#looking through that to decide if i should yet

[vynlrecord]

♡ is the light sleeper in the room with us?

At first when you’d asked Simon to move in with you, he seemed excited or well, as excited as Simon allowed himself to show. Yet as it got closer and closer, you weren't so sure.

“You probably won’t ever get a good night’s sleep again. I'll constantly be disrupting it.”

"I have nightmares and night terrors, I’ll probably scare you-"

“I’m such a light sleeper, everything wakes me up and puts me in a panic."

It was almost like he was trying to dissuade you from sticking to your decision, giving you an out in case he was too difficult for you, you knew exactly how his brain worked.

But you loved him, and nothing he was saying was making you change your mind, not even close to it.

You prepared anyway, looked up everything you could with how to handle certain night terrors, best things to say or not say, whether you should wake him up if he’s having a nightmare, everything.

Then the first night came, and you were ready to be woken up at 3am, maybe to Simon shouting or crying or something and you pictured all the things you’d do to calm him down, grab him some tea, maybe gentle reassurances as you wiped his tears, whatever it took. 

But none of that happened.

The first night, he slept the whole way through, completely undisturbed and you would know because ironically you were the one who didn’t sleep the first night. You'd stayed awake, worrying, wanting to make sure he was okay, checking for even a slight twitch or a face of anguish but, nothing.

And then a few days later, on an early Sunday morning, your neighbour had decided to mow the grass. It was unbearably loud and you'd sat up, internally screaming because who chooses 7am to cut grass on a Sunday?

And Simon? Well he was completely out.

You looked at him, wondering if he was pretending for a moment, giving him a little nudge. He'd shuffled a little in his sleep before letting out a few soft snores, it was like he was on another planet completely.

And it kept happening. He'd sleep through alarms, and not just one or two but enough in a row that you had to turn them off yourself and tell him to wake up. Phone calls too, slept through every call, no matter the ringtone, no matter how loud. Your cat's 4am zoomies? Not even a flinch.

You were so confused, he'd worried constantly before moving in about ruining your sleep and now it was like sleeping was second nature to him, which you wouldn't have questioned if not for the repeated warnings of how light of a sleeper he was.

It made no sense, Simon couldn't understand it either, but you were quite happy with it of course, and so was he. Whenever you thought about it for too long, it actually made you smile, there was something sweet about it to you.

Perhaps it was your apartment, the fact that the space was yours, maybe your presence was helping him, you'd even joke it was your cat's soothing company. Or maybe it was the soft sheets, in a bedroom that felt cosy. A proper homely space, one that Simon wasn't quite used to in his old place, all bare walls and no decoration, not even a comfortable mattress. He'd never bothered with anything except the bare minimum, a vast difference to now.

Whatever it was, he was actually sleeping, peacefully for once, he couldn't remember the last time he was able to say that.

But what Simon did know, was that he felt completely safe with you and seeing him like this was the most beautiful thing to you.

[danysdaughter]

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 4.2k words

summary | after a hot date night, you decide it’s time to introduce bucky to the world of sex toys. but as he watches you come undone under a vibrator and dildo, curiosity quickly gives way to jealousy—and before you know it, the lesson turns into a possessive, desperate claim with his cock buried deep inside you where, as he puts it, you belong.

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, sex toys, vibrator use, dildo use, edging, orgasm denial, reader gets absolutely railed, jealous!bucky, possessive!bucky, rough sex, desperate sex, “That Should Be Me” energy, mutual orgasms, praise kink, clingy post-sex bucky

a/n | based on thissss request. said I'd post on tues and here it is. enjoy, you little freaks <3 you don't need to read the previous chapters to read this one

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ - ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

The door slammed shut behind you, a little louder than it needed to, the echo sharp against the dim hallway light of your apartment.

Your laughter was still spilling out into the room, low and breathless, caught halfway between amusement and anticipation.

You barely got two steps in before Bucky was on you.

His hands found your waist first—fingers slipping beneath the hem of your jacket like he needed skin contact now—and his lips were on your neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive curve just below your ear.

You let out a soft gasp, the sound immediately turning into a laugh as you stumbled backward into the wall, your shoulder hitting it with a dull thud.

“Jesus, Barnes,” you teased, tilting your head to give him better access, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair. “At least let me take off my shoes before you start undressing me.”

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

His mouth trailed lower, teeth grazing along your throat as his hands slid down, over the curve of your ass, gripping like he already forgot how to be patient.

You could still taste the wine on his breath—rich, red, something expensive you pretended to know about during dinner. He’d been charming, quietly smug, his hand on your knee beneath the table the entire time. But now, that cool confidence had turned into something hotter, something needier.

“Couldn’t stop looking at you all night,” he murmured into your skin. “Every time you smiled at me like that, I wanted to take you home and—”

You cut him off with a slow, satisfied hum. “And what?”

He groaned. “Don’t make me say it.”

You leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’ve already got your hands on my ass, Barnes. The hard part’s over.”

He laughed—soft and low—but it came out like a growl against your neck.

You pulled back slightly to look at him. His pupils were blown, his cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from your fingers. He looked like someone undone by want—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

You gave him that smile—that one. The cheeky, up-to-something smirk that always made his brows furrow and his jaw tighten.

The one that meant you were about to make him feel something he wasn’t prepared for.

“Down, Sergeant,” you said sweetly, placing your palms flat on his chest and gently easing him back.

He groaned—more out of protest than pain—his grip tightening on your hips as he let you push him away, but just barely. His fingers didn’t leave you, still clutching your waist like he wasn’t sure if this was a tease or the start of something serious.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, suspicious, eyes narrowing as you started to backpedal toward the bedroom.

You shrugged, still grinning. “Nowhere dangerous.”

“See, it’s the smile that says otherwise.”

You took a few more steps back, tugging him with you by the belt loops. He followed, slow but curious, letting you lead him through the doorway. His fingers skimmed under your dress again, thumbs brushing skin like he was trying to anchor himself.

You stopped at the edge of your bed, then stepped aside, letting him take in the view behind you.

That’s when he saw it.

His eyes widened slightly. You caught the flash of confusion as he looked down at your mattress—lined neatly with a few very intentional things: a sleek vibrator, a wand, a slim, curved dildo, a bottle of lube, and your favorite black satin restraints.

He stared for a second.

Blinking.

Then blinked again.

“What…” he started, voice lower now. Rough. “What is all this?”

You leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“A surprise.”

He turned to look at you, brow raised. “Is this a setup?”

You smirked. “Have you met me?”

Bucky stood still, eyes sweeping over the bed again—over the glossy black wand, the lube glinting under the soft light, the silicone toy shaped far too perfectly for your body.

Then he looked at you, expression stuck between scandalized and turned on.

“Did you rob a sex store?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I mean, that’s a lot of equipment.”

“It’s two toys, a bottle of lube, and a wand, Barnes. Not an armory.”

He didn’t move when you tugged him forward by the waistband of his jeans, but his jaw flexed—very slightly—as his knees bumped the edge of the bed.

You raised a brow, smirking. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t see toys when you were on your little porn discovery mission.”

He coughed, averting his eyes for a split second. “Yeah, well—maybe. But I’m more of a, y’know… hands-on kind of guy.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear as your hands slid up under his shirt. “Old fashioned, huh?”

His fingers twitched against your hips again, not quite meeting your teasing with a response.

You pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning.

“Funny. That 69 we did with your hands tied says very otherwise.”

His breath hitched. You weren’t wrong.

And from the way his cock was already hardening beneath his jeans, he knew it too.

You rose onto your toes, hands sliding up his chest, nails dragging lightly through the fabric of his shirt. He was still tense—not resistant, but processing. Curious. Hesitant. Turned on out of his goddamn mind.

So you leaned in slowly, brushing your lips against his.

Just a light kiss. Then another.

And another.

Tiny pecks that softened him, unraveled that edge of caution from his shoulders.

“You can still be hands-on,” you murmured between kisses. “Just… with toys in your hands.”

Another kiss, slow and lingering this time. You felt him exhale through his nose, felt his lips finally part and press back into yours.

You smiled against his mouth, coaxing.

“You don’t even have to do anything complicated. Just…” You let your fingers trail down his arms, tugging his hands to your waist. “Use them. Use me. Learn what works.”

He groaned, barely audible, as his hands settled firmly on your hips again—like just the permission alone was undoing him.

You pulled back, just a breath away.

“C’mon, Sarge. Let’s see what those old-fashioned hands can do with some new tools.”

His jaw clenched again.

You stepped back from him slowly, feeling the heat of his hands lingering on your hips as your fingers curled around the hem of your dress.

Bucky’s eyes followed every movement—glued to your hands, to the slow shift of fabric, to the smug little grin on your lips that told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

And then?

You pulled.

The dress slipped over your hips and down your thighs in one fluid motion, pooling around your ankles like water.

Bucky’s breath caught.

You stood there, spine straight, head tilted just slightly to the side, watching his reaction as your body was revealed—deliberately chosen lingerie in inky black lace, sheer in all the right places, hugging every curve.

The bra pushed your breasts up just enough to tease, the fabric a whisper against your skin, while the panties sat low on your hips, lacy edges framing your stomach and dipping between your legs like an invitation.

The sheer mesh left little to the imagination.

Your stomach was bare.

Your thighs.

The delicate rise of your hips.

It was… artful, really.

And you knew it.

“You wore that to dinner?” Bucky asked, voice low and wrecked already.

You grinned. “Technically, I wore it for dessert.”

His eyes dragged over you, slow and reverent and hungry.

And then you stepped back again, toward the bed.

“Pick one,” you said, nodding toward the toys. “Whichever you want. Try it on me.”

He didn’t move right away. Just looked at you.

Like you were the most dangerous, beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And the most willing.

You climbed onto the bed with slow, fluid confidence, the mattress dipping under your knees as you crawled back into position. Leaning on your elbows, you propped yourself up, legs spreading easily, openly, like it was second nature to put your body on display for him.

And maybe it was. For him, it always had been.

Bucky followed like a man in a trance.

His eyes roamed over you—down your torso, between your thighs, lingering at the edge of the lace still clinging to your hips. He was silent, almost hesitant. Until his gaze flicked toward the toys spread across the sheets.

You watched as he reached out and picked up the vibrator.

The sleek little device looked almost comical in his broad, calloused hand—lightweight, pastel-colored, clearly not made with 1940s masculinity in mind.

He turned it over slowly, brow furrowing, mouth slightly parted like he was reading a tactical blueprint.

“There are settings,” you murmured, voice soft and teasing. “Low, medium, high.”

He looked at you, and something about the way his mouth twitched made you narrow your eyes.

“Start on low, Bucky.”

He didn’t answer. Just clicked it on.

The low hum vibrated between his fingers.

And then?

He clicked it again.

High.

Before you could stop him, he pressed the tip of the vibrator directly onto your clit—still covered by your lace panties.

The jolt that tore through your body was instant and violent.

Your back arched, a yelp escaped your throat, and your leg snapped out so fast you nearly kicked him in the face.

“Jesus—BUCKY!”

He dodged your foot, arms up in surrender, laughing as he dropped the toy onto the sheets.

“What? You said there were settings, I was just—testing.”

You shoved at his shoulder, breathless, glaring as you tried to catch your breath.

“You tested high?! Right on my clit?! What the hell kind of logic—”

“I didn’t think it’d be that strong.”

