. He approached the bed and sat down next to you. Him seeing you in the bed like that almost killed him. He carefully picked up your hand, giving it a kiss and held it. Bucky couldn’t help but feel guilt. If he answered his phone last night, he would’ve been here sooner.

“I’m s-so sorry this happened to you, doll.” His voice cracking. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.” He says with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bucky sniffles and let out a shaky breath. He thought hooking up with girls who aren’t you would push his feelings away about you, but it didn’t work. You’re on his mind 24/7.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but umm…” Bucky paused for a few seconds. “I just want to tell you that I’m in love with you. I thought that seeing girls who aren’t you would push the feelings I have for you away. You’re always on my mind. You’re the one that I want.” He confesses. “If you don’t feel the same way as me, I totally understand.” He says.

He waited a moment, hoping you would wake up after he said that, but you didn’t. Bucky sighed and laid his head on the bed.

“What you said was really sweet.” Natasha says, breaking the silence.

Bucky lifted his head to see Natasha in the doorway. Wanda was standing next to her. They walked in the room and stood next on the opposite side of the bed.

“Thanks, but I doubt that she feels the same way about me.” He says.

“She’ll get through this, Bucky.” Wanda says.

“I hope so.” He says, looking at you.

Something came to Bucky’s mind. He remembered you told him you like red roses. Maybe that’ll help you change your mind about him if you feel differently towards him.

“Can you two do something for me?” Bucky asks, looking at them.

“Of course. Anything.” Natasha says.

“I want to get her roses, but I don’t want to leave her. Can you two get them for me? She likes the red ones.” He says, giving them some money.

“That’s so sweet of you. Of course we’ll do that for you.” Wanda says, taking the money from him.

After they left, Bucky looked at you with sadness in his eyes. He lifted one of his hands and moved your hair from your face, admiring your beautiful features. He gently caressed your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin. Bucky couldn’t stop his eyes from tearing up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than for you to wake you up.

“Don’t leave me. Please wake up, doll.” Bucky says, letting his tears free fall.

Bucky laid his head against the bed. You could hear his voice. You also felt his hand holding yours. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting them to adjust to the light. It took you a moment to gather your surroundings. You looked to your right to see Bucky sitting next to the bed.

“B-Bucky?” You say weakly.

Bucky’s head shot up when he heard your voice. A smile grew on his face. Relief washed over him, knowing that you’re alive.

“Oh thank god!” Bucky says, hugging you tightly.

You whimpered in pain when his arm accidentally bumped your wound.

“Shit, sorry.” He apologizes, letting go of you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, wondering why your left side is in pain. You lifted your shirt just enough to see bandages on your left side.

“Wh-What happened and where am I?” You asked, looking at him.

“Steve said you were attacked from behind. You’re in the med bay in the Avengers Compound.” Bucky explains.

“Did you find me?” You asked.

“No. Steve found you.” You could hear the sadness in Bucky’s voice. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He asks.

“Uhh…” That’s when it came to you. “You and the girl you brought home last night were- umm enjoying yourselves…” You tried not to sound awkward. “And I didn’t want to hear it so I went on a walk and someone grabbed me from behind. I’m assuming that’s how I got this.” You explained, lifting your shirt to show him the bandages.

Bucky felt even more guilty. He felt like this is his fault. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, doll.” Bucky apologizes. “I should’ve been there for you.” He says.

You lifted your hand weakly and caressed his cheek, your thumb rubbing across his stubble.

“This isn’t your fault, Bucky.” You say softly.

You looked in his teary blue eyes. Bucky leaned in, kissing you passionately. Steve, Natasha, and Wanda walked in at the same time you two were kissing. Bucky slowly pulled away from you, glancing over to the doorway to see the three of them standing there.

“You have company, doll.” Bucky says.

You looked at the door, smiling when you seen Steve, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda had a vase of red roses in her hands.

“Bucky told me and Nat to get these for you.” Wanda says, placing the roses on the table next to the bed.

“We’ll leave you two alone. We’re happy that you’re awake.” Natasha says, walking out of the room with Wanda following her.

“Steve…” You stopped him in his tracks. “Thank you for saving me.” You say.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I’m just glad I found you and got you help.” Steve says with a smile before leaving the room.

You turned your head to admired the roses for a moment before turning to face Bucky.

“I don’t know if you heard what I said earlier or not, but I mean every word. If you don’t feel the same way about me, I completely understand. We can go back to being neighbors and-” You silenced Bucky with a kiss.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day I moved in next door to you.” You confessed.

Bucky smiles widely and kissed you sweetly and passionately.

“When you’re fully recovered, do you want to go on a date with me?” Bucky asks.

“I’d love that.” You say in almost a whisper.

You scooted over in the bed, whimpering in pain when you moved the wrong way.

“Doll, what are you doing?” Bucky asks.

“Lay down next to me.” You say, patting the bed next to you.

Bucky happily laid down next to you, wrapped his arms around you protectively and being careful not to touch your wound.

“You’re staying with me till you’re fully recovered and then I’m going to help you move your stuff to my apartment.” Bucky says.

“We’re not even dating yet and you want me to move in with you.” You say, looking up at him.

“You’re my girl now and that means I want you to live with me.” He says.

You smiled and kissed his stubbly cheek. You laid your head on his chest, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Bucky kissed the top of your head, smiling to himself when the two of you finally got each other to yourselves.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[movieexpert1978]

Just Listen

link      

I wrote this story a while back and I finally got around to typing it. This is based off of Alfred’s character in Monday Mornings. I’ve never seen the show, but I plan to some day. I got inspired by a post that I put in the link about. 

credit to the post goes to @illiana-mystery​    

This scene really hit home for me and helped me write this story as a little venting. TW suicide attempt, self harm, issues with mental health, swearing, 

The drive to the hospital was a bit of a blur. She hears people talking about all sorts of things. She thinks someone tells her to stay awake, but she doesn’t want to listen. She feels tired and her stomach is bothering her. There’s a lot of pain in her arm as well. She feels her body being wheeled around inside. She thinks people are asking for her name. she mumbles when someone flashes a light in her eyes. She hears more talking and something is put over her face. She thinks she feels something pinching her before she passes out.

Xxxxxxx

When she wakes up again everything is sore. Her stomach hurts and her throat feels so dry. She sits up only to yelp in pain from her arm. She looks to see the stitches are bandaged carefully. She goes quiet as she last back down wanting to curl up and disappear. When a nurse comes in she answers her questions and gets her blood drawn.

“Do you have anyone that you want us to call?” She asks.

“No, thank you.” The nurse nods quietly and leaves. She stares out the window for a while. She doses in and out of sleep as a nurse comes in to check on her. When a doctor comes in finally, she’s already got a good impression of him. He does an introduction before he sits down and starts to ask question.

“What made you want to attempt suicide?”

“I’m not sure…it’s complicated.”

“Trouble with the family or a significant other?”

“No, I live alone.”

“Any pets?”

“No, I wanted a dog but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Are you taking any medications?”

“Just birth-control.”

“No anti-depressants?”

“No, I haven’t had them since I was about eighteen I think.”

“You’re…thirty now,” he comments looking at his notes. “Do you work?”

“Yeah, full time in a factory and this summer part time at a park.”

“You sound like you have it made,” the doctor shrugs.

“I still feel like I don’t. I feel random shots of pain through my body. I have horrible thoughts at night when I lay in bed. I just feel like I’m going through the motions of life half the time,” she explains.

“Well thirty is a significant point in life. You could go see a therapist. We’ll set you up with one before you leave. You’ll be going up to they psych ward for observation,” the doctor says. He tucks his pen away and leaves without another word, making her frown.

“Thanks for the talk,” she huffs. She picks away at her food, not really eating much except for the Jell-o. She’s only allowed water for the moment too.

“Am I going to see the doctor again?” She asks when the nurse comes back in.

“Probably not, he has more severe patients,” she answers.

“I thought every case was severe,” she nearly snaps. The nurse doesn’t say anymore as she writes down her notes and leaves. After awhile she gets up and heads into the hallway. She sees a woman working at the desk so she heads over there. “I want to be discharged,” she states.

“I’m sorry but I’m not in a position to do that,” she says kindly.

“I don’t care, I want to get out of this hospital now!” She snaps/

“Miss please, if you go back to your room I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“No one is listening to me! I want to get out of this fucking hospital now!” She shouts.

“Excuse me, young lady.” A concerned doctor hurries over to her. He’s tall, wearing glasses and a bow tie. “I’m Doctor Harding Hooten, perhaps I can help,” he suggests gently. She couldn’t help but think that with his size he’d be a security guard instead of a doctor. “Come on…let me take you back to your room and we can talk,” he says offering his hand. She hesitantly takes it and guides her slowly back to bed. He makes sure that she’s comfortable and the blankets cover her nicely.

“What’s wrong?”

“I tried to kill myself and all they say is go to a therapist and you’re having a sort of mid-life crisis. We’ve got more severe patients to look after.”

“What? Who said that!?” He gasps.

“I don’t know the nurses name, but that’s what she said when I asked if he would come back.”

“I’m very sorry you have to hear that,” he says with true sympathy. She looks away to hide her sudden tears.

“I don’t know what to do. I just feel like I’m here…so what,” she sniffles wiping her eyes.

“Do you have any family or friends I can call for you?”

“No, they’re all over the place and I don’t really have much friends.”

“Well could you talk to me?” He asks hesitantly.

“Only if you listen.” He squeezes her hand gently.

“I’m listening.”

“I turned thirty this year. I think that’s when it started.”

“What did?”

“Just overthinking a lot of things. I mean I over think a lot. I have a house, a car, a full time job with benefits…a lot of people seem to think that I have my life sorted out, but I don’t really feel that way,” she admits.

“To be honest, there really is no right age to have your life in order. I’m sixty and sometimes I look around and wonder what the hell am I doing?” He smiles.

“What! You’re sixty?” She gasps, making him nod. “You don’t look a day over forty-five.” Hooten gave a hearty laugh at that.

“I certainly wish,” he smiles. She looks down at her hands, picking away at her fingers, another sign of anxiety.

“So am I just going to go up to the psych ward and be left alone in a room all weekend?” She mumbles sadly.

“No,” Hooten stated. She looked up at him hesitantly. “I’m not going to send you up there. you’ve been through enough. It might take another day or so but I’m going to set you up with a therapist and a psychologist before you leave here. I will also get you set up with some medication as well.

“I can start with that,” she says quietly.

“Also I’ll need some information about your place of work. I’m going to put you on sick leave for at least a month.”

“A month! No, I can’t do that!” She gasps.

“I saw notes that said you’re working two jobs. To be blunt you’re burnt out, but that’s ok,” he says gently. “I’ll do most of the brunt work. You need healthy coping skills so this doesn’t happen again. I know I certainly don’t want this to happen again,” he says giving her hand another squeeze. “I’m going to be checking up on you too. Don’t think for a second that I see you as another patient to just shove off to others,” he huffs. She smiles a little.

“Thank you…this really means a lot to me,” she whispers, tears stinging her eyes again. He wraps an arm around her and finally starts sobbing. He just carefully rubs her back in comfort. She cries long enough to get his shoulder wet, but he doesn’t mind at all. He does stop her when she starts to hyperventilate. He guides breathing along to help her avoid a panic attack.

“Thank you for listening doctor I wish there were more people like you.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

[firesidefandoms]

What if? (P1)

What if Anakin never broke our hearts?

What if he never went to the dark side, never killed the younglings, and Padme never died?