You gave him a look that could’ve curdled milk, still panting, your thighs trembling slightly from the aftershock.

He was still laughing.

And blushing.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you muttered, reaching down to adjust your panties like your clit hadn’t just been sniped by Stark-level technology.

He raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s try that again. Gently this time.”

You laid back again, eyeing him warily.

“Try it again,” you said. “And if you blast me like that a second time, I’m switching to the dildo and you can just sit there and watch.”

His grin vanished.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once your breathing evened out—once your pulse stopped thundering in your ears—you gave him a small, warning nod. Not exactly forgiving him yet, but willing to let him try again.

Bucky reached for the vibrator, a little more cautious now.

“Low,” you said again, firmly.

He smirked but obeyed, clicking it on to the lowest setting. The hum was soft this time, barely more than a buzz, and you could already see the change in him—his shoulders relaxed, his gaze sharpened. He wasn’t playing anymore.

He moved closer, crawling between your spread thighs, settling onto his elbows like he was preparing for something delicate. His metal hand slid over your thigh, holding you open with care as he brought the toy down, brushing it gently—so gently—against the lace over your clit.

You inhaled sharply. A good sharp.

His eyes flicked up, watching your face.

“How’s that feel?” he asked, voice low and steady.

You let your eyes close, lips parting on a slow, breathy exhale. Your body relaxed this time, no violent kicks—just heat curling low in your belly, spreading like fire.

“Nice,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s… really nice.”

He made a quiet, pleased sound.

Then did it again.

Slower this time, moving the toy in gentle circles over the fabric. Not rushing, not pushing. Just watching—the rise and fall of your breath, the subtle twitch of your thighs, the way your fingers curled in the sheets when he hit just the right angle.

Your hips arched, just slightly, chasing the motion.

He smiled. Almost smug. But underneath it—something tender, too.

Like he couldn’t believe he was the one doing this to you.

Making you feel like this.

Your breath hitched as he moved lower, eyes flicking to your panties.

“Let me see you,” he murmured.

His fingers hooked the edge of the lace and drew it aside with care—so slowly, like he was unwrapping something sacred. His gaze dropped to your bare, glistening core, and the little sound he made in his throat—half growl, half groan—sent a fresh rush of heat through you.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet already.”

You smirked, lazy and indulgent. “Well, you did almost blow my clit off.”

He shot you a look, one brow raised, mouth twitching with that cocky little smirk you were quickly learning to associate with danger.

“Yeah,” he said. “About that…”

He brought the toy back down—still on low—and touched it directly to your clit.

Your whole body jolted.

But this time, there was no kicking. Just a soft gasp, your hips lifting off the bed, thighs twitching as pleasure rippled through you like heat lightning.

He moved it in tight, slow circles.

You whimpered.

He leaned in close, voice low and full of intent.

“You remember edging me?” he asked.

Your eyes blinked open, hazy with heat. “…Bucky—”

He clicked the toy off.

You whined.

Your hips bucked, searching for friction, desperate and denied.

His grin widened.

“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”

You reached for him—maybe to swat him, maybe to drag him down onto you—but he dodged easily, clicking the toy back on and touching it just to the side of your clit this time, not giving you the full pressure you craved.

You moaned, head falling back onto the sheets.

He was toying with you.

Teasing, circling, pulling you to the brink and pulling back just before it broke.

“Feel that?” he asked softly. “How close you are?”

You nodded frantically, thighs trembling.

He lifted the toy away again.

Your whole body arched, a strangled noise escaping your throat.

“Good,” he said, smug and composed and ruthless. “Now let’s do that a few more times.”

He edged you once.

Then again.

And again.

Each time pulling the toy away just as your body reached that shattering precipice, just as your thighs began to shake and your moans turned to pleas. Your voice cracked somewhere between curses and whimpers—rage and lust and raw need colliding in your chest.

“Fucking—Bucky! I swear to God—”

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, smile far too calm for someone committing such heinous crimes against your orgasm.

“You’re doing great,” he said, maddeningly sweet. “Almost as pretty as when you edged me.”

“Bucky, I will end you.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, clicking the toy off again. “But first—”

You whined. Actually whined. Fisting the sheets as your entire body trembled with pent-up release.

Then you saw him reach for the next item on the bed.

The dildo.

Smooth, curved, a little thicker than average—his choice.

He looked at it, looked at you.

Then leaned forward again, eyes gleaming. “Can I try this?”

You couldn’t even speak.

Just nodded, gasping, your whole body tight and twitching with denial.

He ran the toy through your folds first, slicking it with your arousal. Then, slowly, he pressed it in—inch by inch—watching your body stretch around it, his lips parted, his breath caught in his throat.

The groan that left you was wrecked.

He pulled it back.

Then slid it in again.

And again.

His strokes were smooth, unhurried, his gaze fixed where your body took it, sucking it in with every glide.

You felt his focus—too much of it.

“Stop looking at my cunt like a science experiment,” you muttered, voice wrecked and trembling.

He didn’t even blink. “You’re fascinating.”

You let out something between a sob and a laugh, hips canting up, thighs trembling as he thrust the toy deeper, angling just right and watching as your mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispered, almost to himself.

And you? You were seconds from detonating.

Bucky’s focus sharpened to a point—you, spread out and glistening, shaking under his touch as the toy slid in and out of you with steady, unrelenting rhythm.

His hand never faltered, wrist rotating just enough to give the dildo that subtle curve each time it pushed deep, brushing against the spot that made your back arch off the mattress.

His other hand was braced on your thigh, holding it open, thumb stroking gently as your moans got louder, less controlled.

He was breathing harder now, jaw tense, the veins in his forearm visible as he picked up the pace.

Not just faster—deeper.

And every time he drove it in, you let out a sound that made his own hips twitch, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans.

You were writhing, hands tangled in the sheets, eyes barely able to stay open as you looked down your body at him—watching him watch you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head dropping back as the pleasure built and built again. “Bucky—fuck—”

He bit his lip.

His strokes grew faster, rougher, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, your arousal coating the toy, your thighs trembling as your moans rose in pitch.

“You hear yourself?” he rasped, voice dark now, tight. “So fucking loud. So good.”

Your hands clawed at the sheets, your mouth falling open in a gasp as the toy slid in hard, again and again, your body so close to the edge you could taste it.

And still—he didn’t stop.

“Say my name,” he said, fucking you harder now, jaw clenched as he watched your hips lift to meet every thrust. “Say it.”

“Bucky—please—”

His rhythm stuttered for a second.

Then he leaned in closer, eyes burning.

The sounds coming from between your legs were obscene—slick, wet, relentless. The dildo slid in and out of you, faster now, your thighs twitching with every thrust, your moans ragged, needy, broken.

And Bucky? Bucky was watching.

Watching you come apart, shaking on the edge, and all he could think about was how it wasn’t him.

His jaw clenched as his hand moved, wrist flicking with practiced rhythm now, and still it wasn’t enough. Not for him.

He stared at where the toy disappeared into your body, at how easily you took it, at how you moaned his name—and something just… snapped.

The moment you let out a wrecked little gasp, your legs clamping around nothing as your orgasm finally hit—your whole body clenching around that silicone?

He yanked it out of you, fast.

You whimpered, high and startled, your hips chasing after it instinctively. “Bucky—what the fuck—”

But he was already tossing it across the room like it had personally offended him.

“That should be me,” he growled, low and tight. “That should be my cock inside you.”

Before you could say anything else, he was on you—mouth crushing yours, fingers dragging your panties down your thighs, then ripping them the rest of the way off with one impatient pull.

“Hey—!” you yelped against his lips. “That was new!”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his voice gravel and heat. “I couldn’t fucking stand it. Watching you fall apart like that—on that—”

You were still gasping when he shoved his jeans down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed and angry, and then—

He thrust into you in one long, rough slide.

You cried out, your head falling back, the stretch sudden and perfect.

“Fucking hell, Bucky—”

He groaned, forehead pressing to yours, voice breaking.

“Better,” he breathed. “So much fucking better.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your laugh half-moan, half-disbelief as he started to move.

“You’re ridiculous,” you panted.

He thrust deeper, harder.

“You’re mine.”

You didn’t argue.

Because fuck, it felt right.

Bucky didn’t hold back.

His thrusts were deep, fast, frantic—his cock slamming into you like it was the only thing grounding him to reality. Every drive of his hips sent you upward on the bed, your hands scrabbling for purchase, your thighs locked tight around his waist as he rutted into you like a man starved.

You were both sweat-slicked and gasping, your mouths clashing in messy kisses between moans and curses, teeth grazing lips, breath mingling.

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, angling you just right—and fuck, he knew what he was doing. He angled every thrust to drag against that spot that made your vision blur, made your nails dig into his back, made your cries rise to screams.

“Mine,” he snarled, over and over, like a mantra. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped back, helpless under the weight of him, your whole body coiled tight, heat building fast again after the cruel cycle of edging. “Fuck, Bucky—don’t stop—please—”

He groaned against your neck, his voice almost breaking from how good it felt, from how tightly you squeezed around him, from the way your body arched into him like you couldn’t get close enough.

You weren’t just taking it.

You were meeting him—rocking your hips up into every thrust, nails dragging down his back, your voice a breathless chant of his name.

You whined, the sound pure filth, your orgasm charging through you like lightning, your body clamping down around him as your eyes rolled back.

Your whole body was already a live wire—trembling, hypersensitive, soaked from everything he’d done to you. So when he finally drove into you with that punishing, possessive rhythm, it didn’t take long.

Not after being edged so many times you forgot what release felt like.

His cock filled you perfectly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been denied again and again.

Then he said it.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled into your skin, teeth grazing your jaw. “So deep—fuck—wanna keep you like this. Full of me.”

The growl in his voice. The strain. The desperation.

And that was what did it.

You came hard—violently—your orgasm tearing through you like your body had been waiting for permission to shatter.

You screamed his name, your back arched off the mattress, thighs locked around him as your walls clenched down on his cock in rhythmic waves, dragging him deeper, holding him there.

Bucky groaned, choked on the sound, hips stuttering as he tried to keep fucking you through it—but your body was relentless, milking him, coaxing him to the brink with you.

And then he lost it.

He slammed in one last time, cock twitching deep as he came with a raw, broken sound, burying his face in your neck like he could hide from how wrecked he felt.

His cum flooded you—hot, thick, and so much, mixing with yours, seeping down your thighs as you both stayed locked together, trembling, undone.

You were shaking under him, breathless, mind blank.

And still—he didn’t move.

Just held you.

Because he couldn’t let go. Because he didn’t want to.

Your breaths tangled into each other—harsh, broken, shared between barely-parted mouths.

You couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Bucky was still inside you, still buried to the hilt, his chest pressed to yours, his forehead against your temple as the sweat cooled on both your bodies. The only sounds were the deep, ragged inhales, the soft exhales, the occasional, stunned fuck whispered against your skin.

Neither of you spoke.

There was nothing to say—not yet.

Just the feeling of him—warm, solid, trembling slightly as he held you like if he let go, the world might pull you away.

Your fingers curled into the damp strands at the back of his neck. His hand slid down your thigh, possessive even now, thumb stroking the inside like he still needed to touch you everywhere.

You breathed into his mouth.

He breathed into yours.

And it was perfect.

But then, slowly, your body relaxed.