This is what I think would happen:

(Just a random mess of fluffy ideas)

The night that Anakin woke up to a nightmare, Padme managed to get through to him

She calmed him down, and every nightmare after, she was able to guide him back to reality

Anakin is denied a spot on the council and although he is still upset, he is less so than he would've been had they put him on the council and not made him a master

Since he is not being asked to spy on Palpatine, his trust remains in the council

It is a shaky trust, but it is trust nonetheless

Palpatine still requests Anakin's presence often, leading to Anakin finding out that Palpatine is a Sith

However, Padme was successful in easing his fears, and Anakin, no longer deathly afraid for Padme's life, is less inclined to join the Dark side

After realizing Anakin is not going to convert, Palpatine flees before anyone can capture him

Anakin spends the next few days crying and being cradled by Obi Wan, after coming so close to the Dark side

The war is effectively won in little over a month, and aside from some minor skirmishes, the fighting is over

Anakin is granted the title of Master

Soon after the war's end, he accompanies Padme to Naboo, where she gives birth to two beautiful babies

The birth goes well, surrounded by Naboo's best midwives and an excellent Doctor they brought from Coruscant

Padme had requested the extra Doctors for Anakin's sake, though thankfully they are unneeded

However, it is no secret on Naboo who the father is, with Padme screaming (and a little bit of cursing) his name throughout the worst of the pain

They name them Luke Skywalker and Leia Amidala

Anakin falls in love with them immediately

As he holds the them in his arms for the first time, he knows he made the right choice to not listen to Palpatine

Nothing in the universe can compare to his family

They throw a week long party on Naboo to celebrate the end of the war, and the birth of the twins

At first Anakin tries to keep them a secret for their safety

But after so many months of other Jedi catching him with one or both babies strapped to him, and his frequent visits to Naboo, it doesn't stay secret for long

Not that it was ever really a secret among the Jedi

Of course Obi-Wan is the first to know

Anakin tells him the day after they're born (Even though Obi-Wan had already figured it out himself)

Ahsoka happens to overhear and comes running into the room with excitement

She would've been the next to know anyway

Anakin still goes on missions, but keeps to the tamer ones until the twins are older, and tries to be with his family as much as possible

Ahsoka loves picking out toys with Anakin whenever they go on missions together

Anakin still denies being the father for awhile

But he eventually stops trying to hide it

Bouncing a baby on his knees during council meetings

A toddler running up to him screaming "Daddy!"

Officially moving into Padme's home

He doesn't care anymore

He and Padme begin attempting to remodel the senate and Jedi Order together

But eventually the council asks him to resign

They are relucted to strip him of his Jedi status, but since he has clearly disobeyed the Jedi code, he can no longer be an acting member of the council

Anakin is fine with this

He enjoys a peaceful few years raising his children with Padme, Uncle Obi-Wan and Aunt Ahsoka on Naboo

Obi-Wan spoils Luke and Leia because they're practically his children too, except he doesn't have to deal with them 24/7

Anakin likes to pick them up Simba style, and show them off to people

"Master, look at this child!" shoves Leia into Obi-Wan's face. "Isn't she beautiful! They're the most perfect babies ever!"

Padme likes to sing the twins to sleep (The melody of across the stars")

Anakin lays skin to skin with them in the middle of the night when they won't sleep

Stares at their adorable babies faces in awe "I can't believe they're ours,"

"Snips! look at this baby! I made him!" Padme half asleep from the other room "WE made him" Anakin corrects himself "We made him"

As a child, Leia is the leader of the two, getting into trouble, and inventing grand ideas and schemes

Luke is milder, and although he'll play with Leia, he often prefers tinkering and playing quietly by himself

He is very friendly and gets along very well with everyone he encounters

He is beloved by all the nursery staff

They call him "Darling" and "Angel"

Leia is more known as "Rascal," "Lil bandit" and "little miss trouble"

Unbeknownst to them, Luke is usually in on all of Leia's schemes

Leia does have a good side however, she is discerning, just, passionate, and fearless. A natural leader

When Anakin discovers that the twins are force sensitive he panics at first, afraid that they'll turn out like him (especially concerned about Leia, who is practically a mini female version of him)

But then he sees them happily playing outside with Padme, and Obi-Wan napping nearby

He know they'll be okay with people like their mother, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka to look after them

He still denies the council when they try to induct the children into the creche

He and Padme want them to be able to decide on their own if they want to become Jedi

However, he does allow Obi-Wan to teach them how to use a lightsaber when they're a bit older (Around 7 years old)

Anakin also teaches them how to shield themselves from the force

Thanks for reading!! Part 2 will probably be coming soon!

[haet-sal]

TW: parental neglect and emancipation

Okay listen. Sunwoo au. Sunwoo who gets you pregnant, you’re both 19-20, not prepared for it, and your parents are so religious or just traditional that they disown u for having premarital sex???

Sunwoo is a fuckboi who got a bunch of girls he’s fucking with and maybe you’re even hesitant to tell him, especially after telling your parents caused so much... unrest in your home. Right now your life is basically falling apart. Let's just say you don't want an abortion (EVEN THO I SUPPORT WOMENS RIGHTS WE NEED BABY SUNWOO BORN), anyway you just got disowned but you’re already renting a place anyway...

Sunwoo deserves to know he has a child so u call him up... cue serious sunwoo like "what are you gonna do about it?" And maybe it’s that far into the pregnancy and you tell him "you're gonna have a daughter 🥲"

HES SCAREDDDDDD but... He already feels protective and 💖💞💝💝💞💝💞💞love but also he can’t be ur boyfriend, that's just not the guy he is

But once he gets the news he drops everything to be with you, every doctor's checkup and the eventual birth and people always tell you guys "you're such lovely parents" and it’s funny bc they have no idea that you’re not even together in that sense

During pregnancy period it was getting to know parenthood AND getting to know each other... there would be evenings where you didn't feel so well and you were renting the place alone, so he'd stay with you all night 🥺🥺 talk about the kid, his childhood, what kind of life you’re gonna give the little baby anyway u have a name for her already... ready? I am bad with names... KYUSUN!! Little kyusun!!!

Okay so childbirth. Get an epidural my girl!! When u wake up Sunwoo's sleeping at ur bedside and he’s like "she's so beautiful you don’t understand"

And he did help you during the infancy but eventually his work got too busy, he’s got an important position so he visits less and less... although he makes sure Kyusun knows that she has a father who loves her 💖💞💝💞💝 babygirl would grow up such a daddy's girl, and he tries to visit as much as he can

What I mean is like, when ur there he’s not and when he’s there you’re not? So the baby never experiences both parents being there at the same time

But she lives with you anyway so sometimes she'll cry about wanting to see appa

OKAY NOW TIME FOR SUNWOO DAD ANTICS

Jokes all the time... makes up stories about random things "when ur mommy was pregnant with you, she ate so many melons... and so your head is as round as a melon"

Wants his daughter to see him as a tough guy "you know ur daddy is a dangerous man, right? Daddy's gonna protect you, no one can touch you" *little girl giggles*

Probably tells her he works as an international spy or something and that's why he’s away all the time

Sunwoo rents his own house but some months he sleeps at yours more than his. He has a spare key so when you’re asleep in the night he'll just come in, kiss his daughter's forehead

Fall asleep on the couch

Sometimes you wake up and let him sleep in the big bed with the two of you

The little girl is so happy when that happens!!! Family<333

On the days you have too much work and she was extracurriculars, sunwoo picks her up and later hangs with her at home

The teachers r in love with sunwoo and OMG IMAGINE

U two aren't married but he'll fake being sooo in love with "kyusun's mom~" just to get the teachers to lay off

The little girl loves it!!! She never sees you two being so lovey dovey but when the teachers r flirting with him, sunwoo will pull out his phone and pretend he’s voice messaging u

"Oh~honey~~~I miss you! I got our little girl come home safe~"

Do we want him doing her hair?

"Of course appa knows how to tie hair, I used to have a perm, you know!??! Mom would NEVER know how"

Also always shows up during parent stuff, like father daughter dances, parents' night, outings with the other kids' parents

Bc he doesn’t want his daughter to be bullied for having an absent dad

But yeah most of the time he’s not around

Okay so.... dundundun YOU'LL DATE

Maybe ur an office worker, your boss is juyo?? One day he asks u out! And hey ur young u deserve some fun u say yes

After a few dates it’s getting serious, maybe juyo takes u and kyusun out for an ice cream date

Sunwoo HATES THAT, he finds out and he’s like "IM her father??? Also it’s dangerous don’t trust a stranger with our kid" like he trusts his roommates (changmin eric) but do you see HIM letting his daughter run around those two

😐😐 "so what sunwoo I might need a life partner, I never got to experience that bc of the baby—I don’t regret her but I need a normal life, not like someone who's been a mom since 19???"

Sunwoo is just generally upset about it. He doesn’t want juyeon in your lives...

Until he talks to changmin Eric bc they noticed he’s too sulky and they're like

Yeah probably bc ur in love with your baby mama

🤨🤨🤨excuse me????

Yeah dude........ you like sleeping over there better, you talk about her all the time, you can’t stand "commitment" but you’ve been committed to her for a long time

Realizashun! Sunwoo trying to confess to you but also u just had a fight about juyeon

"I wasn't just mad... I was jealous. I don’t want our kid to grow up with another guy that isnt me, and more importantly I don’t want another guy in your life that isn't me"

But idk! What would YOU like? Bc juyeon is reliable but you don’t know him that well / and you’ve known sunwoo for like 6 years and he’s the father of your child.... but he’s even more unreliable than juyeon???? And he doesn’t do commitment he might end up leaving you again

So it’s up to you!

[reidsnose]

happy campers

overview: the bau goes on a team building camping trip but reader and spencer spend most of their time together

genre: fluff

a/n: ive been kicking myself for not posting in forever but i think this one is pretty cute! please lmk what yall think :)

masterlist

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the stuffy, eight person suv finally rolled to a stop, the overgrown children that call themselves the bau tumbling out as quickly and gracelessly as possible. Morgan and Reid nearing the end of a 2 and a half minute long slap fight that you happened to be caught directly in the middle of. you looked at jj, pleading to make them stop with her mom powers.

"boys behave or ill ground you both," she sighed, going to help out with taking things out of the trunk.

they immediately stopped, muttering under their breath that the other one started it. but before they could start again, Spencer caught a glance at you. you were taking a deep breath, smiling contently, very clearly happy to get some fresh, forest air. despite being in direct sunlight, your smile was far brighter than anything he'd seen in his whole life.

before he knew it he was being snapped out of his daze and asked to help set up the tents. he was really hoping to have a chance to share a tent with you, like you sometimes had done on cases when hotel rooms were scarce. but he knew that almost everyone wanted a spot in your tent because you're that much fun to be around. Penelope would win, obviously, and he would be paired up with morgan again.

he let out a sigh as he finished up pitching one of the tents, pulling the corner and nailing it into the ground. as he did so, something caught his eye: a pink, round, fat little worm crawled out of the dirt.

his attention was now fully on the worm, ecstatic to see it because he had been reading up on worms for a while. he called morgan and hotch over since they were the closest to him, rambling excitedly all hes learned about them so far. he looked up and could see the disinterest behind their polite smiles. his own smile faltered for a second, until he saw you finishing up pitching a tent.

"im gonna go show y/n. shes gonna love this!" spencer giggled, already walking towards you.

"hey kid i dont know if she-" morgan began.

"reid she might not-" hotch started as well.

but he had already reached you, sticking out his hand and revealing the worm. hotch and morgan looked at each other worriedly, concerned that the tiniest rejection from you, even about something as small as a worm, would tear his heart to pieces.

their faces changed from worry to confusion as they watched a wide grin crack on your face.

"oh! a worm!" you exclaimed gleefully.

they observed as you put your hand out and Spencer dropped the worm in your hand. you watched it wriggle around and would occasionally look up and nod along with his rambling, asking questions and listening intently. hotch and morgan were speechless, knowing full well if they offered a girl they liked a worm, she would not have the same reaction.

you and Spencer started walking back over to the tent, where hotch and morgan tried their best to seem busy. you two were laughing, something about putting the worm back where he found it so it gets home safely. if there was ever any doubt that you and Spencer would be the perfect couple, its completely disintegrated now.

you and Spencer were typically joined at the hip, but after the worm encounter, you two were especially inseparable.

the girls went down by the lake to tan while you and Spencer tried to build a hut out of random sticks and logs you found around the forest. and while the guys were fishing on that same lake, Spencer and you were rock skipping, and he was explaining to you the physics behind it. and you were both scaring away any potential fish for rossi, hotch, and morgan to catch. so you two were banished back into the forest for the time being. when the rest of the team came back, you and him were up in a tree, eating some of the snacks they'd packed, talking and laughing and subconsciously leaning into one another. you didn't need to be a profiler to see the signs. you two were head over heels already, even if you guys didn't know it yet.

after a bonfire full of roasted marshmallows and scary stories, laughs and giggles. it was a wonderful, but tiring night and before you knew it you were getting ready for bed, sharing highlights of the day back and fourth with Penelope.

"i'm picking up on a bit of a pattern," she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.

you wracked your brain, "what pattern?"

"all of your highlights included a certain adorkable genius."

"what? no we just...he's my best friend so we-cause its fun and i just-" you stammered, feeling your face heat up with every passing second.

"relax my love, i was just teasing," she chuckled, turning over to go to sleep.

"yeah i know. goodnight pen."

"goodnight lovely," she sighed, "but give some thought to lover boy."

you chuckled lightly before whispering to yourself, "trust me i have."

you woke up and checked the time, it was 4:47am but you just could not fall asleep. you crawled out of the tent, grabbing your blanket when you felt the cool morning air rush at you. you didn't want to wake anyone, so you made your way over to the little hill that the suv was parked on, stealing the keys from hotch's bag and crossing to the other side that faced east. the sun would be rising soon, it would be nice to watch; you draped your blanket across your shoulders. you heard footsteps coming from behind you, your blood running cold, immediately assuming the worst.

you turned around and were met with Spencer's sleepy smile. his hair stuck up in all directions and he looked perfectly adorable. you had to resist your urge to give in and kiss him right then and there.

"you scared me!" you whispered, trying to stifle a smile.

"im sorry," he giggled, "why are you up?"

"im not sure i just couldnt fall back asleep. why are you up?" you echoed.

"morgan keeps farting."

you and him let out hearty laughs, quickly covering your mouths as to not wake up the rest of the team.

you faced the car for a second, legs growing tired from standing.

"look how pretty the fogged up windows look," you observed, facing back and fourth between the colorful sky and the muggy version reflecting on the suv. you pressed your hand against the window, leaving a print, "so cold!" you chuckled.

spencer put his hand next your handprint, quickly recoiling, "you werent lying," he laughed, shivering a little.

you looked at the two handprints, his comically larger than yours and you couldnt help but smile to yourself.

"do you want some blanket?" you asked, opening your arms.

"i think im too tall," he frowned, "maybe if i crouch?"

"how about," you dangled the keys infront of your face before opening the trunk of the suv, "front row seats to the sunrise and some blanket."

"that sounds perfect," he smiled, begging his body not to redden his cheeks.

you two crawled into the trunk, draping the blanket across both of your shoulders, being pulled together by the small piece of fabric. you two were completely cuddled together, getting maximum warmth from the blanket and each other's body heat. a comfortable silence floated between you, faint bird songs and the others breathing filling it with peace. you felt your eyelids droop, despite the breathtaking rebirth of the sun happing in front of you. spencer was just so comfortable.

he felt the same way, his head falling to rest on top of yours as sleep pulled at his eyes. he yawned lightly, pulling you closer and breathing you in. you smiled. perfectly content.

about an hour later, hotch woke up, searching frantically for his keys. he ran up to check if the suv was still there, only to be met with your sleeping figures in the open trunk, wrapped up tightly in a blanket, smiles on both of your faces despite being asleep. hotch was good at predicting things, he saw scenarios play out fully before they truly began.

he snapped a picture, knowing it would be put to good use in a few years, he smelled a wedding.

spencer and you spent the drive home smiling like a couple of idiots, grins growing wider each time the sun hit the window just right, revealing your handprints.

-

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni @luvspence @calm-and-doctor @ssavanessa22 @singularityjc

[miekasa]

any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”—but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait: 

     Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek. 

"Shit, sorry, Cait." 

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault." 

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye. 

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into. 

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions. 

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip. 

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had. 

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes. 

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered, 

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her. 

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse." 

Curie: 

     "You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!” 

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

 “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic. 

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early. 

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand. 

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm. 

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm. 

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again. 

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again. 

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off. 

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?” 

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.” 

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse: 

     Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time,  Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.” 

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. 

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

     “Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock: 

     The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!” 

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh. 

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her. 

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her. 

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more. 

MacCready: 

     MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.” 

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick: 

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done." 

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already? 

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

     Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn, 

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too." 

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand. 

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked. 

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole. 

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?" 

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed. 

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute." 

 Preston:

     Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin. 

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88: 

     This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed. 

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

[celebrities-imagines]

Could we get a emily prentiss x reader were the reader tells emily SHES pregnat and emily Is all happy

A Not So Secret, Secret

Thanks for the request, sorry it took so long. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem reader

Summary: Emily didn’t think she could be happier after the two of you married, but somehow it’s possible after hearing about the new addition to the family.

Warnings: Pregnancy, a bit of angst at first, mentions of miscarriage, and like one or two swear words.

Words: 1.9k

It was supposed to be your day off, just you and Emily. One day as a normal married couple. Not two FBI profiles who barely had a social life.

You couldn't help but groan as Emily stirred beside you, tangling her body further with yours. You kissed her shoulder whispering a "sorry" on her skin before untangling yourself.

There was no way out of it, so you picked up the phone and cursed everything when Hotch's voice came through.

The two of you couldn't hide your disappointment as you grabbed your go-bags and headed over to work.

You were the last two to arrive.

Hotch briefed you all when you got on the plane, mentioning Texas and 5 bodies, but that's all you caught. You could hardly hear over the sound of your stomach beginning to reject the Chinese you eat for dinner last night.

———————————————————————

Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, praying you could keep the food down. If you couldn't, you'd cause a scene. Even if Emily was the only one who didn't know.

You could feel her eyes on you, so you gave a small smile. Hopefully, you just seemed tired. It was 7 am after all.

She gave your hand a small squeeze.

Images of a month ago played in your mind. 

After missing your period again, you had to face the hunch you'd had for a few weeks now. You took the test.  You were more than surprised to see it was positive.

How could you not be surprised?

Weeks before that you'd gone to a fertility doctor and decided on a sperm donor. Emily was on a case and couldn't come, but had confided in you before she left she'd rather you carry the baby, and you happily agreed.

Unfortunately, at the doctor's they informed you that your fertility was lower than average. Therefore, you were more at risk for miscarriages and less likely to conceive.

The doctor made it clear that it still wasn't impossible to have kids, just more difficult.

You were extremely discouraged by the news, worried you were ruining your future with Emily.

They told you not to get discouraged, it rarely happened the first time for anyone anyway, and there was still a chance you could get pregnant.

You went home that day, defeated, feeling hopeless and lonely, but you didn't tell Emily about your low fertility, afraid you'd upset her.

But nowhere you were. A positive pregnancy test in hand.  You couldn't wrap your head around how it was possible.

Excitement bubbled in your chest at the thought of telling Emily the news. But with the doctor's words echoing in your head, more likely to miscarry, your excitement quickly disappeared.

You knew Emily would be thrilled. She had told you on more than one occasion how excited she was to start a family.

Still, the fear of losing this child and disappointing Emily was so deep you just couldn't tell her.

Not then at least.

Your eyes shot open. The churning of your stomach only seemed to worsen as you got higher in the air.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on Rossi's story, but you only caught bits and pieces. Your spotty vision could make out smiles, so you smiled too.

You just hoped your face wasn't as pale as it felt. Convincing a plane of profilers you were fine wasn't easy, and the look JJ shot you every few seconds was her way of asking, "how are you feeling?" Which you knew she knew the answer to.

She had been the only person you'd confided in, considering she had gone through it all before.

You had a sneaking suspicion they all knew though. Spencer had started giving random pregnancy facts, which earned him a death glare every time. Derek started calling you mama more, with too much emphasis on the word. Hotch gave you a meaningful look every time you rushed past him to the bathroom in the early morning, and you weren't entirely convinced Rossi didn't know before you, somehow. The only other person besides Emily who didn't know was Penelope, which you were sure of. If Penelope knew then the whole FBI would know.

The smell of bacon hit your nose causing your stomach to somersault. You glared at Derek, who was just about to take a bite of his bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, but one look at you and he decided against it, putting it away. 

You swallowed hard again, trying to push back the vomit creeping up your throat.

"You okay (Y/n)? You look a little pale." Emily whispered in your ear, forcing you to stop concentrating on not puking.

You gave a weak smile, nodding your head.

"I don't believe you." Her eyebrows had creased together.

"Em, I'm-" Talking had been a big mistake.

You jumped up from the seat. All eyes were on you, 5 looks of pity, and one of concern, but you didn't care. You knew there was no chance of you pushing the vomit down.

Your shaky legs bolted to the bathroom, barely closing the door before you spilled your guts. It was a relief to finally get it all out.

You slumped against the toilet. Any other time you would've been grossed out by your face touching the toilet seat, but it was cooling your sweaty face.

You didn't realize you were crying at first. Not until you lifted your heavy head off the toilet seat and felt the cool drops of water slipping down your face.

What was wrong with you?

You were pregnant your first time trying; after being told you'd have trouble, living the dreams of thousands of women in the same situation.

Why weren't you glowing? Why couldn't you just tell Emily, she'd be ecstatic?

"(Y/n), sweetheart," you jumped at the sound of Emily's voice.

Didn't you lock that door? How long had she been standing there?

"Hey Em," you gave a half-hearted smile, but it was pointless. You hadn't bothered to wipe the tears.

She closed the door behind her. It locked for real this time with a click.

The small bathroom left little room for the two of you, and when Emily slid down beside you your knees knocked together.

"You're scaring me (Y/n)," she placed a soft kiss on your head. "All of the throwing up, and mood swings. You've been so antsy recently.

So she had noticed. "I'm sorry," you said, followed by more tears. "I promise I'm not sick or anything."

"I know."

"So why are you scared." You fidgeted with your fingers, nervous about the direction of this conversation.

"Because my wife has been pregnant for a month and is too afraid to tell me. And I can't for the life of me figure out why she'd keep that from me."

Your head whipped towards hers so fast you almost smashed it right into her forehead. "Y-you knew the whole time," you gulped.

"Of course I did!" She exclaimed. "First of all I'm a profiler it's my job to notice. Second of all, you're my wife, I love you. It's my job to notice.

Your cheeks flushed crimson. The whole time you thought you were fooling her, you were just fooling yourself.

"So...do you care to explain why you didn't tell me. Did you not want to tell me," her voice cracked, but she cleared her throat quickly to cover it.

You guiltily chewed on your lip. Emily had known for a month and probably wondered every day why her wife couldn't tell her such exciting news.

"No, no of course not," you squeaked.

"(Y/n), angel, please. What is it? Why couldn't you tell me?"

You took a deep breath. "When I went to the fertility clinic the doctor told me my fertility was a little below average. There's a chance I could have a miscarriage," you sobbed.

Emily turned her body so the two of you were somehow closer. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay," she said, pressing you to her body.

"I'm sorry. I want this for us. I want to be happy, but I'm just so scared I'll mess this up."

"Look at me (Y/n). You're not going to mess anything up. Women miscarry all the time. For some awful reason, it's part of life. It's nobody's fault."

Emily wiped a tear off your cheek. You didn't say anything, just watched her.

"Don't profile me," a crooked smile found her lips.

You smiled back. "I wasn't."

"Listen, I know you're scared. I am too, but we have to take it a day at a time. Right now there's a miracle growing inside you. Our miracle." Her eyes flicked to your stomach, and for the first time since you found out, you were pregnant excitement bubbled in your chest again. "If we worry about the what if's we won't have time to focus on the what is." This time she placed her hand on your flat stomach.

You smiled, wide.

"See. There's already a motherly glow about you."

The more Emily said the more the worry began to fade, excitement replacing it.

You were gonna start a family.

"Em."

"Yeah."

"I have to tell you something."

"Yeah."

"I'm pregnant, it's yours." She nudged you playful, even she had a motherly glow about her right now.

"What! You're just telling me now," she teased.

You smiled.

"I'm truly sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you mumbled, placing your hand over Emily's, which was still on your stomach.

"Well, I know now, and you've officially made me the happiest woman alive." She placed a sweet kiss on your lips. "Thank you (Y/n)."

"We're going to be parents!"

"The best parents!" Emily added. "We are, aren't we."

"Now come on, they'll think we've fallen into the toilet by this time."

You laughed. "We can't have that."

Emily stood up, offering her hand, which you took happily.

She placed one last kiss on your lips, then grabbed your hand before you open the door. You always stayed professional at work.

When you opened the door Derek almost fell on top of you. "Hey Mamas," he said, a shit-eating grin taking over his face.

"We're you guys spying?" You asked.

Emily chuckled, squeezed your hand, and headed back to her seat.

Nobody answered.

Spencer was looking anywhere but you, JJ was pretending to get a bag of Cheetos, and Rossi and Derek were smiling shamelessly.

"At least Hotch isn't a snoop," you noted. Your boss was still in his chair doing paperwork.

You shoved Derek playfully and headed back to your seat next to Emily. She automatically reached for your hand.

"Actually, Spencer objected, Hotch listened at the door with us for 5 min and 23 seconds before saying, 'We shouldn't be listening to this."