And your hand drifted from his hair to his shoulder, giving him a light shove—not really pushing, more like reminding.

He groaned, still reluctant to move.

You gave him another nudge. “You owe me new lingerie.”

His head lifted slightly, enough for you to see the lazy smile that spread across his flushed, post-orgasm face.

“As long as I get to pick it out too,” he murmured.

You snorted. “If you pick something crotchless, I’m setting you on fire.”

His grin widened.

“You really are the most dangerous woman alive,” he muttered against your lips.

Just when you thought he might finally pull out, Bucky shifted—

Not away.

But closer.

Suddenly, you were bombarded.

Soft kisses.

All over your face.

Your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your lips—smothering, insistent, rapid-fire pecks between breathless murmurs, like he couldn’t kiss you fast enough to keep up with what he was feeling.

“Beautiful—”

Kiss.

“My girl—”

Kiss.

“So perfect��mine—mine—”

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

You burst out laughing, squirming under him as he grinned like an idiot and kept going, hands bracketing your head like he had no plans of letting you escape.

“Bucky—stop—get the fuck out of my face—!”

Your voice was sharp but your smile was wide, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lit from the inside.

He didn’t stop.

“Never,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’re mine. I’m keeping you forever.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly as your arms curled around his back, pulling him in anyway.

“God, you’re such a menace.”

He just kissed your nose again.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I’m your menace.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@princeescalus @s-sh-ne @winchestert101 @n3ptoonz @jeongiegram @thealloveru2 @avgdestitute @lilac13 @fayeatheart @Leathynn @solana-jpeg @person-005 @muchwita @ruexj283 @jarnesbames108 @iheartfictionalmen1 @daddyslilbrat962 @bucky-baby-barnes @bonnietate26 @1lorenzo-lover1 @heymydearheart @peanutbutt3rcup @doilooklikeagiveafrack @loganficsonly @taylorann2013

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[sweetromanova]

Fur Better or Worse: Part Two🐈‍⬛

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has survived aliens, norse gods and the world ending and now her cat is apparently on a mission to ruin her life, one litter at a time.

Word Count: 10k

A/N: i got so busy that i had to rush the editing and now i hate this but enjoy anyway! part three, the finale, coming tomorrow!

Chapter Two

The elevator doors barely finished opening before you charged out, storming across the floor like a woman on a mission. Wanda was one step behind you, trying and failing not to laugh. In your arms, Nova was meowing loudly, miserable and dramatic, like she was singing the theme song of her own heartbreak.

The second you stepped into the common room, the noise doubled because Liho was already there, pacing in tight, frantic circles by the balcony doors, howling like someone had taken his soulmate. Technically they had.

The whole team was gathered, half eating, half watching in muted horror as the two cats wailed for each other across the room like they were being separated in an operatic wartime tragedy.

You didn’t even hesitate. You pointed directly at Liho like he owed you child support.

“YOU.”

Liho froze mid-yowl, his tail twitched.

You turned to the room, face thunderous. “Does anyone here have any idea what this- this sleek little criminal has done?”

Clint raised his hand slowly. “He chewed through my earbuds again?”

“He bit through the laces on my shoe again?”

“He peed in my slippers again?”

“He got my cat pregnant.” You wailed. “And now my poor baby is having his little criminal kittens!”

Tony dropped his chopsticks.

Bruce made a choking noise into his tea.

Nova meowed, mournfully.

Liho howled louder.

Natasha, from the armchair, set her drink down slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t you dare play dumb with me.” You snapped, marching closer. “Your demon cat has been harassing her for weekend and now my cat is vomiting, hormonal and carrying his children.”

Steve blinked. “I thought we found the hanging out cute.”

“It was until he decided to just impregnate who the hell he wanted too!”

Natasha stood slowly. “Maybe if your cat had any sense of self-respect, she wouldn’t be throwing herself into other people’s ventilation systems.”

You gasped. “Are you calling my cat a homewrecker?!”

“She puked in my closet!”

“She’s nesting! It’s a natural response to pregnancy!”

“She clawed through my bra drawer!”

“Again nesting. Maybe your cat should’ve brought her a damn mouse to chase, over mounting her!”

Clint was crying into a pillow.

Sam pulled out his phone. “Hold on, I need to stream this.”

“I should’ve known.” You said, shaking your head, holding Nova like a betrayed single parent on a CW drama. “He’s got that whole ‘mysterious loner’ vibe. Teaching her how to creep in through the vents, whispering sweet nothings in the dark. My poor girl never stood a chance.”

Liho, at this point, was practically yodeling.

Natasha gestured wildly. “He’s fixed! He shouldn’t be able to do anything!”

You pointed at Nova. “Well somebody beat the odds, Natasha.”

“I- He- I’m going to get him tested. I want a paternity confirmation and an apology letter!”

“Maybe your cat should write one for the emotional damage!”

Wanda looked between the two of you, lips twitching. “Should I start knitting tiny kitten booties or…”

Thor beamed. “Will there be a naming ceremony? I can prepare the ceremonial fish platter!”

Tony held up both hands. “Alright. Let the record show I had nothing to do with this.”

Bucky leaned against the wall, deadpan. “I told you they were hooking up.”

Steve rubbed a hand down his face. “The cats, Bucky. Not the handlers.”

Wanda snorted. “Yet.”

Natasha and you turned to her at the same time. “Shut up, Wanda.”

Nova let out one last pitiful cry and Liho finally launched himself across the couch, landing at your feet, pressing against Nova like a feline soap opera reunion.

You stared.

Natasha stared.

You both looked up.

“…Well.” You muttered, arms still crossed. “I guess they’re in love.”

“Disgusting.” Natasha said under her breath but she didn’t move.

You looked at her again.

The tension was still there but now it was a different kind, you just couldn’t tell what kind. You leaned down to let Nova down, she purred softly, nuzzling Liho’s nose.

“Congratulations Grandma-“ Clint cooed before his head snapped back, a pillow launched by the redhead nearly busting his nose. “Jesus Nat-“

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The kitchen was uncomfortably quiet.

Sam, Bucky and Wanda were strategically scattered. Wanda by the tea, Sam pretending to be engrossed in cereal and Bucky standing by the fridge holding an egg like he’d forgotten what it was.

You stepped into the kitchen half-asleep, hoodie pulled over your head, socks mismatched and still holding Nova, who had developed a dramatic new habit of refusing to be more than six inches away from your body at all times.

She meowed faintly. You kissed the top of her head like a tired single parent on her third cup of coffee.

And then the air shifted.

Because Natasha walked in.

She looked perfect, of course flawless, no under-eye circles, sleek in black, with Liho slinking at her heels like a smug, silky little menace.

You didn’t say anything.

She didn’t either.

The tension was so thick you could’ve served it on toast. Natasha poured herself a cup of black coffee like she was preparing for battle.

“Nova looks… well.” She said, dryly.

“She threw up on my pillow at 3am.” You muttered. “She’s thriving.”

Liho leapt effortlessly onto the table, circling Nova with a soft trill. She gave a tired little chirp and curled against him.

Bucky glanced at them, then at you. “Guess they’re nesting?”

You sipped your coffee. “That’s how we got into this in the first place.”

 “They’re disgusting. She’s obsessed with him.”

You didn’t look at her. “Careful. You don’t want to start this again.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You implied.”

“Maybe your cat shouldn’t be so… available.”

You turned sharply. “I’m sorry, did you just call my cat a whore?”

“She’s pregnant after knowing Liho two weeks. I’m just stating the facts.”

You blinked. “You know what? Fine. She may be a whore. A glowing, hormonal, needy little one who deserves support during this difficult time.”

Bucky dropped his egg.

Natasha stared. “Support?”

“Yes.” You said, stepping toward her, calm and clear. “Kitten support. Liho has responsibilities now. I expect food contributions, litter maintenance and at least one of those heated beds from the Stark Pet Tech line. Oh and you’re also on vomit duty.”

Sam choked on his cereal. “Wait, are you serious right now?”

You didn’t blink. “Dead serious.”

Liho sneezed on the counter.

Natasha’s expression didn’t move but something in her eyes twitched. “You want me to buy your cat a pregnancy gift basket?”

“I want co-parenting accountability.”

“And what happens when they break up?”

“They won’t.” You said, arms crossed. “They’re in love. And if they do? I get the kittens every weekend and you pay vet bills.”

Natasha sipped her coffee. “You’re insane.”

You leaned in slightly. “And you’re legally responsible for child support, Romanoff.”

She didn’t flinch.

Neither did you.

The cats purred between you.

And across the kitchen, Sam whispered: “This is better than reality TV.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The emergency alert hit your comm at 1:38am. There had been an incident that required immediate attention and now Hill and Fury had you? They were sending you in to deal with the clean up. To fight the government representatives of the countries, to disagree with militaries and to hopefully walk out with your self intact. 

You were halfway asleep, Nova curled across your stomach like a heating pad when the Tower lights blinked and the override buzzed in your ear. You groaned, carefully sliding out from beneath her weight.

By the time you were dressed and geared up, she was mewling at the door, bumping her head against your boots.

Wanda appeared behind you, barefoot, hair a mess, cradling a sleepy mug of tea like she’d already seen this coming.

“I’ve got her.” She said gently, crouching down to scoop Nova up. “Go. Save the world. We’ll watch reality TV and nap in protest.”

You hesitated.

“She needs the hypoallergenic blanket, the one with the paw prints and her breakfast at 5:30, no later and she loves the yellow food, even though she pretends not to.”

Wanda smiled. “Go. She’ll be fine.”

You exhaled, nodded once and left.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Six hours later, Nova started pacing.

She didn’t want the yellow food.

She didn’t want to cuddle.

She just… cried. Quietly. Constantly.

Wanda tried everything but eventually, Nova wandered down the hallway and pawed at Natasha’s door until it slid open.

And that was how Natasha Romanoff, world-class assassin, spy, queen of emotional repression found herself blinking at a tearful, swollen, attention-starved pregnant cat, meowing like she’d lost her life partner.

Natasha stared.

Nova meowed louder.

“…Fine.”

-

By noon, Nova had claimed the left side of the couch.

By 3pm, Liho had joined her.

By 5pm, Natasha was threatening lives.

“Clint.” She snapped, eyes laser-focused from across the room. “Don’t give her pad thai.”

“She likes pad thai- Ow!” She smacked him upside the head, not hard but enough to make a point. 

“She’s pregnant. Her stomach’s sensitive. Do you want her throwing up on your shoes again?”

Clint raised his hands like she was holding a weapon.

Steve opened his mouth.

“Shut it.”

Steve closed it.

Wanda returned from a nap and blinked in surprise to see Natasha draping a blanket over both cats, Liho curled protectively around Nova like a bodyguard.

“You good?” Wanda asked, cautiously.

“I’m on watch.” Natasha said, deadpan, spooning a measured amount of ridiculously expensive, Stark-funded organic nutrient-rich cat food into two porcelain bowls.

Wanda blinked. “Is that the gourmet prenatal mix Tony got as a joke?”

“She needs the calcium.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You stood in the doorway of the common room, arms still half-armored, a smear of dried blood across your cheek, staring at the domestic miracle unfolding in front of you.

Nova was curled into Liho, purring softly. A blanket had been tented over both of them, creating a cozy, insulated nook. The lights were dimmed. A white-noise speaker was running in the background. A white-noise speaker.

And Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, actual terrifying war machine was seated on the floor beside them, legs folded neatly, arms resting on her knees like she had absolutely not just built a sanctuary for your hormonal cat and her inconvenient boyfriend.

Feeding them from a crystal bowl.

Your jaw dropped.

“Are you… hand-feeding them?”

“Nova prefers it.” She said simply, not turning around. “She gets overwhelmed with the bowl lately.”

You walked slowly closer, blinking at the scene like it might dissolve. The expensive formula, the soft lighting and the tower of pillows built like a palace.

Nova lifted her head and gave you a sleepy meow.

“She was fussy at first.” Natasha added. “Cried a lot. Needed pressure on her lower spine. I had to improvise a heating pad situation.”

You were quiet a long moment.

“She’s okay?”

Natasha finally turned to you.

“She’s fine.”

She paused.

“…You did good.”

She didn’t reply to that.

“Are those… Tony’s wine glasses?”

“She likes drinking from them.”

You cleared your throat gently. “I can take her now.”

Natasha didn’t even blink. “She just got comfortable.”

You stepped closer. “Really, I can carry her back-“

“Don’t.” Her tone was cool, quick. “She’s fine here.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

“I mean, unless you want to stress her out by moving her again.” Natasha’s eyes flicked to you, casual but just sharp enough to land.

You blinked. “I… no. Obviously not.”

She stood smoothly, brushing nonexistent dust from her leggings. “She needed someone here. That’s all.”

You watched her, unsure how to respond.

“She cried when you left.” Natasha added, quieter now. “Didn’t settle for hours and she wouldn’t eat the yellow food.”

Your lips twitched. “Told Wanda that.”

Natasha didn’t smile but something softened around her eyes.

“She’s okay.” She said again, more gently this time. “She’s sleeping now. And you… look like you’re about to drop.”

“I’m fine.” You said automatically.

“You’re filthy.” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “And your eye’s twitching.”

“Battle stress.”

“You flinched at the word ‘blanket.’”

You hesitated.

Natasha glanced toward the cats. “Go. Shower. Sleep for the first time in over 24 hours. You’ve done enough.”

You paused. “You sure?”

She gave you a look. “Do I look unsure?”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. And, somehow, you didn’t want to.

“…Thank you.”

She nodded once. “Don’t mention it.”

Literally. Don’t.

You stepped back, lingering just a second too long, just enough to see her crouch beside Nova again, tucking the blanket gently closer to her side.

And as you turned the corner, you could just hear her voice, low and soft.

“Don’t worry, little menace. I’ve got you.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You’d barely slept four hours.

The crisis that had dragged you out of the Tower in the dead of night had turned into a bureaucratic avalanche the moment the dust settled. Debriefings, field reports, internal SHIELD memos, one after another after another, each one less urgent but somehow more paperwork heavy than the last.

By the time you finally escaped your comms and stumbled toward the common room, you felt like you were held together with caffeine and stubbornness.

The room was quiet.

Peaceful.

For the first time all morning, no alarms, no glowing briefings, no world-ending emails.

Just Nova, bundledin her blanket on the couch, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking lazily.

You exhaled, tension bleeding from your shoulders all at once. She looked up at you with a soft mrrp, and you dropped your bag right where you stood and crossed the room without a second thought.

“Hi, baby.” You murmured, kneeling down beside her. “Did they treat you okay while I was gone?”

Nova climbed into your lap with zero hesitation, curled into you like she’d been waiting just for this moment. You wrapped your arms around her, resting your chin on her head.

“She missed you.” Came Wanda’s voice from somewhere nearby, soft and amused.

Sam leaned over the back of the couch with a grin. “We all placed bets on whether she’d start a hunger strike or start nesting in Natasha’s sock drawer again.”

You laughed quietly. “She likes that sock drawer. Don’t judge her.”

As you scratched gently under her chin, you reached for the dish of food already set on the coffee table and tried to coax her toward it.

“Nope.” You whispered, frowning as she turned her nose. “Come on, sweet girl. Eat something.”

Nova gave a little whine and pushed further into your lap like she was personally offended at the suggestion.

Your heart jumped a little.

You had filled her bowl this morning at 5am before you had been dragged back to work and it was still full… which meant she hadn’t eaten for the whole day.

“Hey.” You said gently, nudging the bowl. “You need this, okay? You’ve got tiny freeloaders in there now. You can’t just-“

“She’s not going to eat that.” Natasha’s voice, flat and matter-of-fact echoed into the room.

You turned your head. She was leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You blinked. “What?”

“She doesn’t eat that now.” Natasha said, walking over slowly, reaching into a drawer near the coffee station.

“She- what? She loves this brand.”

“She used to.” Natasha said, pulling out a can, matte black, gold label, clearly Stark-funded nonsense. “Now she’s decided she’ll only eat this. Vitamin-enriched. Good for her coat. Better for her kittens. Liho won’t touch it.”

You stared at her as she opened it with smooth precision, scooped a small portion into a clean glass bowl and placed it down with a little flourish.

Nova immediately perked up, tail twitching. She dove in like you hadn’t offered her food in days.

Your jaw dropped. “She’s eating that?”

Natasha sat on the arm of the couch, cool and casual. “She’s picky now. She must get that from you.”

You blinked.

Everyone else pretended not to watch the moment. Wanda took a sip of tea, hiding her smirk. Sam mouthed told you to Bucky.

You cleared your throat. “…Thanks.”

Natasha didn’t look at you, just nodded once. “She’s my responsibility now, too.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You were halfway through your first sip of coffee when you walked into the common room and found Wanda and Natasha already seated by the windows, Liho sunbathing across Natasha’s thighs like a smug rug.

Wanda looked up, smiling. “Morning.”

“Barely.” You muttered. “If this coffee doesn’t hit soon I’m gonna start chewing drywall.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Charming.”

You ignored her, sipping again. Nova padded into the room behind you, tail flicking, rubbing her face lazily against your boots.

Wanda reached down to scratch behind her ears. “Where are you two off to?”

You yawned. “Vet check-up. Being here has its perks, Pepper got Dr Montgomery to come to the medbay. Routine stuff.”

You could feel it before you heard it.

Natasha, stiff and flat. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

You blinked. “It’s just a check-up.”

“She’s our cat.” Natasha replied coolly, folding her arms.

“She’s my cat.” You corrected, just as flat. “You’re the baby-daddy liaison.”

Wanda sipped her tea aggressively to hide a smile.

“She’s carrying my kittens, I’m coming.” Natasha said, standing like this was a military deployment.

“Why?”

“She might need me.”

“She needs vitamins and a weigh-in. Not an assassin.”

Natasha was already pulling on her jacket. “I’m coming.”

You looked at Wanda, pleading for help with your eyes.

Wanda beamed. “Have fun, co-parents.”

Traitor. 

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The vet was unfazed by the tension, which only made it worse. Nova sat on the table, purring dramatically as Dr. Montgomery performed the check-up with practiced ease.

“She’s gained a healthy amount of weight.” She said, cheerfully. “Good signs. Nice muscle tone, minimal swelling, textbook progress. She’s definitely close now.”

You beamed. “She’s doing amazing.”

Natasha hovered over the table. “She’s been napping more.”

“Very common.”  Dr. Montgomery nodded. “They rest a lot just before the nesting phase kicks into overdrive. Soon she’ll be trying to find a quiet, safe place to deliver.”

“She has a corner under my desk she likes.” You offered.

Natasha frowned. “She’s been sleeping under my bed. That’s safer. It’s quieter.”

“She doesn’t like your bed.” You said automatically.

“She hates your music.”

“She fell asleep to it last night.”

Dr. Montgomery blinked between you. “…Do you two co-parent often?”

You both spoke at once:

“No.”

“Obviously not.”

-

By the time you returned to the common room, Nova back in your arms and Liho glued to her side again, it felt like something had shifted.

Because Clint was measuring the hallway with a tape measure. Steve was holding what appeared to be a Pinterest printout labeled “DIY Kitten Nursery: Modern Boho Aesthetic.”

And Tony?

Tony rolled past on a hoverboard holding a champagne flute. “Party’s on Saturday.”

You blinked. “What party?”

“The kitten shower.” He said, casually. “Obviously.”

“What-“

“Celebrating the miracle of life. Or, more specifically, the fact that your hormonal cat is finally about to unleash four to six chaos agents upon this building, and I, for one, welcome our tiny feline overlords.”

“You’re throwing a party for my cat.”

Tony pointed the flute at you. “Our cat. And yes. Dress code is cocktail casual. Clint’s bringing streamers.”

Steve gave you a solemn nod. “There’s a gift registry. Vision compiled it.”

Thor appeared from the hallway, beaming. “I’ve been practicing my toast. ‘To Nova: may your kittens be strong, cunning and land always on their feet.’”

Natasha leaned close and muttered to you. “We’re not naming them after Norse gods.”

“You do not get to veto this party either.” Tony called. “You’re already listed as ‘Co-Mother Figure B.’”

Natasha froze. “Excuse me?”

“Well…” You grinned. “It’s official now. Want to help me pick out a dress?”

She turned toward you, deadpan. “Only if it comes with a built in exit strategy.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The party was already ridiculous.

Tony had spared no expense. There were themed drinks “Pawgronis,” “Meowtinis,” “The Pregnant Pause”, all served with cat-shaped ice cubes. There was a banner strung across the ceiling that read WELCOME, TINY FURRY AGENTS OF CHAOS. And Clint had actually put together a slideshow, with transitions.

You were halfway through a conversation with Sam about whether kittens could be trained for recon ops when someone at the bar said, casually, confidently: “Tell me you’re the mom. Otherwise, I’m about to embarrass myself.”

You turned to find Carol Danvers leaning casually against the bar, smirking like she’d just landed a jet and still had adrenaline in her shoulders.

“I- what?”

She grinned. “Cat. Pregnant. Shower. I’m guessing you’re the mom. Unless the cat planned this party herself, in which case, I respect that more.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. “Yeah, I’m the mom.”

“Carol.” She said, extending a hand.

“I know.” You smiled, shaking her hand. “Big fan of your intergalactic chaos.”

“And I’m suddenly a fan of domestic chaos.” She grinned. “Especially when it shows up looking like that.”

You shared a quiet moment before she nodded toward Natasha, who was watching from across the room, expression unreadable.

“Is Romanoff the co-parent?”

“Yeah.”

Carol’s grin deepened. “Hope she knows how to share.”

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Catch you later.”

And with that, Carol melted back into the party.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Later, you were curled on the couch near the fire pit, Nova asleep on your lap wrapped in a blanket, the party humming around you.

The team’s laughter filled the air but your gaze kept drifting to Natasha, standing quietly nearby, arms crossed, watching.

You wanted to reach out but words tangled in your throat.

Then, without warning, Natasha’s voice cut through the laughter.

“Where’s Nova?”

Your heart stopped. “She was right here.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched. “She’s not.”

Panic fluttered inside you. “She jumped down a few minutes ago. I thought-“

“Thought?” Natasha’s voice was sharp, eyes flashing. “She’s due soon and they could come early! What if she’s scared? What if something’s wrong and no one’s there?”

The room stilled.

You swallowed hard, shame blooming in your chest. “I didn’t mean-“

“She trusts you.” Natasha said quietly, voice harsh. “And you were too busy laughing and playing at a party to notice.”