Hotch didn't even look up from his paperwork, but a rare smile was playing at his lips. "We shouldn't have been. But congratulations you two."

"Thank you!" You and Emily said in unison.

It wasn't brought up the rest of the flight but you could feel the air of excitement and relief nonetheless.

The rest of the flight was filled with little conversation and file reviewing.

Every so often you'd look over at Emily, who was looking out the window, a big grin plastered on her face, her hand on your stomach.

[crackheadgeminibby]

mistakes were made

pairing: chris evans x black!reader

warnings: language, age gap, angst, mentions of sex TW body insecurities and talk of weight gain

word count: 2.9k

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform

picture credit: screengrab from "Captain America Dinner Party" on youtube

You finish getting dressed and pick up everything you need to go for a run. As you’re walking down the last steps, you see that Chris is sitting on the couch, working on something on his computer. You come up behind him and softly kiss his temple before saying,

“Hey baby. I just put Emma to sleep and I’m gonna go for a run. Can you just pay attention and make sure she doesn’t wake up, please?”

Chris absentmindedly nods and mutters a “be careful”. You faintly smile and roll your eyes at his unwavering concentration but make sure to turn the volume of the baby monitor all the way up before leaving.

You go out through the garage and smile up at the sky, feeling the heat of the sun warming up your face.

You start to run the route you used to before getting pregnant with your baby girl. Last Sunday, it had been five months since your bundle of joy had been born. As much as you utterly adored her and the experience of carrying your own child, you had not appreciated the effect that the pregnancy had on your body.

On the contrary, most mothers-to-be were described as glowing and full of new energy but while you were pregnant, you always felt like you were about to get a cold and you had put on so much weight that you could barely recognize yourself. You had thought that it was only the pregnancy hormones changing your body that way as you were still very young, but today, five months after giving birth, your body had stayed the same and that certainly was not helping your confidence.

You weren’t sure if Chris had noticed your insecurities that manifested themselves by you eating almost the same meager meals every day and pushing away all sorts of sexual interactions with him. Since he had never mentioned anything or ever seemed frustrated with you, you thought he simply didn’t notice it or just didn't mind it.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re back home before you know it. As you’re entering the garage, you faintly hear Chris’ voice travel through the house all the way to you. Slightly confused, you assume that he must have forgotten to tell you he had an appointment or something, so you make sure to be as silent as possible to not disturb him.

“Bro, I know, it’s fucking crazy. I actually have my own child now.”

You smile softly at his excitement. You’re downing a bottle of water you took from the fridge when your ears perk up at your name coming out of Chris’ mouth.

“Oh, Y/N? Yeah, you know, she’s fine, she's good.”

Tilting your head slightly, you try to understand the sudden shift in Chris’ mood: even from two rooms away, you could feel his energy change.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that she’s been kind of weird since the baby.”

You frown at hearing Chris say that. He never mentioned anything to you so why the hell was he talking about it with whoever was on the other end of the phone?

“No but like bro, look, it’s like this. I’ll be out all day doing whatever, and then when I come home, she’s all over me, being super clingy and all. Like, she will literally not let me go anywhere. But then, whenever I try to ease the mood into, you know, something more sexual, she just shuts down and says that Emma needs some food or something and she leaves. Then, when she comes back, she’s practically running from me like I have the fucking plague or something!”

As Chris is listening to what the person on the phone is responding, you start to feel a knot in your throat and you know that if you don’t do anything soon, you’re going to be full-on sobbing. As you’re working on your breathing and a plan, you hear Chris say,

“Dude, I literally thought the same thing. I swear. But, when we went for her check-up a little after she gave birth, the doctor said we couldn’t have sex for 6 weeks. It’s been like 20 weeks now!”

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you leave your water bottle on the counter and run back to the garage, as silently as you can. Once in the safety of the garage, tears stream down your face as you let out a sob that brings you to your knees. You let yourself cry for what feels like forever, but you know it must not have been more than 5 minutes.

When you start to calm down, you focus on finding a plan to make sure Chris didn’t know that you were eavesdropping on his phone conversation. You take deep breaths before wiping your face and fixing your appearance as best as you can while using the rear-view mirror of your car.

Once you’re certain that you can’t do anything more, you take a final breath before opening the door and slamming it loud enough for Chris to hear that you’re in the house. As you’re approaching the living room, and thus, the staircase leading to your room, you faintly hear Chris say, “Yeah, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

You pass behind him while keeping your head held high and not giving him a single glance. As you start to climb up the stairs, you see that Chris is turning towards you.

“Hey baby, I didn’t hear you come back. How was your run?”

You take a deep breath before answering as calmly as you can, “Fine. I’m going to take a shower.”

Chris hesitates for a second before responding, “Um, okay, I’ll start dinner then.”

You don’t answer and run up the last couple of stairs as you feel your resolve crumbling. You hurriedly take some random clothes and a towel before locking yourself in the en suite bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, you put your hand over your mouth as a cry escapes you again. You put your clothes and towel on the counter before sitting in front of your bathtub. You don’t know how long you stay there, stifling your cries, but you suddenly hear the doorknob jiggling before a loud knock resonates through the bathroom.

“Y/N? You okay in there? I heard some weird noises.”

You clear your throat as softly as you can before answering, “I’m fine, I just stubbed my toe.” You cringe as your voice breaks halfway through your sentence.

The doorknob jiggles again before you hear, “Are you sure? And why is the door locked? You never lock it.”

“Uh... I'm on my period.”

You roll your eyes at your dumb and illogical excuse but it was going to have to do for now.

Before Chris can say anything else, you start the shower, rapidly take your clothes off and step inside. Both Chris and you knew that when the shower water was on, it was almost impossible to hear anything else in the bathroom.

You spend at least an hour under the scalding water, and you finally get out as you see a glimpse of the time on the bathroom clock: 6:45pm. It was time to start getting Emma ready for bed and you knew that she rarely slept through the night if you weren't the one to put her to bed. Knowing that this meant that nobody in the house would really get any sleep, you reluctantly turn off the shower water and get out of the shower.

As you’re toweling off, you can faintly hear music coming from outside of the bathroom. You put on the clothes you had taken from your room and put them on.

How ironic. You were wearing the same shirt from the first time Chris had told you he loved you. You smile bitterly as you look at the shirt in the mirror and pick up the rest of your things before getting out of the bathroom.

You walk into your shared bedroom with Chris and immediately recognize “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd. You roll your eyes as you remember the time you had told Chris that, for whatever reason, The Weeknd’s 2010s phase could always get you in the mood. You take your time doing your skincare routine before taking care of your workout clothes.

After finishing in your bedroom, you close the door and head to Emma’s room to get her ready for bed. However, you frown confusedly as you see that everything in Emma’s room is clean and organized. Emma is clearly changed, dressed in her nighttime pyjamas, tucked in and soundly asleep while Dodger is snoring in front of her crib. You smile softly. Even before Emma was born, Dodger was extremely protective of her and when she was born, he was practically attached to her hip. Wherever Emma was, Dodger was also there.

You’re watching Emma and Dodger sleep, a seemingly permanent smile on your face when you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around rapidly and slightly jerk away from Chris when he attempts to put a hand on your arm. He frowns slightly before saying,

“I got Emma ready for bed and dinner’s ready downstairs.”

You sigh and walk around Chris before making your way downstairs as you hear his soft footsteps behind you. When you turn the corner to enter the living room, your breath slightly hitches as you see that Chris has set a candlelit dinner table. Chris softly sets his hands on your shoulders and starts to gently massage them as he says,

“I made spaghetti with chicken parm, your favorite. And extra cheese, just how you like it.”

As your resolve starts to crumble, Chris’ words from earlier in the day echo in your mind. The memory makes you instantly tense up and you let out a shaky breath while trying to control your emotions. To take the focus off of you, you sit down and start to serve Chris and yourself some water. You hear Chris sigh loudly before he sits down in front of you. He serves you a hearty serving of pasta with a whole chicken breast before serving himself. Chris looks at you, clearly hesitating to say anything for a couple of seconds while you’re poking at your food before saying,

“So, I thought you would like the chicken parm tonight since you seemed kind of down after your run.”

You let go of your fork, which loudly hits your plate, and put your head in your hands before you say, “Oh my God, Chris, I can’t fucking do this.”

“Woah, Y/N, you can't do what? What's wrong?”, Chris asks, shocked.

“What’s wrong, Christopher, is that I heard you on the phone this afternoon. Talking about how I’m supposedly clingy and never want to have sex with you anymore.”

Chris visibly tenses up as he hears your statement and stammers trying to find an excuse to justify his behavior.

“Wait, I… I can explain.”

You hold your hand up, signifying to Chris that you’re not done.

“First of all, you have absolutely no right to talk to anybody about our sex life without at least asking me first, which you know I would absolutely not agree with. Second of all, you should know by now that if you have any problems with me, you come to me. You don’t go talking to some random person about it behind my back.”

You angrily get up from the table and narrow your eyes at Chris as you continue.

“And third, not that you deserve any justification whatsoever for me not wanting to have sex with you, but I gained weight, Chris. Way too much weight. I find myself fat and gross and I didn’t want you to see my body and think the exact same things I think every single time I see myself in the mirror.”

You sniffle as you realize that you had been crying.

“And you can help yourself to the couch tonight.”

You walk up the stairs and, mindful to not wake Emma up, you softly close your bedroom door. You immediately snuggle into the covers while soft sobs rake through your body. You’re not sure how long you lay there crying but you eventually fall asleep from exhaustion.

You groggily wake up a couple of hours later while the sun is starting to rise as you hear Emma’s cries on the baby monitor. You rub your eyes as you get out of the bed and head over to her room. You take Emma out of her crib and immediately identify that her diaper is full. You feel your headache from crying developing further as you’re changing Emma.

When you’re finished, you take Emma in your arms and bounce her up and down while softly humming to help her fall back asleep with Dodger dutifully following you.

You head downstairs in search of painkillers for your headache while continuing to hum to Emma. While passing through the living room, you can see Chris’ head resting on the couch armrest. As Dodger spots him, he heads over to him and whines softly before setting himself at the end of the couch, prepared to fall back asleep.

You chuckle slightly before downing the painkillers and heading back up to Emma’s room, ready to put her back in bed. You set her down and tuck her in before exhaling softly and heading back to your bedroom.

Your headache and the painkillers had effectively made you exhausted again as you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

When you finally wake up for the day, you groan at the faint traces of your headache still present. You look over at your nightstand and see that it’s now 7:30am. You roll your eyes at this. You had barely slept an additional hour.

Figures. You never really slept that well when Chris wasn't in bed with you.

As your senses start to really awaken, you smell some coffee and hear the shower running for a couple of seconds after which, it stops.

Before you know it, Chris walks out of the bathroom, body steaming, with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. He suddenly stops in his tracks as he realizes you’re awake.

God… Even when he pissed you off, he was still hot as fuck.

He lightly clears his throat before saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to take a shower after my workout.”

You gently shake your head before responding with a raspy voice, “You didn’t wake me, it’s fine.”

Chris nods his head once before tightly smiling. You can feel the tension in the room as Chris stands in front of the bathroom door and looks anywhere but at you. After a couple of seconds, he softly sniffles and croaks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You sit up in the bed and lean on the headboard as you frown softly. Chris makes his way to you and softly sits on his side of the bed with his head hung. You can see from the various expressions that are passing on his face that he’s trying to find the words to talk to you

“I didn’t really sleep last night because I kept thinking about what you said. And I realized how much of an asshole I was.” He balls up his fists as he shakes his head and continues, “I never should have talked about any of those things with Matt and I’m so sorry that I did. I’m also sorry that I never came to talk to you, like a grown man, and instead just talked about you behind your back.”

Chris hesitantly reaches for your hands and takes them into his when he sees that you’re not negatively reacting to him while tears are dropping on the covers.

“Above all, I’m especially sorry that I ever made you feel like I wasn’t there for you and like you couldn’t come to me. I really didn’t know how you felt about yourself and it breaks my heart that I let you go through this alone when I should have been there to support you after Emma was born."

He shrugs gently before finishing with, "And for what it’s worth, I think you’re as beautiful now as you were while you were pregnant and before you got pregnant.”

Chris looks up at you with red eyes as he waits for you to say something. You open and close your mouth multiple times as you’re trying to find the right words to respond to him.

You finally settle on, “I don’t know that I can forgive you right now, Chris. What you did really hurt me. Like a lot.”