Tears pricked your eyes and you blinked them back.

“Natasha-“

“Save it. One of us needs to care about her.” With that, she was off, a mix of pure fury and red hair.

Carol stepped forward, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “Hey. You’re not careless.” She said softly. “Nat’s just scared. She cares deeply and-“

You could tell she was just making excuses and you wanted to tell her as much but before you could respond, Tony’s voice boomed over the speakers, holding up security footage.

“There she is. Safe, sleeping on the counter with the devil’s cat.”

The party surged back to life.

But for you, the tension lingered.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Later that night, Carol guided you gently to your room. Her hand never left your back.

You weren’t sobbing, just quietly unraveling. The weight of Natasha’s words pressed on you and a few too many glasses of champagne in your system.

“She doesn’t hate you.” Carol said softly, brushing hair from your face.

You gave a bitter laugh. “She yelled at me in front of everyone.”

Carol smiled, patient and sure. “That’s love, in a way. Hard to say, easier to shout.”

You looked at her, surprised.

“She’s scared of letting you in, just like you’re scared of letting her.” Carol said. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Just… rest.”

“It’s not a fan fiction Carol, it’s not an enemies to lovers trope where she pulls my hair then pins me up against a wall.”

“You wish.” Carol smirked, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“What?! N- No, I don’t!”

“Get in.” She laughed, pulling back the duvet.

You let yourself sink under the blankets, Nova curling against you, Liho joining like she belonged.

“You’re good at this.” You whispered. “No space wife waiting for you?”

“Not yet.” Carol smiled. “I’ve had worse patients. Sleep well.”

She slipped out, leaving you with a quiet warmth you hadn’t expected.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Outside, Natasha waited, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as Carol approached.

“She was upset.” Carol explained, quietly. “I walked her to bed.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “You don’t waste time.”

“I don’t.” Carol replied. “Because she lets me. And because I don’t treat her like a problem.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with something deeper.

“She’s brave. Ridiculously competent. But you make her feel like she’s always fighting for your respect.”

“She doesn’t know what it’s like.”

“No, you don’t.” Carol said softly. “But if you don’t start saying something soon, you’ll lose her.”

Carol turned and walked away.

Natasha stood alone, burning with frustration, no longer sure who she was angry at.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The following week, you watched as the warehouse loomed ahead, shadows spilling from broken windows and rusted metal doors. The mission was straightforward, a low-risk extraction from a small gang holding a key informant. Nothing Natasha couldn’t handle in her sleep but this was about the recruits getting hands-on experience. She’d volunteered to come along, not to lead but to oversee. Let them take control. Learn.

Cole, the lead agent for the group, strode ahead with a confidence that teetered on arrogance. Mid-twenties, fresh-faced and full of swagger. 

Natasha’s gaze flicked to him briefly then back to the building’s darkened entrance. She folded her arms and kept pace behind the team.

Over comms, you guided the operation from a safe distance, your voice calm and steady. “Team, remember the plan. Move in quietly, secure the target and extract without engagement if possible.”

Cole’s voice crackled back, a little too casual. “Got it. Keep your eyes sharp, team. We’re in and out.”

The initial approach was textbook. The recruits moved efficiently, clearing rooms and coordinating through whispered comms. But as they neared the target’s location, Cole’s tone shifted. He began issuing commands that bent the plan, rushing corners, skipping the usual checks, ignoring your calls for caution.

You tried to smooth it over through the earpiece, your voice calm but firm. “Cole, hold your position. We need to stick to the plan. Check the hallway before moving forward.”

Static flickered, then Cole’s voice came through, rough and impatient. “Comms are useless in the field. I’m done babysitting through an earpiece.”

You held your ground. “Negative, Cole. Comms are your lifeline. You follow orders or you’re off the mission.”

“No way.” He snapped, tone edged with arrogance. “I don’t need some voice telling me what to do. I’m the one out here.”

You bit back a sigh, fingers tightening on the device. “That ‘voice’ keeps you alive. You think you’re hotshot? You’re not a solo act.”

“Protocol’s for rookies.” His voice spat out like a challenge. “I’m moving in.”

You were about to reply before a rough voice echoed through your comms, cutting through the static like a blade.

“Cole.” Natasha growled. “Drop the ego and listen carefully. You’re not only risking your life, you’re risking everyone else’s because you’re too dumb to follow simple orders.”

The comms fell dead silent for a heartbeat, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

“You disrespect the team. You disrespect comms, who’s keeping you alive right now. You want to prove you’re some lone wolf? You’re not. You’re a damn liability.” You heard the stuttering of Cole, an attempt of trying to argue with her you imagine. “You think you’re better than the rest of us? You’re not. You’re reckless, selfish and one bad call from you gets us all killed.”

Her voice didn’t waver. “Pull your head out of your ass, fall back and get your ego in check. Or I pull you off this mission right now. No second chances.”

You heard Cole’s defiant breath catch, his resistance crumbling. “Understood.”

Natasha’s tone softened just enough to be deadly serious. “Good. Now, listen to your team, follow orders and maybe you survive this day.”

You took the comms back, voice steady and firm. “Thank you, Agent Romanoff. Cole, you’re with the team now. Move smart, watch each other’s backs. Jeffries, you take lead.”

The squad snapped into formation, the tension broken but the lesson clear.

The extraction went smooth, the team working like a well-oiled machine.

When they reached safety, you let herself exhale, a small approving smile flickering across your face. 

It wasn’t apologies or polite conversations, far from it but it was a start. She defended you and that was enough.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The common room was a quiet sanctuary after the chaos of the day. The overhead lights were dimmed to a soft glow, casting gentle shadows on the worn leather furniture and the scattered blankets tossed across the floor. You paused just inside the doorway, your eyes drawn immediately to the couch.

There, curled into a surprisingly peaceful heap, was Natasha. Nova lay nestled in her lap, purring softly, eyes half-closed in contentment. Natasha’s fingers moved deliberately, brushing through the cat’s fur with a careful attentiveness, like she was checking, making sure Nova was truly okay.

You hesitated, not wanting to disturb the rare moment of calm. But the silence felt fragile and precious, so you quietly eased yourself into the armchair nearby. The leather creaked softly beneath you.

“Hey.” You said, voice low, almost unsure.

Natasha’s sharp eyes lifted from the cat to you, the faintest trace of surprise flickering there before settling back into her usual guarded expression. “Hey.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke. Nova stretched luxuriously, a tiny meow escaping before she settled again, curling her tail around Natasha’s wrist.

You cleared your throat, the words feeling heavier than they should. “About earlier… on the mission. When you stepped in with Cole.”

Natasha’s gaze shifted, looking away just a bit. “I was there. Had to say something.”

You smiled softly, warmth blooming in your chest despite the lingering tension. “I know. Still… thank you.”

She shrugged, voice casual but softer than usual. “Just doing my job.”

You didn’t let it go. “No, Nat. You don’t have to act like that. I mean it. You didn’t have to defend me.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, the hardness peeling away just a little. “I’m not great at showing it.” She admitted quietly. “But I care. More than I let on. About the team, about the missions, even about her now.” Nova gave a small purr, like she understood just how she had worked her way into Natasha’s heart and buried deep.

You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and something like hope. “It means a lot.”

Nova shifted, nudging her head against Natasha’s palm, purring louder. You both watched the cat for a moment, the gentle rhythm a balm to the hard edges between you.

“Have you thought about names yet?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence.

You chuckled, the sound light in the dim room. “Yeah… I’ve been calling them beans for weeks. It’s getting old.”

“I will not have Liho’s offspring be called ‘beans’.” Natasha mocked with a half-smile.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you suggest?”

Natasha paused, fingers stroking Nova’s fur thoughtfully. “The guys think we should name them after us.”

You smiled, picturing the kittens slipping silently through the room like a tiny mini avengers. “I like it. Like what?”

“I don’t really know.” Natasha shrugged. “Widow’s too one of the nose.”

“I like it.” You smiled. “Vision’s would be like google or something.”

She laughed. “As long as Clint gets the dumbest kitten, the runt.”

“What do you want to do with them? I don’t think we can keep however many kittens in the tower.”

“Tony’s already turning the conference room next to his lab into a sanctuary so I don’t think we’ll have a choice there.”

Nova flicked her tail as if in agreement while Liho climbed up on your lap, his eyes never leaving Nova who was perched on his own mom.

For a long moment, the four of you simply existed together, no walls, no guards, just the soft purring of a cat and the unspoken peace between two people learning to trust.

You shifted slightly, feeling something unspoken settle in your chest. “Thank you, Natasha.”

Her fingers paused, then she gave Nova’s fur one last careful stroke before settling her hand on the armrest. “It’s the least I can do.”

The night stretched on, soft and easy, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to just be here, with her, and with Nova, the little chaos agents inside her belly who somehow brought you both together.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Nova was pacing the edge of the rug like she was contemplating world domination… or at least how to conquer the couch. Her belly swayed with each dainty step, fur fluffed and twitchy with frustration. You sat on the floor nearby, watching her struggle to calculate a jump she used to make in seconds.

“She’s trying.” You said softly, voice half-laced with encouragement, half-laced with dread.

Nova crouched like she was going for it then hesitated. Her tail flicked. She turned a little, repositioned and tried again, only to stop at the last second with a soft, pitiful chirp.

“She’s going to hurt herself.” Natasha murmured behind you and you hadn’t even noticed her enter.

You didn’t turn. “She doesn’t want help. She wants to prove she can still do it.”

“She can’t.” Her voice was level but not unkind. “Not like this.”

Another mewl. A shuffling of paws. Nova tried again.

You both moved at the same time. Your hands reached toward her belly just as Natasha’s did. And suddenly skin. Warmth. The whisper of a pulse. Her fingers brushed over yours and the static hit so fast and sharp it almost startled you backward.

But you didn’t move. And neither did she.

For a beat, neither of you looked at Nova. You were both frozen in the half-second between impulse and meaning. The pads of her fingers grazed the back of your hand, and her palm hovered just barely over your knuckles.

You finally looked up.

So did she.

Her eyes met yours and they weren’t sharp or cold or mocking. They were open, a little startled, a little searching. The tension that had always lived between you felt suddenly… different. Like it was bending instead of bristling.

Nova gave a frustrated huff beneath you both and you blinked, your voice soft and automatic.

“Careful.” You murmured, a smile tugging faintly at the corner of your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to add you to the list of emotional liabilities.”

It was almost a joke. Almost.

Natasha’s mouth twitched. Not a full smile but close. “Please.” She said. “I was a liability the second Liho fell in love with her.”

The silence that followed was electric. Not uncomfortable but tight. A pressure that hummed under your skin, made your spine straighten just slightly, your breath catch for no reason you wanted to examine too closely.

Her hand was still half-over yours.

You felt her thumb brush the edge of your finger, maybe an accident. Maybe not.

You swallowed.

“She needs a ramp.” Natasha said suddenly, pulling back like she hadn’t just accidentally caressed your hand. Her voice was a little sharper now. A little too casual. “She’s going to try that again. Could hurt herself.”

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling through your nose. “You offering to build it?”

Natasha shrugged. “You offering to supervise?”

“Only if I get to judge your carpentry skills from the couch.” You said, tilting your head with a lazy smirk.

She turned toward you slowly, eyebrow arched.

“You planning to heckle or supervise?”

You shrugged. “Both. I’m very efficient.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re very annoying.”

But she didn’t really sound annoyed. Nova, unaware of the war crimes occurring above her head, decided she was done pretending. She turned away from the couch entirely and flopped against your knee with a dramatic sigh.

Natasha watched her with something soft in her eyes, the kind of softness she probably didn’t know how to weaponize.

“She’ll make it.” She said. “Even if she’s stubborn about asking for help.”

You weren’t sure if she meant the cat. You weren’t sure if she meant you.

But you felt it settle between you anyway, something quiet, something new, something that might’ve been a beginning.

And for once, you didn’t push it. You just let it stay.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The common room had that rare, golden-hour stillness that came when the team wasn’t saving the world or arguing about movie nights. The overhead lights were dim, the hum of the Tower barely audible, like even the building knew to keep quiet.

You were half-asleep on the couch, hoodie rumpled, mismatched socks barely hanging on, Nova curled up like a warm, purring furnace across your stomach. Her tail flicked occasionally, her tiny breaths syncing with yours. You didn’t dare move.

You weren’t fully asleep, not really, just in that floating space where your body refused to shift and your brain had softened to a low, warm hum. You didn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps. Or the faint sound of someone setting down a mug.

You did feel the change in the air.

And then, gently, a blanket.

It brushed over your legs first, slow, careful, tucked with surprising precision. Then up over your waist, your chest, your shoulders. Hands you knew could break ribs were now smoothing fleece across your hoodie like they were afraid of waking you.

You cracked one eye open.

Natasha.

She was standing beside the couch, gaze fixed on the blanket like it might misbehave if she didn’t supervise it personally. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot, a few strands falling around her face. She wore leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, soft cotton instead of kevlar.

You watched her for a moment, quietly.

“Thanks, co-parent B.” You murmured, your voice raspy with sleep and mischief.

She froze.

You bit back a smirk, still mostly horizontal. “Didn’t know blanket duty was in the shared custody agreement.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked down to meet yours, narrowed but not annoyed. If anything, she looked caught. Like she’d been busted doing something too kind.

“I was making sure the menace didn’t freeze.” She said smoothly, nodding toward Nova.

“Sure.” You whispered, eyes closing again. “You’re very devoted.”

“I’m very practical.”

“Mmm.” You hummed. “Is that what you call it when you fold corners on blankets?”

She didn’t reply immediately.

The couch dipped a second later, barely, just enough to register like she’d sat down on the far end. Not close enough to touch. But close enough that if either of you leaned, the space would close fast.

Nova let out a contented purr, shifting slightly on your stomach. You cracked one eye again. Natasha was sitting cross-legged at the other end of the couch, elbows on her knees, gaze fixed on the cat like she hadn’t just delicately tucked you in and gotten caught doing it.

You watched her from beneath your lashes.

“She adores you.” You said softly, watching Nova reposition to stare at Natasha. 

“She’s needy.” Natasha replied, without heat.

“Cats don’t fake affection.” You said. “You know that.”

Natasha didn’t answer but her hand reached out a moment later and with quiet fingers, she brushed a stray hair off Nova’s ear.

You watched it all happen from a little away and realised, with a soft, sinking awareness, that the flirty comments and quiet arguments were just the surface. Beneath that? She cared. Quietly and intensely. And maybe, just maybe, not just about the cat.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The next morning, you found Natasha in the kitchen, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves pushed up as she methodically cut apple slices on the counter. Liho watched like a judgmental sous-chef from atop the fridge, tail twitching.

Nova had taken over one of the bar stools, belly spilled to either side like a dramatic pillow. She blinked slowly at you, utterly unbothered.

“You’re up late.” Natasha said, without looking up.

You rubbed your face, yawning. “Champagne dreams. Regret-flavoured mornings.”

You had been dragged into one of the senior leaders office parties last night, one of the higher ups was moving over to London to work from the base there and he had come to his last day at work armed with nothing but champagne.

“You say that like you didn’t finish a whole plate of cookies at 2am.”

You blinked at her, startled. “You were watching?”

“I was in the dark. You were talking to the cat about cookie strategy.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Please let me die.”

“Denied.”

You lowered your hands to find her setting a mug of coffee in front of you. Perfectly made. Just how you liked it. No commentary, no teasing.

You looked to the cup, to her face and then back to the cup. “You memorised how I like it...”

Natasha finally met your eyes. “It’s not hard to remember…” 

“But you noticed.”

“I notice a lot.” She shrugged off.

And just like that, you forgot every coherent sentence you’ve ever known.

Before you could formulate a reply, Nova let out a long, dramatic meow and rolled slightly off the stool. You both moved at once, your hands steadying her front, Natasha catching her back paws before she could slide off entirely.

The world paused for a second. Your arms brushed again. Her breath hitched. And then she laughed, really laughed, breathless and surprised, like she wasn’t expecting it. You stared at her, momentarily stunned by the sound.

“She really knows how to milk it.” You said, watching as she scooped Nova into her arms and cradled her like a spoiled child.

She smiled softly. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

“That’s getting old.” You nudged her knee lightly with yours, eyes narrowing with mock offence. “At least try to come up with new material. We’re practically raising a family together."

Natasha tilted her head, one brow raised. “If that was an attempt at flirting, it’s outdated and transparent.”

“Who said I was flirting?”

“Weren’t you?”

Maybe...

“Did it work?” You grinned, watching her try to hide her smirk. “It definitely worked.”

"Lame." She scoffed. "You need to teach your mommy how to get a partner, Miss Nova." She baby-talked to the cat, while you rolled your eyes.

"Please! If I learned from her, I'd be months deep in pregnancy with baby Widows already."

“Who said it had to be my babies?” She said with a sly smile, eyes glinting like she was holding a secret. “Could’ve been Wanda’s. Or Maria’s.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure."

"No, really."

"Nat, come on, we both know it’s never really been about anyone else. Even when we hated each other, the guys called it sexual tension."

She stepped closer, voice dropping to a tease. “Only ever about me, huh?”

You matched her smirk, heart ticking faster. “Always Grandma B."

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Later that afternoon, the two of you sprawled on the living room rug, building what could loosely be described as a kitten ramp but more accurately looked like a toddler-sized assault course. Natasha insisted on testing each level for ‘stability.’ You insisted on naming every platform after random European cities.

“Why is this one called ‘Budapest’?” She asked, tightening a bracket with unnecessary force.

You paused then grinned. “Felt dramatic.”

She rolled her eyes but her smile lingered.

Nova watched the construction from a nearby pillow like an overworked foreman. Occasionally, she meowed disapprovingly. Once, she sneezed on a screw. Natasha took it personally.

You didn’t know when it happened, how the silence between you became something comfortable instead of sharp. You didn’t know when the way she looked at you stopped feeling like assessment and started feeling like awe she was trying to hide. But it was there.

In the way she leaned into you when you handed her a wrench.

In the way she called Nova 'our girl' without thinking.

In the way she touched your wrist when you reached for the same screw, soft and grounding.

That night, Nova tested the ramp and declared it acceptable by immediately climbing halfway and falling asleep on it like a loaf.

You were on the couch again. Natasha next to you. Not touching. But almost.

“She’s been sleeping more.” You said, voice hushed in the gentle dark. “Eating less.”

“It’s normal.” Natasha’s voice was low, even. “She’s close.”

You nodded, heart tight in your chest.

“What if something goes wrong?” You asked, the words escaping before you could stop them. 

Natasha didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was barely audible.

“Then we’ll be there.”

“But we work and if we were to be in-“

“Friday is monitoring her, the minute something changes then we’ll know.” Natasha reassures. “I don’t care if I’m in the middle of an interrogation or sparring with Fury himself, I’ll be here.”

You looked over at her.

Her eyes were on Nova but her hand slowly reached over and found yours. Fingers slipped between yours like they’d done it before. Like they could do it again.

You didn’t breathe. You didn’t speak. You just let it happen.

Outside, the wind whispered across the glass.

Inside, Natasha held your hand. You held hers back.

And Nova dreamed softly, belly warm and round, as if she knew her world was ready now.

Ready for what comes next.

But not yet.

Not just yet.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The operation had been smooth so far, by the book. You were seated in front of the central monitors, headset snug, voice calm and clipped as you fed updates to the team.

“North corridor’s clear. Garcia, take the left flank. Morgan, back up perimeter sweep, west alley. You’ve got a heat sig moving low, could be a crawlspace leak or-“

BEEP.

Friday’s voice cut in, sharp and immediate over all channels.

“Apologies for the interruption. Nova is currently displaying signs of distress in Rec Room 3. Elevated heart rate, vomiting, abnormal vocalisation detected.”

The air changed.

You froze. Every monitor around you kept streaming mission feed, bodies moving, infrared mapping, blinking threat markers. But all you heard was vomiting.

“Nova?” You said, already shoving your headset off.

“Friday, details now.” Natasha snapped in the background, her own comm crackling with static as she veered off her patrol route without hesitation.

“She vomited twice, she’s pacing and whining. Elevated temp detected.”

Steve’s voice cut through, authoritative and calm. “I’ve got mission control. Go.”

You didn’t argue.

Neither did Natasha, she was already up and throwing her headset into Barton’s hands, who caught it clumsily.

Clint’s voice came in dry, like he knew he’d lost control before he’d even tried. “Uh, guess I’m Natasha now. Do I get the cool belt?”

You were already halfway down the hallway.

You and Natasha stood shoulder-to-shoulder, both still in partial gear, hers scuffed with dust, yours slightly askew from where you'd ripped the headset off.

Neither of you spoke at first.

“She was fine this morning.” You finally said, breath short.

“She was quiet. Too quiet,” Natasha murmured, almost to herself.

The elevator doors opened.

You heard the soft, rhythmic sound of someone murmuring before you even crossed the threshold.

Inside, the lights were low. Wanda sat cross-legged on the rug, Nova curled in her lap. A small towel was folded nearby, used and damp. Nova’s fur was matted near her mouth, her body trembling slightly, eyes squinted shut.

Wanda looked up at the two of you, calm but with that clear look of concern she never bothered hiding.

“She threw up twice. She’s shaking a bit, and her stomach’s tight. I’ve been keeping her calm.”

You sank to your knees beside her immediately, one hand reaching out to touch Nova’s cheek. She gave a weak little meow and nudged into your fingers. Your heart cracked in half.

Natasha crouched opposite you, scanning Nova’s body like she was going to memorise every possible failure point and fix it with sheer will.

“Friday?” Natasha called tightly.

“Vitals are steadying. Nausea likely stress or dietary-related. However, caution is advised. Please consider veterinary consultation.”

“She didn’t eat anything weird.” You said, voice already trembling. “I would’ve seen it-“

“She’s okay.” Wanda reassured, cutting you off gently. “It looked worse than it was. She’s calming down now. But I didn’t want to move her until you were here.”

Natasha let out a breath like she’d been holding it the entire mission.

She reached out and gently ran her fingers down Nova’s back, something slow, methodical, like she needed the contact to believe it.

“She’s warm.” She whispered.

“She’s pregnant.” You said softly. “Everything’s gonna feel wrong until it’s over but she’s never like this over eating something that didn’t agree.”

“Her stomach is sensitive.” W

Natasha’s jaw worked but she didn’t say anything. Her hand stilled on Nova’s side.

“She needs quiet.” Wanda said, standing slowly and brushing off her hands. “And probably to not watch Clint crash into anything on the TV again.”