Chris’ head slightly hangs down before you finish with, “However, I don’t think it would be beneficial to our family for us to be apart right now.”

As soon as he hears this, Chris’ head snaps up, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I’m gonna need space and time to work through this but I believe that our relationship is stronger than this.”

Chris nods excitedly and bites his bottom lip before asking, “Is it okay if I hug you?”

You lightly nod your head and chuckle slightly as Chris practically throws himself at you. He rests his head in the crook of your neck before whispering “I love you so much, Y/N.”

Without hesitation, you whisper back, “I love you too, Chris.”

If there was something that you knew would never change is that you loved Chris, forever and always.

[bestruction]

Falling in love with a marleyan pt1

N/a: this request got me thinking a lot 😅 i guess that's why is so long and because of that, i'll be making a pt2 for Eren. I'm sorry for it, anon and thank you for sharing such great ideia with me💞 please let me know if you like it

(I inspired myself a little bit in this hc)

You can read the pt.2 here

- Reiner Braun

Since you were the daughter of an important general of the Marley army, you were always around in the headquarters learning about the military service. It was your dad's wish that you could bring honor to the family and for the country.

You never understood really well the importance of all that. You were just a kid.

So when he got busy, you preferred to walk around looking for something interesting instead of listening to hours of a conversation you didn't even understand.

And that's how you met Reiner.

One day, after picking up some book about the history of Marley and Eldia, you went to the patio to sit under the shade of a tree to read. Not long after, other children appeared, running and tired, and since you were behind the tree, none of them had noticed you until then.

“Take a breath and try to reach us later, Reiner. The commander will not like it if you don't finish the training ” said an older voice.

You heard footsteps drift away, and only the owner of the painting breath stays.

You were curious to know who it was since you had never seen children in the area. You came out from behind the tree with the tissue you carried in your pocket in hand to offer to the sweaty stranger.

He was astonished at first, and you noticed the golden armband on his arm.

He was an eldian warrior candidate.

Reiner stared at you for a few more seconds before accepting the tissue. He was afraid to offend whoever you were. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and bit his lips, not knowing whether to keep the delicate tissue or give it back.

The tissue dirty with the sweat of an eldian, but still the tissue of a Marley citizen.

"You can keep it if you want"

"thank you,"  He said almost in a whisper. "But don't you prefer that I take it to wash and then bring it back to you?"

"You don't need to bring it back, but if you want to, I'll be here waiting for you tomorrow"

Reiner ran again without looking back. He did not know how to act after that and when he returned home, he washed the white tissue hidden from his mother to return it to you the next day. He did not expect to see you, so when you came out smiling from behind the tree like the day before, he was more than surprised.

“You brought it! Thanks"

"Thanks…?"

You told him your name and noticed his eyes widen when he heard your last name. It was hard not to know who your father was in the army. So you didn't find it strange and asked the boy's name.

“Reiner. Rainer Braun ”

You smiled again, which made you wonder what was so funny.

"I'm sorry. It's just that it is a name that suits you so much that it is funny. It means warrior. That's what you are ”

You responded by pointing at his armband.

Reiner blushed more than he wanted to admit. Never had a girl said anything like that to him, let alone a marleyan girl.

"It's a pity that we can't talk for more than a few minutes, Reiner. I was never able to talk to an eldian so closely ”

He nodded with his head, still trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks, but it was unsuccessful since you then proposed the last thing that would go through his head.

Your father was indeed a general, but he did not see the eldians as inferior beings. That had been the reason he had entered the military career, had the slightest chance of being able to change that view, that was the honor he wanted you to bring. So he taught you the same thing.

To talk to someone like Reiner was not repulsive, but something that you longed to be able to learn more about the eldians in a narrative that was not what you saw at school.

That's why you proposed that you exchange letters. Secrets so as not to cause any kind of problem for him. He would leave his letter in the hollow trunk of the tree, and you would do the same when you couldn't meet in those brief seconds of his training.

He accepted more for fear of you than willingly, but as you talked about each other's daily lives, about the details you observed in each other, and the disguised looks when you passed by the quarter,  this fear gave way to a sincere friendship.

And without either of you realizing in something else.

When he was chosen to inherit the armored titan, you cried for hours in your room in secret, hugging the box where you hid all the letters exchanged for knowing what that meant.

And then he realized that you had fallen in love with the eldian of the letters.

It all happened very fast. You didn't have time to go to the quarter to see if he had left something on the tree and then read in the paper about the group of warriors sent to the demon island.

You never forget about him.

The years passed, and when Reiner returned, you had just taken a patent for being useful in strategy in other wars and thanks to your family's name.

He didn't expect you to remember him, and after everything that happened, he couldn't even think about it much.

But that thought changed when you whispered to him as you passed down the hall without anyone noticing:

"Look in the tree"

Like when you were kids, you had left a letter in the tree, and for some reason that he didn't know how to explain, it brought a certain comfort to his heart.

In the letter, you said how much you missed him. You had written for the old days since you two could talk without bringing any problem to him because you were in the army too. You asked him to meet you in the most deserted building in the area to talk better.

Reiner went to the place, and after seeing you up close for a longer time, he was sure that time had made you a beautiful woman. You talked for a few hours, and it was as if the two of you had gone back to being a child without the traumas he suffered in Paradis and the ones you got on the battlefield.

Once again, time passed, with you two talking cautiously as a precaution, exchanging a note here and there, meeting when you could.

You were the one who gave Reiner the strength to continue.

• It didn't take long for the childhood crush to become love, and the more you two tried to ignore it, the more evident it became until one day on impulse, in one of the many meetings in that building you kissed him.

And he reciprocated.

Your relationship was not easy. It would be a scandal if anyone knew. That's why you rented an apartment farther from the city to meet with more privacy without anyone knowing.

It was not easy, but you loved each other.

Reiner was your first love and your first time, and even with all the disadvantages, you would never choose someone else for that.

And now you're pregnant.

You haven't been feeling very well in the past few months, but you didn't worry too much because you thought it was just a war result, thanks to the stress that started after Paradis. Now, as a commander, you had more work than ever.

But after throwing up your favorite food, you decided to go to a doctor.

The doctor wanted to share the good news with your father, but no one knew about you and Reiner, nor should he. So you just made up an excuse like:

“I want to tell myself. Please keep it confidential ”  

And went home.

Part of you is happy, and the other is unable to stop “what if?”

What if someone finds out who the baby's father is?

What if Reiner doesn't react well to the news?

Raising a baby is already a difficult task, creating a baby that should not exist in the eyes of everyone ...

You didn't know what to do.

You needed to speak to Reiner as soon as possible.

With the end of the war and Marley's victory, you met in the apartment you had rented some time ago.

You waited for him to lie down next to you on the bed, and while caressing your face, you said:

"I’m pregnant"

Reiner sat on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. He was serious, he didn't need to ask if you were kidding.

"How long?"

"Two mouths"

He got up and paced the room before looking back at you.

"What are you going to do?"

"So now is just me, hm?"

“That’s not what I mean, baby” He snorts heavily “I just don’t know what to say”

“Maybe a‘ I’m here with you' it'd be enough, Reiner”

"You know I’m"

"Do i?"

Reiner saw you cry a few times, but the image of you sitting on the bed where you shared so many moments with your eyes full of tears will always be the hardest to forget in his mind.

     He comes to you, and without saying anything, he cries with you until both are calmer.

     Leaving the subject for later was not the smartest decision to make, but for now, it was what you both needed. So you decided to talk after Willy Tybur's speech that was going to happen that night.

     That night, you expected to end up in Reiner's arms and not having to run to save yourself, Falco, and Gabi.

     And even less shouting his name in a random window to wake him up.

    It was your voice that woke him up to fight. It was your voice that made him overcome the desire to die. It was your voice that gave him hope to move forward, and for your voice, for you, he would find a way to work things out.

     You stayed by his bedside every day while he was in the infirmary, which generated a lot of rumors about your compassion for the eldian.

     When Reiner woke up plagued by yet another of many nightmares, he thought he started to dream when he saw your warm smile.

    On an impulse, you hugged him tightly, leaving Pieck and Pig shocked across the room.

“I knew it. I knew you’d be fine ”You said without let him go.

“I'm here for you, baby” He answered, hugging you back. "For you two"

"How did you get the commander pregnant ?!" You heard Porco's voice.

“Pock, I thought you already knew how these things work at that age” teased Pieck.

“Don’t act like you’re not thinking the same!”

“Let’s go outside, and I’m going to explain to you how mama and papa Galliard made you” She teased again by pulling him out of the infirmary and winking at you.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Nothing escaped Pieck's perception.

    You told your parents about the pregnancy, afraid to tell you who the baby's father was. They understood the situation and helped you both throughout your pregnancy.

    Reiner always showed up at your house around dawn to make sure no one saw him. He always wanted to know how you were doing and compensate you in some way for not being able to go out and see you as a partner would do.

     Many rumors arose about who your baby's father would be, but you tried not to care since it was all rumors after all.

When you went into labor, it was a mess. The initial plan was that he would not come to your house so as not arouse suspicion. Pieck and Porco tried to convince him not to go, but he ran up to your house and entered the back. He couldn't stop thinking about your face. He couldn't leave you alone in a moment like this.

     And honestly, you were more than relieved when you saw the blonde enter your room, hold your hand, and repeat the same words from the day of the infirmary:

“I’m here for you, for you two”

[letarasstuff]

Girl meets World

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and is based on a show named 'Boy meets world', tho I never watched it so I went solely with the summary from said anon. I hope you still like it :)

Summary: Spencer's daughter is not ready for her first kiss. But are her classmates fine with that?

Warnings: Mean kids, angst but fluff at the end

Wordcount: 1.6k

✨Masterlist✨ ___________________________

Being on the not so popular side in school is not particularly hard, but it doesn’t exactly make things easier for (Y/N). That’s why Spencer was happy to hear from her invitation to a classmate’s birthday party.

“You call me and I’ll get you. I don’t mind if it’s in ten minutes or in two hours. Whenever you feel uncomfortable or you are done with peopling, it’s fine wanting to leave. Ok?” Her father tells her, sitting with her in the car in front of the birthday girl’s house. “Understood. Thank you, Dad. I see you no later than ten. Love you!”

Off she goes. Spencer watches (Y/N) going up the path to the front door, a bright colored bag with a gift in her hand. He considers driving up to Penelope’s apartment, which is only five minutes away, and cries with her over his daughter growing up with a tub of ice cream in both their hands. A second later the father puts his plan into motion.

Meanwhile (Y/N) is inside with a bunch of people from different classes. All those kids already make her nervous. But she is determined to make it through the night. After all, the girl doesn’t want to be seen as a baby that gets overwhelmed by a room full of human beings.

At first it isn’t that bad. (Y/N) finds a few classmates she has a class or two with and they converse. Until someone screams “Let’s play Spin-The-Bottle”. Now the eleven year old kind of feels like she is on a movie or a show. What’s next, she has to kiss the boy she has a crush on since the beginning of the school year?

Still all of the children gather around in a circle and a bottle is placed in the middle. “The rules are simple”, a kid explains, “The bottle chooses two people. They get five minutes in that closet over there.” Right, just like she predicted. (Y/N) is hesitant. They are too young to do something like that. Once again she doesn’t want to be the party pooper, so she sits down between two classmates.

Every time the bottle spins a dread weighs down in her stomach. (Y/N) is only eleven years old. Is she even ready to have her first kiss in a closet? Shouldn’t it be out of love, willently without anybody forcing two random people to such an act?

Seems like the others think these rules are fair and square. Everybody is participating with the utmost joy. Maybe it’s just her, who grew up with romantic novels written by people who not even her Grandmother witnessed alive being read to her for bed night.

Deep into calculating the probability of the bottle pointing to her, it needs a few shouts and a nudge to get (Y/N) out of her head. “Looks like it’s your turn to go into the closet”, her neighbor says to her, gesturing to the bottle, which in fact points towards her. The girl swears that the color of her cheeks is even darker than a tomato.

Shyly she gets up to the wardrobe. The remaining girls nod encouragingly while the next person is chosen by the bottle. Luckily it’s not the boy she has a crush on, this would be like in a fanfiction, too much like a cliché.

Just a few seconds later she finds herself in the closet. Is it appropriate to make a joke about coming out of the closet?

“Well, here we are”, the other boy says. (Y/N) thinks his name is Tyler. “Yeah, I guess.” She shuffles her foot and scratches her neck. “So, shouldn’t we kiss or something?”

Geez, that boy is out for action. “Uhm, what about if we do not? I’m not ready for that and no offence but I want my first kiss with somebody special and you are just a boy from my grade and there are no feelings between us and I need that special moment, because I’m a hopeless romantic.” The girl says all of this in one breath, making her speech pace compete with her father’s.

But Tyler smiles. “It’s okay. I get it, really. I won’t tell anyone. We can just sit here and talk until they knock. How does that sound?” (Y/N) smiles and nods. They sit down on some boxes and just laugh quietly about anything and everything they tell each other.

As soon as they have to come out of the closet, the other kids bombard them with questions. Tyler shuts all of them with one answer up. “A lady and gentleman are quiet and enjoy themselves.”

The rest of the evening goes relatively uneventful. There is a nice buffet and after that the kids watch a couple of movies until the first parents show up to pick up their children. Spencer is relieved to see his daughter so energetic and happy after the party.

“And then we played spin the bottle like in a teen movie. Dinner was also really nice and I think I made one or two more friends. Isn’t it amazing, Dad?” He answers her enthusiastically that he is in fact very happy for her. And Spencer is. But it kind of also implies that she grows up, a fact he doesn’t like.

The party was on a Saturday night and now it’s Monday, the first day after it. (Y/N) is ecstatic to go. In her mind her classmates finally accepted her for who she is. But as soon as she enters the school yard the kids from her grade look weirdly at her.

Immediately the girl’s mind goes into panic. Has she something on her face? Is it the way she dresses? Or is it some- The kiss. Or technically the not kiss.

“Hey Reid, I heard you are unkissed. What about I show you in the janitor’s room? Do you also want rose petals and candles laying around?” Someone starts to taunt her. The bystanding classmates begin to laugh.

(Y/N) has to listen to similar comments for the rest of the school day. A few boys from her science class make kissing noises whenever the teacher isn’t near them. Tyler once catches her eyes, mouthing an apology. But it’s not relevant to her at this point. The only thing that counts right now is getting through the last class without breaking down in front of the others. She can’t show them any more weakness.

When his daughter comes home, Spencer is already there. Hotch gave them an early off, since the last few cases were draining for all of them.

Instead of greeting him with a smile and the definition of happiness she enters the apartment with the biggest frown the father has ever seen on her face. “Hey Dad”, (Y/N) flatly says before disappearing into her room.

Confused, he assumes that she just has to do a load of homework, so he lets the girl be for the next couple hours. But as the clock is pushing near dinner time, he begins to worry.

“Sweetheart, I thought about cooking pasta for tonight. Do you wanna help me try Uncle Dave’s new recipe?” He asks at her closed door, respecting her privacy. There is no answer, just a sniffle from the other side. This alarms Spencer. “Sweetheart, may I come in?”

A few seconds pass until a faint “Yes” makes its way to his ears. Inside (Y/N) sits on her bed, her eyes are red from crying. “Oh Sweetheart, don’t be upset. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Tell me, what’s wrong?” The young doctor tries to console her. It’s always more difficult to calm your own family down than any stranger he meets on a case.

“I-it’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m upset over this.” (Y/N) frantically wipes the leftover tears away. “Hey, don’t say that. Your feelings are valid. You can be upset about anything you want, ok? If you don’t want to tell me about it, it’s fine. But I promise you that I’ll value whatever you say.”

The girl nods, finding her composure. “I- At the party we played Spin-The-Bottle and whoever was chosen had to go into the closet with the second one and kiss. I-I was in there with a boy named Tyler, b-but I told him I wasn’t ready. H-he was really sweet about it and respected my reasons. Dad, I’m not old enough and it wouldn’t be anything like I imagined my first kiss would be. But now the whole school or what feels like the whole school makes fun of me a-and I was so embarrassed.”

Spencer can feel her pain. Kids can be worse than professional torturers, he witnessed both first hand. “Oh Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ll think of something about it. How do you feel about coming with me into the office? The others are missing you, especially Emily. She has a ton of pictures of Sergio she wants to show you. And for tonight we get your favorite take out and watch a movie of your choice, ok?”

(Y/N) smiles at the thought of the pictures she is going to see. “Yes! Can we get pizza and watch Lion King?” Even though it will be the fifth time they watch this movie this month, Spencer is happy to do anything his daughter wants. She has him wrapped around her finger.

So not long after this heartfelt conversation they sit on the sofa in the living room, crying their eyeballs out after Mufasa died. He deserved better.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[darwin-xf]

Love is a Verb

His dick knew things.

In general, thinking with your little head not your big one got a bad rap.

But for him? The opposite seemed to apply.

Of course he’d been mortified when he sprung to life in her hand the night before, with Scully in full on doctor mode, acting so clinical and detached. While he was so very very exposed.

A wave of anger arose in the wake of his humiliation. At her. Which wasn’t fair. She was doing him a favor, after all. Examining him, because they were stuck in a crap motel in the middle of nowhere Florida, the day after a hurricane, flights snafued, roads clogged with debris. And him with a sea monster bite on his neck and an angry itchy red rash on his dick to match. She was caring for him, just like she always did. Even though neither one of them was exactly comfortable about the prospect.

But now, considering what that moment of vulnerability had led to, he was glad it happened. And hardly surprised.

And when his big head has been muddled and confused on a night a few weeks before? His dick had shown the way forward. When a different woman had laid her hands on him, slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He didn’t want her. He felt like a block of wood as she kissed him and touched him. And yet he let it happen. His mind filled with a fuzzy gray static as she whispered to him how she needed him, how she’d never stopped loving him, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She opened his pants and he let her, hungry for something she was offering. He would think a lot about that later.

But then his dick was in her mouth. And she worked it, employed all her little tricks. And still it stayed soft.

Until, giving up, she stood. She crossed the room and poured herself a scotch. He tucked his junk in his pants and zipped up. Not even embarrassed.

“You love her,” Diana said, her back to him.

He nodded. “I do.”

“But Fox,” she said, closing the distance between them, sitting down next to him, “She doesn’t know you like I do. There’s so much I want to give you...”

She launched into the pitch he’d heard from her before. Since she returned, she’d been whispering to him whenever she could get him alone, offering him access. “There are so many things we can accomplish together, Fox. Why would you want to keep toiling in the dark when you can shape the future of the human race? You’ve more than earned your seat at the table. And your voice is needed there...”

Though he never really felt engaged in these conversations, his big head listened to what Diana had to say.

But the little one was more persuasive. Not to mention more persistent. The truth was, Scully had been the only one able to get him off for months. Though of course she hadn’t touched him.

His extensive collection of salacious videotapes these days stayed tucked in their hiding places, moldering in their cases. The magazines delivered to his door each month, Penthouse and Hustler and Escort and Razzle and Club, remained stacked on his entryway table, their spines uncracked, their pages unperused. Most with the black no-see-um wrapper still intact.

A fact Scully discovered while visiting his apartment a few weeks before. She turned up on the late side one evening, work on her mind, files in her hand, her body tucked dutifully away in some dark suit.

“Oh that,” he said when she placed her palm on the towering cache of smut, popped an eyebrow in his direction. She had spent enough time in his space to understand that this was a departure from his usual behavior, where his porn was concerned. Whereby he’d rip the covers off the mags as soon as they arrived and leaf through them, looking for anything particularly good. He’d turn down the corners of memorable pages then leave them piled haphazardly around his place: on end tables, under the fishtank, next to his bed.

The explanation was not something he was prepared to share. So he thought fast, and invented something on the fly that seemed remotely plausible. “Yeah, the boys tell me that those are going to be collector's items soon. Print is dead, Scully. Everyone making the switch from atoms to bits and bytes. Paper’s so pulpy and inefficient. I have a book on it somewhere...” He riffled through his bookshelf, glad to escape her excruciating gaze. He plucked out a book and handed her a copy of Being Digital by Nicholas Negroponte. “He’s a smart guy. You should check it out.”

His effort to distract her was in vain. She put the book aside without glancing at the cover and continued to silently cross-examine him. He pretended to be interested in another book he’d pulled at random, but the moment stretched on uncomfortably. "I thought I could get more for them if they remained in pristine condition,” he said as he paged through the book he wasn’t reading. For all he knew he was holding it upside down. “You know how people keep their Star Wars toys in the boxes with the cellophane on?”

She shrugged, unconvinced. But she moved on, willing to let it go. Her stacked heels clacked obnoxiously against his hardwood floors as she slowly made her way into his living room.

He doubted she wanted to know the real reason. Though he was pretty sure he could turn the tables on her if he blurted it out. It would serve her right for the way she roamed around his apartment and let her eyes light on his stuff, storing her little data points in that mind, trying to figure him out. But maybe one day the tea leaves of his pitiable life she seemed so eager to read would finally speak to her. Maybe it would occur to her what was actually going on.

Which was that every time he touched himself, he imagined it was her hand. And he would try to switch things over, open one of his skin mags— his trusty strategy for years when it came to getting his thoughts off his partner and back where they belonged —but it wasn’t working anymore.

He’d listlessly page through the glossies, looking for a promising spread, land on some blowjob scene and eyeball it for a while. But when he got down to business it, was her mouth on him, warm and receptive, her eyes on his face, his hands in her coppery hair. He’d smolder for a while, thinking of her lips, her strong small hands, and always her eyes, then feverishly work himself up. And the magazine, forgotten, would slip away onto the floor.

On the bright side, his inappropriate intrusive fixation on his FBI partner was saving him two hundred bucks a month he used to spend on phone sex. The last time he dialed in he couldn’t even get it up. So he spilled his guts to one of his regular providers, droning on for forty-five minutes about how he had it bad for his partner, all the things she did that made him crazy, the reasons he couldn’t tell her. Realizing even therapy would be cheaper, and feeling like a terrible cliché, he’d quit calling those numbers.

His videos were his last line of defense. Their absorbing input had always been able to capture his attention, so he’d try one of those. It might work for a few minutes, but the real action was behind his eyes. In his mind it was her heels digging in to the small of his back as he plunged into her tight little cunt. She’d be beneath him hot and panting, open her mouth to moan and he’d stuff his fingers in, slide them wetly against her tongue. Soon he’d be picking up the pace... The television would blare fruitlessly in the background, rife with bad dialogue and silicone silo tits and oh babys. The money shot would come and go, unseen by him, and the screen would fade to black.

The reason porn had quit working was simple: in his fantasies, she always comes too. Usually more than once. He’d start slow, imagine he was taking his time kissing his way down her body. That could take a while. Then he’d tease her, rubbing the fat head of his cock up and down her slit. When she begged him to, he’d slip inside her and slam his hips forward. He’d hold there, bottomed out, and kiss her sweet mouth. Then he’d slide it in and out, looking into her eyes, feeling every inch of her.

Soon he’d need to fuck her harder, faster. He’d reach down to tease her clit until she was thrashing and pleading. Then she’d say his name, and her face would change, and she’d come on his dick. He’d watch her ride it out, humming with pleasure as her warm wet circles broke against him and travelled up his body in waves. Till his nuts and his gut and his heart and his throat and his brain were replete with her. Finally he’d come, imagining he was cradled by her hips and rocking, buried deep inside her, spilling his secrets into her ear.

In his dirty busy mind he’d already had her so many places and ways: in showers and motel beds, in cars and elevators, bent over his desk at work, the door unlocked, her skirt bunched around her waist, her drugstore pantyhose dangling from her ankle. Quick or slow or sweet or mean, acrobatic or missionary, rough or tender. Or both. God. Even boring. Just the two of them in his bed, nose to nose under the covers, whispering and giggling and whiling away a Sunday morning.

And the most pathetic and woebegone detail? Sometimes his fantasies contained no sex at all. He wanted to watch a movie with her feet parked in his lap. He wanted to shop for groceries with her and hold her hand on the walk home. To spend a weekend with her on the Vinyard and show her his old high school. He wanted to rub her back when she was sad and play footsie with her under the table during boring budget meetings. He wanted to gather her close and kiss her eyelids and hold her in his arms as she fell asleep. To watch her to rise naked from his bed and pull on his clothes she’d just stripped from his body. On red eye flights he wanted to leave the arm rest up and snuggle with her under those dingy felt blankets. To read to her while she soaked in the tub and find the nooks and hollows of her body where she was ticklish. He wanted to make her giggle, make her laugh, make her cry happy tears. He wanted to make her wet just with his voice. To lay in bed and watch while she got dressed for church. He wanted to kiss her in front of her idiot brother, maybe even slip her a tasteful amount of tongue. To shower with her before work, to soap her up and shampoo her hair. He wanted to stock his fridge with an assortment of her gross non-dairy yogurts.