You gave a weak laugh, more exhale than humour.

Wanda touched your shoulder, then Natasha’s, and slipped from the room. “I’ll go give Dr. Montgomery a call, see when she can get here to check her over.”

You stayed on the floor, in a halo of silence.

Natasha eventually eased herself down beside you, her knee bumping yours. She didn’t ask permission when she took your hand, she just did. Like she needed it more than she needed air.

“She scared me.” She whispered, her fingers trembling a little in your own.

You nodded. “Me too.”

“I hate not knowing what’s wrong.”

“That’s what makes it terrifying.” You said, voice breaking gently.

Nova let out a small, pitiful sound, but it was softer now, sleepier even. Her head curled tighter into your lap, tail flicking once.

Natasha squeezed your hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And for once, you believed it.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of veterinarian medical equipment Tony had installed weeks ago just in case. Nova lay curled in a plush blanket on the exam table, a small towel beneath her and a thin monitor gently pressed to her side. Her ears twitched occasionally but her eyes were half-lidded now, her breathing even.

You sat off to the side, hands clasped tightly in your lap. Your mouth was dry. You hadn’t said a word since Dr. Montgomery walked in. Natasha stood by Nova’s table, arms crossed tightly, but not with distance, with precision. She wasn’t looking away. Not once.

Dr. Montgomery finished her gentle palpation of Nova’s belly and straightened up with a soft sigh.

“She’s stable.” She announced, voice measured and calm. “The vomiting isn’t ideal but her vitals are steady and there’s no sign of dehydration. Her temperature’s a little elevated, but that’s not uncommon in late gestation.”

You nodded slowly. You weren’t sure you even heard her. The phrase not uncommon had all the sharp edges of could still go wrong.

“She didn’t eat anything toxic?” Natasha asked, eyes sharp.

“Not that I can tell. Did you use anything different?”

“No.” You finally spoke, voice hollow. “She had the same soft mix she always does. The chicken one she likes. It was fresh. I checked the date twice.”

Dr. Montgomery gave you a soft look. “I believe you. You’re clearly attentive.”

“She didn’t fall?” Natasha asked. “Or strain herself? She tried to jump earlier-“

“She gave up.” You added, quietly. “She looked… defeated. I thought she was just tired.”

“Could this be early labor?” Natasha pressed, refusing to let up. “Or distress? What about fetal movement? Should she be this still?”

That made Dr. Montgomery smile faintly, not unkindly. Like she was used to the over-prepared, over-attached types. But her tone remained even.

“I’d be more concerned if she wasn’t resting right now. She's holding tension in her lower belly but I don’t feel contractions. And no discharge. The vomiting may have just been a response to the increased pressure. Her body is under strain.”

“So we wait…” You said, more to confirm than to question.

“We wait.” Dr. Montgomery agreed. “Keep her hydrated. Watch for nesting behaviour or changes in breathing rhythm. If anything shifts, I mean anything then you call me. You don’t need to wait for a second symptom. Just one.”

You nodded, slowly but it still felt like something heavy was caught behind your ribs.

Natasha asked, “Can she sleep with someone tonight? Someone she’s used to?”

Dr. Montgomery glanced down at Nova, who was now lazily pawing at the blanket like she was fluffing a cloud.

“I’d say she won’t sleep unless she is with someone. Whoever’s got the most experience handling her, that’s who she needs.”

You didn’t have to ask. Nova’s slow tail twitch in your direction said it for you.

“Me.” You said, quietly. “I’ve got her.”

Dr. Montgomery packed her bag with smooth efficiency, glancing at Natasha as she worked.

“You ask good questions.” She noted. “Most people in this situation either panic or assume they know best. You just interrogated me like I was a suspect on trial.”

Natasha gave a faint shrug. “I don’t like mistakes.”

“Neither do I.” The vet replied. “But cats don’t work on logic. Sometimes they just scare the hell out of you for no reason.”

She looked between the two of you. “She’s strong. She’s got good instincts. And more importantly, she trusts you both. That’s not nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened like she didn’t want to let that mean anything. But she did nod.

Dr. Montgomery headed toward the door. “Call if anything changes. Even if you think it’s small. And maybe try to breathe, yeah?”

You nodded again, too fast and too stiff.

After she left, silence settled again.

Natasha finally turned fully toward you. Her voice dropped, gentle but grounded.

“She’s okay. Right now, she’s okay.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were still looking at Nova, curled up, purring so softly you could barely hear it.

“I hate this part.” You whispered. “The waiting. The not-knowing.”

Natasha moved beside you, lowering herself into the seat just next to yours. Her shoulder pressed against yours, solid and warm.

“We do it together.” She reminded you. “You watch her, I watch you. No one's doing this alone.”

You nodded slowly, then leaned just slightly into her. Not much. Just enough to stay upright.

Nova let out a soft snuffle in her sleep and shifted onto her back, exposing her swollen belly.

You both reached for the blanket at the same time.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The door had barely clicked shut behind Dr. Montgomery before the room fell quiet again. Nova stirred, shifting with a small grunt, pressing her face into your side like she was done being the center of attention.

You exhaled slowly, brushing a hand through her fur, eyes still a little unfocused from the adrenaline.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood just beside the med table, one hand on the edge, knuckles pale. Her gaze was fixed on Nova, but not quite. She was watching and thinking and bracing, like if she looked away, the worst might slip in unnoticed.

You glanced up at her.

“You okay?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. Her jaw flexed. Then, quietly, too quietly for her usual sharp voice, she said: “I don’t want to leave her.”

It landed in your chest with a strange kind of heaviness, warm and vulnerable and so plainly honest it made your heart stutter.

You nodded once. “Then don’t.”

She blinked, finally looking at you. Like she hadn’t expected permission. Like she never gave herself that option.

You shifted gently, standing up, careful not to jostle Nova. “There’s room. If you want.”

Natasha hesitated, just for a moment. Then she nodded. No quip. No tease. Just okay.

The two of you moved quietly, heading straight back to your apartment, Liho joining you along the way.

Once you’d reached, you laid Nova gently on the covers, where Liho immediately jumped up to fuss her, licking her fur and curling around her body.

Without thinking twice, you threw a pair of pyjamas at Natasha, not bothering asking before sliding your own on.

Methodically, she toed off her boots with practiced efficiency, slipped into the standard pyjamas you gave her before lowering herself onto the bed beside you. Close but not touching.

Nova stirred again and lifted her head groggily at the movement, only to drop it instantly when Natasha reached out and smoothed a hand gently between her ears.

“She’s alright.” Natasha murmured, more to herself than to you. “She’s alright.”

You pulled the blanket and draped it over the both of you. The movement brought your legs close, then your arms. It wasn’t intentional but neither of you pulled away.

For a while, you both just sat there.

Nova’s breathing slowed. The soft hum of the Tower filled the silence.

Then, softly: “You always this brave with your feelings?” You asked, half a smile tugging at your lips.

Natasha huffed a quiet breath through her nose. “No.”

You turned your head to look at her.

She was already watching you.

“It’s easier…” She said, voice low and even. “When it’s not mine.”

Your smile faded just slightly, not gone but softened. “Then let it be mine.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed faintly.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, with a shrug. “But at least I’m not alone. I like that I'm in this with you.”

Something shifted behind her eyes. Not fear or tension but something warmer, heavier.

She reached out, slow and careful and settled her hand lightly over yours where it rested on Nova’s side.

Her grip wasn’t tight. But it didn’t have to be.

You didn’t say anything more.

You didn’t need to.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The soft buzz of morning filtered in through the Tower’s tinted windows, casting a honey coloured glow across the common room. Everything was still, the kind of rare stillness that came only when no one wanted to break it.

Nova was curled like a comma between you both, small, warm, breathing steadier than it had the night before. Her little nose twitched in her sleep. Occasionally, she let out a tiny, contented snore.

You were half on your side, face buried against pillow, your hand still loosely curled near Nova’s belly.

And Natasha?

Natasha was behind you.

One arm wrapped snugly around your waist, her forehead tucked against the back of your neck. Her breathing was deep and even, but not quite asleep. You could feel it in the way her thumb idly traced the hem of your hoodie, slow and absent like a reflex she hadn’t realised she was doing.

Neither of you had spoken yet. The moment felt too fragile. Too good.

Then came the knock.

Three light taps against the front door.

You blinked.

Before you could sit up, the door slid open with a faint hiss.

“Hey.” Wanda’s voice came gently, “I just wanted to check on-”

She stopped.

Her eyes landed on the scene in front of her and she froze. First at the sight of Nova, comfortably snoozing, clearly recovering. Then at the rest of it, the tangled limbs, the blanket askew, the way Natasha’s entire body was curled around yours like a second layer of security.

Natasha didn’t even lift her head.

She just muttered, without looking. “You can turn around now.”

Wanda didn’t. Instead, her lips pulled into a slow, knowing smile. “I could. But where’s the fun in that?”

You groaned quietly into the pillow.

Wanda tiptoed in anyway, soft and careful not to wake Nova, crouching beside the bed. “She looks better.”

“She is.” You mumbled, voice raspy with sleep.

Natasha finally opened one eye, her arm still comfortably around your waist. “Still keeping food down, she got up to eat at 4am. No fever. Sleeping normal.”

Wanda blinked at her. “You take notes in your sleep now?”

“I listen.” Natasha said simply.

You turned your face just enough to shoot her a look over your shoulder. “You also hog the blanket in your sleep.”

Natasha didn’t deny it. “You ran hot.”

Wanda smiled at the two of you, then leaned in to scratch behind Nova’s ears. The little cat let out a pleased trill, barely waking.

“She’s lucky to have you both.” Wanda said quietly.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did Natasha.

But the way your hand curled over hers beneath the blanket said plenty.

Wanda stood, giving one last fond look before heading for the door. “I’ll let you know when the rest of the team is up. I assume you’ll… eventually untangle yourselves.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because Natasha didn’t move.

And honestly? Neither did you.

[ne0mile]

against policy

HR rep!Jaemin x coworker!reader

Everybody hates HR reps. Especially those who take their jobs seriously. That's why Jaemin does not have the best reputation among certain employees. He's serious about applying strict policies and not making any exceptions. So Jaemin knows that office dating is prohibited. He does. Yet, he can't seem to completely brush you off whenever you bat your eyelashes at him.

warnings: smut !minors DNI!, elevator sex, idk guys atp

wordcount: 3,4k

AN: this is part of the business casual series, can’t wait to write more of those! Also I’m sorry guys ik I’m always writing for Mark or Jaemin but the brainrot is real😵‍💫

૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა ૮꒰ ˶ ༝ •˶꒱ა "૮꒰˶•⤙•˶꒱ა

Na Jaemin could have been the most beloved person in the office.

He had the charm—effortlessly magnetic, the kind of smile that made interns trip over their own feet. He had the looks—tall, unfairly pretty, with a sharp jawline that looked like it was carved just to make your breath hitch. And he had the presence—smooth, confident, the kind of man who could command a room without even trying.

If only he weren’t such a rule-enforcing nightmare.

While the other HR reps barely glanced at the company handbook, Jaemin treated office policy like sacred text. No personal calls? He’d walk by desks like a police officer, pausing just long enough to make the offender hang up. Dress code violations? He’d actually print out the policy and slide it onto the offender’s keyboard with a polite, "Just a reminder." And office relationships? 