Scully. Before she’d even descended into his office and introduced herself, he assumed she was a plant. Or a dupe, a patsy. Why else would a promising and talented young agent be conscripted to his lonely, disrespected division? Most likely she’d already agreed to keep tabs on him, to cast his work in a negative light. And even if she hadn’t, he was certain she’d be manipulated, using the lever of her obvious ambition, into doing so. He also suspected, since she’d spent most of her time thus far in the FBI in the lab or the classroom, that she was a house cat. The kind of agent who might hold romantic notions about working in the field, but who would soon balk at the grueling, unpredictable hours, the endless travel, the physical grind. And blanch at the dangers. It’s no kind of life for anybody who wants a life.

By the time their flight touched down in Oregon on that first case, he knew for sure that she was fun to spar with. And all kinds of smart. And even sort of cute. And while it can obviously be helpful to have a partner if things go sideways, he remembers hoping that didn’t happen to them before she washed out and retreated back to the lab. Because he suspected this itty bitty pathologist with zero field experience and impractical footwear? Would be more likely to become a liability than properly cover his flank.

After they’d worked a half dozen cases together, it was fair to say he’d reconsidered the hasty assumptions he’d made about Scully. Which is to say she surprised him at every turn. Except on the couple of occasions when she’d astonished him, leaving him flat-footed and slack-jawed in her wake. Against all odds, he had himself a partner. Which is not to say he fully trusted her. Not yet. And he doubted she’d hang around much longer.

But still. He’d learned that she was game. Skeptical and rational, but up for anything. She never complained about bad food or lumpy beds. And courageous, staring down firearms pushed in her face without blinking. She was fearless and cagy, and could take a punch or dish one out. And in the next moment she could soften, to connect with a suspect or a victim, to care for a child, or for him. She believed deeply in what she was doing. When he bumbled into trouble, which he seemed to have a knack for, she more than had his back. Yet when she’d sided with him and blew off her buddies from the Academy? It wasn’t loyalty to him she was demonstrating, but to the victims. To the truth. Above all, Scully was honest.

In some ways, he knew her so well. Yet all these years later there was there were aspects to her he could only guess at. Scully, he’d come to understand, was a deeply private person. Didn’t give pieces of herself away in idle conversation, like most people do. The fact that he was a trained and skilled profiler didn’t seem to help. In his fevered mind he’d become preoccupied with the things he didn’t know about her. Like how, exactly, does she like to be touched? He thought about that a lot. Is she a morning sex person? (God he hoped so.) Is she loud in bed? Or more quiet and intense? A little repressed, or wild and uninhibited? He could imagine it either way. Is she bossy? Submissive? A little of both? What does she taste like? Does she talk dirty? Will she like it when he does? (Because he definitely does.) How would he tease her? What are her kinks? Does she like it rough? And if he wanted to go down on her for hours, would she be okay with that?

So, yeah. He loved her.

That switch had been flicked for him on a steamy summer evening, a moment when he’d been staring down the real possibility of losing her. She walked away. He followed her, flew out his door like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Stormed up to her where she’d turned to face him in his hallway. Fists clenched, voice raised, he was in full on fighting mode. But he wasn’t fighting her. He was fighting to keep her. So instead of telling her off, as his body language suggested he might, he told her what she meant to him. How he needed her. Things he hadn’t even realized before they came out of his mouth. But all of it the truth.

She’d been girded and resolute, her body rigid and self-contained. But then she broke, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, she softened and stepped into his embrace. He looked in her impossibly blue eyes glinting with tears and realized with dreadful certainty that, Christ, he was going to kiss his partner. More than that, if she let him, he was going to pick her up and carry her back through the door of his apartment and lay her down and fuck her.

That plan had been derailed, but the urge for him remained. And not long after, he gathered his courage and, with all the earnestness he could muster, he’d looked her in the eyes and confessed.

So he’d told her that he loved her. But had he shown her?

That was a thorny question, and it made him uncomfortable to consider it. Because he had to admit that for the most part, he hadn’t.

It was strange, but once his feelings for Scully had shifted, his behavior toward her had become less loving. For one thing, he didn’t let her in on that fact that she’d become the only featured player in his secret late-nite fantasy theatre. But more than that, he found himself especially irritable with her. Dismissive. Self-centered. Sometimes even cold.

When he was looking for an excuse to be angry with her, he told himself a story that she’d rejected him. Because, oh brother. But he’d seen her eyes go wide for an instant, felt her animal panic. She’d pored over his hospital chart and had to know he wasn’t high. So he’d concluded that she didn’t want him. Didn’t love him.

And Fowley’d chosen that inopportune moment to skip back over the pond and make a play for his ass. And though he had no interest in rekindling that relationship, just having her around reminded him of all the reasons it just might be a bad idea to get tangled up sexually with your partner.

More than that, even though he knew that Scully felt insecure because of Diana for several legitimate reasons, he hadn’t bothered to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. When Diana called him and invited him downstairs for lunch, he’d go. Mostly to be near his files, and to mine the trashcans for cases when her back was turned. But he’d steal away from the bullpen, not tell Scully where he was off to, or why. He let her twist in the wind, wondering who Diana was to him and what her reappearance meant for their partnership.

It would make sense that once you’ve discovered the person you love, the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your days (not even to mention nights), the person who is, quite possibly, it for you? That you would try to make that happen. To lock that down. And yet he seemed to be doing everything but.

Even after she’d been shot by Ritter, and he’d almost lost her again.

And why was that? How to explain this puzzling behavior.

Maybe she didn’t want him, and he was just protecting himself.

The thing was, when he was being honest, he knew that wasn’t true. When he’d been about to kiss her in his hallway, she’d looked confused at first. And then concerned, with real fear flashing in her eyes. But by the time his lips were hovering over hers? They were on the same page. She’d gone molten in his arms, and her mouth awaited his, wet and ready. His body remembered how she’d opened to him, with her sweet breath and her fingers on his neck. He knew in his bones how that encounter would have ended, if not for that stupid fucking bee. Recalled it every chance he got.

As a psychologist, looking at the situation objectively? He’d have to conclude that he was engaging in some epic self-sabotage. Yup.

That night in her apartment when Diana had made her intentions clear, he’d agreed like some kind of docile sheep to join her. To scrum up with the other chosen few at El Rico Air Force Base as Armageddon loomed and save himself at the expense of the rest of humanity. And Scully, even though he wasn’t by her side where he belonged, was still fighting. For him, For them. For the truth. For the future.

And to repay her for her steadfast faith in him and devotion to their work? He was flirting with the one thing that could tear them apart. With inflicting a betrayal that could send her packing for good.

They’d dodged a bullet that night. More than that, they’d gotten their files back, and were free to resume their work. And by any measure he should have felt relieved. But he woke the next morning with a hangover worse than any he’d ever gotten from liquor. He looked in the mirror to shave and realized he couldn’t even meet his own gaze. He was ashamed. And he had to admit that he’d been seduced by Diana after all. Not into bed, but into complacency.

Needing some time and space to think things through, he called Skinner and redeemed a few vacation days. He threw some clothes in a bag and set out driving, not sure of his destination.

On the road, heading north, armed with this new clarity, he mulled things over. How was he going to feel, he wondered, when he succeeded and chased her away? That seemed to be his end game, after all. He knew what he’d do. He’d track her down to wherever she’d absconded to and interrupt her as she attempted to reboot her life. Then, looking desperate and half mad, he’d profess his love.

But it would be too late. She would conclude, quite logically, that he only wanted her when she was leaving. And even if she loved him like he hoped she might, she would not settle for that. Not Scully. And it would be selfish of him to ask her to.

It hit him then, with complete and utter clarity, that he had no idea how to love someone. He’d had bad models and a dearth of life experience in that arena. He knew how he felt. But love is a verb. It’s about what you do. She had taught him that.

He was good with the grand gestures, sure. Tracking her down at the bottom of the world and fishing her out of an enormous alien vessel, for example. Then breathing life back into her and hauling her to the surface while sidestepping rabid lizard monsters who swiped at them with razor-edged claws? Check.

But she needed more. For him to find mundane ways to express his care and concern, perhaps. To show her how much she mattered to him. How much he valued her and all the ways she contributed to their work. To his life. She needed to see that he put her first. She deserved these things. She had earned them. And he knew wouldn’t let him glimpse her secret self, let him know her like he desperately wanted to, until he gave them to her.

He wasn’t sure he could do it. But he knew he had to try.

He decided to start right away. He’d been thinking of her all morning, of course. About celebrating their return by pressing her her against a wall in their office and pushing into her, fucking her breathless and senseless before lunch, to be exact. But he hadn’t thought of her at all, he realized. Not really.

Scully. She’d be there right now, in the basement waiting for him, their first day back where they belonged. Wondering where he could be with half the morning gone. Bewildered as to what might be keeping him from reclaiming his precious turf. Maybe she already talked to Skinner and knew he was taking a few days off. Maybe she’d be worried. Or pissed. Or worse, wondering if he was enjoying a morning lounging in bed with a treacherous leggy brunette.

At the next rest stop, he pulled off and powered up his cell phone. He was relieved to see that he'd missed a call from her. She hadn’t given up on him yet.

Rather than listen to her message, he dialed her back. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey Mulder,” she said.

“Hey Scully,” he said. “Are you in the office?”

“I am,” she said. “Where I thought for sure you would be. Skinner told me you were on vacation. What’s going on?” Her voice was brittle. Defensive.

“I will be, Scully. I’ll meet you there. And soon. But I need to take care of a few things first.”

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “What kinds of things?”

“I, ah, I need to get my head straight before coming back. I’ve been mixed up. About some stuff.”

“I see,” she said.

They were both quiet for long seconds.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Me?” The question surprised her. “I’m good. Enjoying the quiet. Working on expense reports. Glad to be out of the bullpen.”

“You sure? You were popular, Scully. I think Agent Kargoll was working up the nerve to ask you out.” Mulder would glare at him as he brought her a donut on a little plate in the mornings. He’d leave it on the corner of the desk if she wasn’t in yet, like an offering to the high priestess.

“Yep,” she said. “I noticed that too. Reassigned in the nick of time...”

“I did my best to scare him off...”

“He was persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy. You could do worse than landing a boyfriend who arrives bearing gifts every morning...”

“I could do better, too.”

“No doubt,” he said. “What would be better than that?”

“Hmm. Why do you ask?”

“Research,” he said.

“Research,” she repeated. “Okay. Let’s see. The bearing gifts is ok. But maybe someone with some sense of what I actually like?”

“Let me jot that down,” he said. She snorted a little laugh. Which warmed him all the way through. “It’s true, Scully, you’re not a big fan of donuts. I benefitted from his crush on you more than you did.”

“I tried to wait until he had his back turned before handing those off to you...”

“You’re very kind,” he said.

Just then a truck blew by on the highway, laying on the booming brake, rocking his car.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I, ah, hit the road this morning. Just to think. Just to drive. But I suppose I’m heading home. To see my mother for a few days.”

“Everything okay?” she asked. He heard the concern in her voice, the fear that she’d be needing to tend to him trepanned and shocky, bail him out of jail. The usual.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or it will be. I really think it will be.”

“Allright Mulder,” she said after a long beat. “I’ll be holding down the fort. Drive safe. And keep in touch.”

“I will. And save me some of that paperwork, Scully.”

She laughed and hung up.

He had, in fact, visited his mother. She was glad to see him, and he stayed a few days, helped her out with some chores around the house. Got on a ladder and plucked the muck and leaves from the gutters, shifted some dusty furniture from the basement to the curb.

And he absorbed the silences of that house, his mother’s sadness, the way every possession, every exchange seemed steeped in a deep, abiding misery.

He remembered his mother different. Laughing, for example. Playing bridge with her friends, toying with her strand of pearls as she leaned in to gossip. Teasing him with a glint of joy in her eyes. Before Samantha had been taken.

It had broken her. Broken all of them. Now she ghosted around her own home, tending to her roses, watching television. Always alone. He lived much the same way. This was all that was left.

All because his father had been unable to protect them from the men he worked with, no matter how noble his intentions. The same men he had been tempted by Fowley to join up with, if he was telling the truth. Now they were reduced to ash. He had no idea what remained, but he knew he and Scully would find out.

By the time he climbed in his car to come home, he was committed to not making his father’s mistake. And to living differently. Less stubbornly solitary. To inviting some goodness into his life, no matter how strange it felt.

And last night, when it was actually happening, when he was wrapped up in bed with Scully in real life, it had been so vivid, so peculiar. As he rolled his naked frame against hers, time slowed down. In his head he heard the seconds ticking away distorted by doppler effect, whomp whomp. Felt his stiff prick slide against her buttery thigh, painfully slow. Pressed his ear to her chest. Imagined the steady squeeze and release of her heart beneath her breastbone. Heard the whoosh of her blood through her veins.

Looked up at her flushed face, this beautiful untamable breakable beast.

And he loved her.

He’d told her so.

Now he needed to show her.

Thanks for reading. Check it out at Ao3 This fic stands alone, but is also chapter 10 of Bedside Manner

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in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[dreamescapeswriting]

WORD COUNT: 900

PAIRING: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Fluffy dad AU, fluffy Yoongi, family AU, Idol!AU, just fluff.

A/N: I’m sorry it;s short!!

Yoongi smirked at you as he stood at the door of your shared bedroom just watching you, your son was kissing your baby bump on top of your shirt as you giggled softly. 

"Bed rest, it was ordered," Yoongi ordered when he noticed you shifting to get out of bed, he wasn't lying either. The doctors had all put you on bed rest because of how far along you were in the pregnancy and how worried they were about your blood pressure and of course, that sent Yoongi into overprotective father mode.

"I need to use the bathroom, if you're forgetting I have your daughter dancing around on my bladder," You reminded him as you threw your legs off the side of the bed and began making your way to the en-suite bathroom, your son clutching your hand as he walked with you. He was 7-years-old but already he was looking after you and making sure you obeyed the doctor's every command. 

"Don't you have to be at the studio?" You questioned your husband as you came back out of the bathroom to find him making the bed, laying a blanket out for you and giving you the TV remote in case you wanted to do some TV watching. 

"No, I took some time off. Sejin understands, he said if they really need me they'll call." He smiled as he helped you waddle back into your bed, being seven months pregnant was a killer on your feet, every part of your body seemed to ache more and more every day. 

"No more babies, I mean it." You whined as you got into the bed being covered up by Yoongi who smiled softly at you, leaving a kiss on your temple. 

"You said that about Jae," He reminded you as he turned on the TV and left you in the bedroom to go and play with his on.

Yoongi had a full day planned out for himself and his son, he was going to get all of the old board games out from the loft and play board games with him or video games. It was the first time he was going to spend one on one time with his son in a while and he was going to enjoy every second of it. The two of them were currently playing hide and seek around the large house but Yoongi was finding it rather easy to find his son in every spot he had picked so far.

"You're not very good at hide and seek," Yoongi said sarcastically as he strolled into his home studio to find his son sitting at the large piano that was sitting in the corner of the room.

"I want to play something for mummy, just like you do." He mumbled as he began pushing random keys on the piano making Yoongi chuckle, you always said that the kids would take after him with musical talent. 

"Okay," Yoongi said with a giant smile on his face, shutting the door so you wouldn't be able to hear what the two of them were doing, the entire room was soundproofed so it was their secret. 

"What do you want to learn to play?" He questioned as he sat down beside his son, looking at him as he thought on every song that he knew. 

"Mum loves Seesaw...I could learn that" Yoongi smiled hearing that you shared which was your favourite song with your child and that it was one of his solo's.

"Sure, I'll teach you the chords," He chuckled softly as he slowly began to play the notes for the song, making sure he went slow enough for your son to get the hang of it. 

All day long they had been practising in the room, hardly leaving unless it was to eat or go to the bathroom, occasionally coming to check on you but neither of them told you what they were doing. They wanted it to be a surprise for you.

"I thought I was on bed rest," You laughed as Yoongi and Jae led you down to the studio, sitting you on one of the large recliner chairs that were in front of Yoongi's desk,

"You are but we need to show you something," Yoongi chuckled as he stood behind your son at the piano, giving him a nod of encouragement as Jae clicked his fingers and began playing the chords. As soon as they reached your ears you couldn't help but smile brightly watching your son play the song perfectly while Yoongi watched on proudly. 

"I told you he would have your talent," You whispered as you laid in bed together later that night, Yoongi was sitting beside you looking at you with a smile on his lips. 

"But he has your looks," He winked before leaning down and leaving a gentle kiss on your bump,

"Just like our beautiful angel is going to have," He whispered as he began rubbing his hand over the bump gently, smiling as he felt the small kick coming from her. It seemed that whenever he spoke around you she would kick as much as she could, trying to get his attention no doubt.

"You're going to be beautiful just like you're mum and smart just like her," He whispered as he then began to tell her stories of how you first met, even if she was just a baby and probably didn't understand him yet he always wanted to make sure she could hear his voice and listen to him. 

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @sw33tnight @innersooya​ @sweeneyblue1​ @agustdjoon​ @jin-from-the-block​ @acciocriativity​ @mwitsmejk​ @anxiousbobatea​ @justbangtanthingz​

[cosmicclownboy]

hi- why don't you like Maria?

Oh lord.

Where do I even begin with Maria.

Season 1

Makes a joke about Alex's secret relationship being with Wyatt and finding it funny- (Wyatt who is an abusive racist dude who commits hate crimes and bear in mind she knows Alex was abused for being gay) IT'S GROSS.

Speaks about Alex's secret relationship guy being his home to Alex and literally feels his hopefulness because it is part of her alien ability and continues to pursue Michael in s2.

Maria (straight) outs Michael to Liz. That's not okay on any level.

When Liz tells Maria to speak to Alex before doing anything she ignores the advice and does what she wants.

She's really smug about Michael picking/pursuing her like she won.

Season 2

Pursues Michael at a funeral in front of Alex without talking to him.

Makes Michael's loved ones husband funeral about a relationship status

Slut shames a random woman who makes out with Michael when they were never exclusive

Enters a relationship with Michael where he has to be exclusive but she doesn't because she doesn't believe he could be faithful. That's reeks of harmful biphobia stereotypes.

Ignores Alex the whole time UNTIL she needs something.

When she appears at Alex's door she says they are even. AKA comparing Alex not telling her a secret that wasn't his to share to her pursuing the love of his life in front of him without any empathy and ignoring the whole time.

Bitches to Alex about Liz and wanting fuck all to do with her. Alex has to remind her Liz has a dead boyfriend and is struggling cause Maria only has Maria vision and lacks empathy for her 'best friends'.

Uses her mom's laptop to get the scope on Alex/Michael's relationship which reads 100% manipulative. She even says Michael is pushing you away and then proceeds to encourage the narrative where Michael pushes Alex away because she suddenly wants Michael. And of course Alex is supportive she recognises he lacks self worth and rolls over him.

Beginning of 2x06 she tries to set up Forlex to get Alex away from Michael. Once again manipulative.

Tries to make Alex feel guilty for being gay in 206 because when she was a kid she idealised being with him and had to come up with a whole new plan. He grew up in an abusive household you know that....It's not okay to say that. You know how much internalised homophobia he has.

When saying he's had good relationships provides only examples of relationships with women......................HE IS GAY.

Asks him if he would change being gay.......jfc.

Alex tearfully saying he dissociates with women because he clearly forced himself to out of internalised phobia, Maria takes it to mean she has a chance. She thinks she's the exception since a touch starved abuse victim liked to be touched by her in high school. That doesn't = consent.

When Alex, a whole ass Airforce Captain tells her it's unsafe to stay at the creepo's place she acts all I am feminist about it and this results in Alex being stabbed and Michael getting whacked on the head.

Earlier in the episode she whinges to Alex about Michael kissing another woman in front of her and how cruel it was and then proceeds to kiss Michael in front of Alex KNOWING how he feels for Michael.

In THAT scene it's clear she notices Michael's emotions towards Alex and is insecure about it. She uses Malex's feelings for each other to her advantage. She's chasing the fantasy of getting with Alex. These are two highly traumatised queer men who struggle to say no because they spent their lives in abusive environments.

Neither Michael or Alex were in a position to consent to sex that night Michael is concussed from a whack on the head . Alex has lost a lot of blood and is completely out of it. And neither would ever initiate that situation. Not to mention the assumption Michael would be down because he's bi is so harmful as a stereotype.

"I think she’s cool with her decision. She wanted some answers, so subconsciously there was an emotional comfort she needed. But she also had a little bit of an agenda. She needed some decisions made about the status of their relationships, so she thought, “Let’s throw everything against the wall and see where it lands.” I think she was just wondering if they made any progress on that front. She said it was OK for their feelings to be out in the open, but let’s just voice them for what they are. As we saw, Michael stepped up and was like, “No, I still love you and I’m with you.” Secretly, that’s what Maria was hoping for. By suggesting a threesome, she’s was basically telling Michael, “Make your choice… and I hope it’s me.” this is what Heather said about the scene. So not only was it coercive and such but she used her best friend like that with no care or empathy whatsoever. It's disgraceful.

The next day both Michael and Alex are confused by what the fuck happened. Alex due to his C-PTSD completely dissociates from the situation and Michael attempts to laugh it off despite him being hella confused. The only person who isn't confused is Maria who is listening to them from inside.

When Michael comes in she turns on the tears just in case he does want Alex afterwards. Bear in mind she is a psychic who can feel everything and she assumed Michael was going to go after Alex. Doesn't that say it all. SHE KNOWS MICHAEL IS IN LOVE WITH ALEX AND VICE VERSA. She does not care, because at the end of the day this is what she wants. She wants to win. She wants to treat Michael like this trophy that she can show off to people I got the great Michael Guerin not a relationship guy to date me.

When Michael wants to have emotional conversations she shuts it down for sex. The entirety of the relationship it has to be her way or the high way. She also recognises fairly on his abandonment issues and plays upon it, reads manipulative.

When Michael who has lost his mom and brother in the span of a few months asks Maria to be more careful about her abilities she doesn't listen. And ultimately breaks up with Michael when she can't get what she wants from him which is a yes man who will do what she says and isn't the idealised Michael she wants.

Season 3

Shits on Michael any chance she gets. She's so mean to him and he goes out of his way to look out for her.

Is dismissive of her own health despite the fact that everybody goes out of their way to help her. Liz is in California working on a way to help her. Kyle is risking his job.etc

Is fine with Liz, her best friend losing the love of her life to get a vision to prevent a murder. A vision she's only invested in because apparently in it she blames herself.

Is fine with Max or Kyle dealing with the guilt of her death had Michael not saved her.

Shoves Michael and belittles him because he's stronger then her. Infers he just sits on his ass and does nothing therefore does not care about anything....rude. There's also a weird superiority complex that her power is more important then Michaels or any of pod squad for that matter.

Creates a situation that is so bad that Kyle risks his doctors licence to give her adrenaline. Just take an ice bath or something there are a 1000 ways to give yourself adrenaline without risking your life and risking others.

Doesn't thank or acknowledge what Liz is doing for her honey has spent a FULL YEAR of her life trying to help and your just like yeah I'll let her soulmate die for my visions.

Emotionally guilts Isobel for not hanging out with her despite the fact she's hated her for two seasons and now has just randomly decided she wants to know......okay

This idea that Maria is suddenly lonely when she's the second of the main cast (first being Kyle) to have scenes with all the mains by Monday. Literally everyone is there at her beck and call but Maria is lonely??? IT DOESN'T ADD UP. Everyone's up her arse 9/10 how is she lonely everyone expresses concern and care for her ALL THE DAMN TIME. She's also narratively never had scenes that give the connotation that she is lonely. Michael has scenes that connotate he is lonely. Max and Alex do too. Maria has yet to have scenes that give the connotation of feeling lonely or depressed.

Maria comparing the alien siblings to her and feeling left out when she acts superior to them and they are literally siblings. Literally every character is somewhat left out with Pod Squad they've lived their lives assuming it's just them three against the world it's not a personal attack.

Maria is 1/8 alien at best so diluted genetically it doesn't show up and somehow she believes she has the capability of the aliens who are 100%. Say you have French DNA you don't expect to speak French suddenly.

This whole Maria never does wrong narrative and it's empowering that she's doing all of this just feels like a crock of shit tbh.

She reads like a 2000's movie mean girl.

All of my bullet points are why I don't like h Maria and it's not biased because I'm a so and so fan. Narratively she just wins up doing shitty things to Michael and Alex the most.