Absolutely forbidden.

He was the sheriff of Neo Corp, and the entire office was his wild west.

Which is why the moment he stepped onto the main floor, whispers followed, as they always did.

"Ugh, he’s doing rounds again."

"I swear, if he tells me one more time to stop eating at my desk—"

"Who even cares about this job this much?"

But then there was you.

While everyone else groaned or avoided eye contact, you just… smiled at him. Leaned back in your chair. Let your gaze linger a little too long when he passed by.

And don’t get this wrong, Jaemin prided himself on his self-control.

He didn’t bend the rules. Didn’t make exceptions. Didn’t let distractions—no matter how pretty—get in the way of his job.

And he hated how much you were testing him.

It started small. A little wave when he walked by. Nothing too crazy. A playful tilt of your head when he caught you five minutes late from your lunch break. Then it escalated—lingering touches when handing him files, biting your lip to hide a smirk when he scolded someone nearby.

Today, you decided to try something different. 

You were leaning against the copier, pretending to struggle with a paper jam. Jaemin sighed. Your skirt was at the very limit of what was decent, and he’d seen you use that machine perfectly fine a dozen times before.

"Need help..." you asked innocently as he approached.

Jaemin exhaled through his nose one more time. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed, but the curve of your lips gave you away.

He knew he should walk away. Knew he should reprimand you for wasting company time and urge you to go back to your desk. But instead, his hands moved on their own, reaching past you to "fix" the machine, close enough that his chest nearly brushed against your back.

"You're aware falsifying equipment issues is a violation of—"

"Policy 4.7B, section three," you finished for him, grinning when his eyes narrowed. "But if I was really faking..." You leaned in slightly as he reached past you to open the tray, "...wouldn't that mean you're enabling me by playing along?"

His fingers froze on the copier handle.

The office was watching. He could feel the stares on his back and immediately scolded himself internally.

Only to add more to his demise and push his buttons further, you whispered, "Careful, Jaemin. Someone might think you’re breaking your own rules."

Damn it.

By lunchtime, the copier incident had been discussed by every single person present in the company building. 

And by the time the holiday party rolled around, chit-chat hadn’t stopped.

The party was in full swing when you arrived - cheap disco lights throwing colours across the accounting team's awkward dancing, a sad cheese platter on a table... It was tragic, really, but everyone was here to make the most of it. So were you.

The entire office was there, buzzing with the kind of forced cheer that only free alcohol could bring. And there, by the fire exit like a man awaiting sentencing: Jaemin, tie slightly loosened, drink untouched in his hand.

You approached him like a predator would its prey. Stopping right in front of him, you brought the glass you just picked up to your glossy lips. You smirked, staring at him up and down as you took a sip of your drink.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said.

"I’ve been working," he corrected, his voice tight. 

"Mmm, well then you should probably write me up for inappropriate footwear…" You pointed to your black, shiny heels. 

The tone of your voice, the look in your eyes… It was all too much. Jaemin took pride in the way he did his job. He really did. No matter what his reputation among his colleagues was. But with you, it was like the devil had sent his best vessel to seduce and distract him from the right path. 

His jaw clenched.

"Policy 3.2, subsection—"

"Stop," he cut you off, his voice harsher than usual. "Just stop."

You blinked. "Stop what?"

He set his drink down and grabbed yours to do the same. "This. Whatever game you’re playing, this ends today."

Before you could argue, Jaemin grabbed your elbow and steered you toward the elevator. 

This has been going on for too long. He had to take matters into his own hands.

Mark and Chenle were chatting close to the elevator, so Jaemin pushed you inside. There was no way he would let anyone see him in that state, having this conversation. 

The doors slid shut behind you with a soft ding, sealing you both in the quiet, metallic space.

You leaned casually against the railing, watching him press the button for the top floor. "Running away from the party, already? That’s not very team-building of you."

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "We need to talk."

"Ooh," you stepped forward to trace a finger along his tie. "Am I in trouble?" You asked, tilting your head. 

Jaemin exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. "You’ve been doing this for weeks," he stated, voice low. "The looks. The touching. The—" His eyes flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. "You know exactly what you’re doing."

You hummed, letting your finger trail up to the knot of his tie. "And if I do?" Pressing closer, you watched his pupils dilate. "What are you going to do about it, Officer Jaemin?"

His breath hitched. One large hand came up to circle your wrist, stopping your teasing movements. "This," he bit out, "is exactly what I'm talking about."

You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. "You could always report me," you whispered, raising your chin. 

Jaemin's grip tightened fractionally. "Don't tempt me."

"Or…" you trailed off, your face now impossibly close to his. "You could—"

The elevator chose that moment to lurch violently.

Lights flickered as the car shuddered to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling forward. Right into Jaemin's chest.

His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around you, pressing you closer against him. 

It took only a few seconds for you to regain your composure. You looked up at him. He looked just a bit distressed. Startled. Jaemin didn’t like inconveniences, unforeseen events. He needed to be in control. At all times.

"Taking advantage of the moment, huh?" You grinned, partially to tease him but mostly to get him to relax. 

His eyebrows knit together, and he released you in a heartbeat, taking a few steps back, although the space in the elevator didn’t allow for many. 

"You’re impossible," he muttered.

You grinned. "You like it."

Ignoring you, he turned around, facing the numbered buttons. As if he could fix that, too. 

There was an alarm button, at least there had been, because it was now covered by a taped piece of paper that read: "out of service". 

"Renjun was stuck as well last month," you recalled, following his gaze. "He’s claustrophobic, so he panicked and smashed the button. You even gave him a lecture on damaging company supplies, remember?"

He did. 

Now, Jaemin was growing restless. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, disheveling that always-put-together look a bit more. 

"What do we do now?" he groaned. "I told Mr Park to have the elevator reviewed last month. I told him…" 

"Someone will end up realising the elevator is stuck," you shrugged, letting your body lazily slide down the wall. 

Wrong. Everyone was partying and getting drunk. That would probably be an eternity before anyone needs the elevator. 

But Jaemin could not stay like this. Trapped in a cage with a hungry lion.

He needed to get out. Before his resolve completely crumbled. 

Your eyes followed him intently. He was examining every inch of the walls and ceiling, looking for a solution. Anescape. 

"It's so hot in here," you exhaled, your hands reaching for the buttons of your shirt as you now sat on the floor. Jaemin's eyes stuck to your fingertips as you unbuttoned two of them. 

"Yn," he called. His voice was stern, at least he tried to make it so. In reality, it was more breathless. 

Without him really wanting to, his eyes drifted inevitably to the exposed skin of your chest. He could see the inviting swell of your breasts and the black lacy cups concealing them. 

Jaemin's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Button that back up," he ordered, but the command lacked its usual authority. His voice came out strained, almost hoarse.

You tilted your head, letting one finger trail along the exposed skin just above your bra. "Why? It's hot. Unless..." You licked your lips slowly. " ...It's bothering you?"

His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." You stretched your legs out, watching his gaze drop to your thighs before he forcibly wrenched it away. "But you’re the one looking."

The elevator suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. Jaemin tugged at his collar, his usually pristine tie now slightly crooked.

His breathing had gone shallow, chest rising and falling in quick bursts as he paced the limited space like a caged animal.

"You know," you mused, rolling up the hem of your skirt just an inch, "we could be here for hours. Might as well make the best of it."

Jaemin made a strangled noise from the back of his throat, and with defeat wearing on his face, he sank down the wall across you as well. 

His normally perfect posture had collapsed into something far more human, with his legs folding awkwardly in the confined space, elbows resting on raised knees, tie loosened, that always-impeccable hair now mussed from his nervous hands running through it.

"You look stressed," you purred, leaning on, deliberately letting more of your bra peek out from beneath your unbuttoned shirt. "Should I give you a neck massage? HR policy doesn't say anything about coworkers helping each other relax..."

Jaemin's knuckles turned white where they gripped his knees. "Stop." The word came out strangled. "Just...stop talking."

He sighed once more before he let out a nervous chuckle. "You’re going to be the death of me. Seriously."

"What a way to go," you shifted onto your hands and knees, crawling toward him with slow, deliberate movements. The fabric of your skirt rode up your thighs, the click of your nails against the elevator floor the only sound besides his ragged breathing.

His eyes darkened as you approached, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

You stopped just inches from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth, you stared intently into his pretty eyes. "How about you—"

Jaemin had had enough. He already told you to stop talking. So before you could even finish your sentence, his control snapped.

One hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as he yanked you forward, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation. The kiss was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained frustration, on both ends. 

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, your knee sliding between his thighs. He growled, the sound vibrating against your lips. 

Jaemin's grip on you tightened as your lips found the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, his breath hitching when you nipped lightly at his pulse point.

"We shouldn't—" His protest was weak, voice already ragged as your tongue traced the column of his throat. His fingers flexed against your hip, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

"This is against policy..." he managed, though it came out more like a plea than a warning.

You smirked against his skin, dragging your teeth over the spot that made him shudder. "Fire me, then," you whispered, the words hot against his neck.

A broken groan escaped him, his resolve crumbling as your hands slid beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. He was unravelling beneath your touch. His perfect composure, his rigid control, all of it dissolving into desperate, hungry need.

"Fuck—" His head fell back against the elevator wall with a thud as your knee pressed more insistently between his thighs, his hips jerking instinctively.

You could feel his hard-on straining against his slacks, could hear the way his breathing turned uneven and shallow. His hands, once so restrained, now roamed greedily-one tangling in your hair to yank your head back, the other gripping the curve of your ass to pull you flush against him.

You laughed, breathless, rolling your hips against him just to watch his composure shatter further. "You should reallypunish me," you taunted, fingers working at his belt with practised ease. "Show me how strict you can be."

Jaemin didn't need to be told twice. Not anymore.

His slacks were shoved down in one rough motion, your skirt pushed up around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly against the elevator wall.

To be fair, you did use all his patience, and you were needy too. So you weren’t mad when he lined himself up with your entrance and thrusted into you with one sudden stroke. 

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the wall. His mouth was everywhere— your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts-biting and sucking marks into your skin like he needed to brand you.

"You—" he grunted, his grip bruising on your thighs. "Seriously, you've been driving me insane."

You moaned, arching into him, revelling in the way his control had completely shattered. "You love it," you purred, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

Jaemin snarled, slamming into you harder, his rhythm growing erratic. The elevator groaned around you, the metal shuddering with each movement, but neither of you cared. Not when he was finally, finally fucking you like you'd been imagining for weeks.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, punishing strokes that stole the breath from your lungs. Every snap of his hips drove you harder against the cold metal wall, the contrast of his burning skin and the chill of the elevator searing into you.

"You feel so good," you gasped, nails carving half-moons into his shoulders as he pistoned into you. "All this stuck-up act... just to end up fucking your colleague in an elevator—"

Jaemin's breath was hot against your neck as he growled, "You practically begged for it." 

You laughed, the sound dissolving into a moan as he angled his hips, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Did I?" You rolled your hips, taking him impossibly deeper, relishing his choked groan. "Or was it your plan from the start?"

Jaemin slammed you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other gripped your thigh, hiking it higher around his waist as he drove into you with brutal precision.

"Look at you," he rasped, eyes black with hunger as he watched your breasts bounce with each thrust. "Taking it like you were made for me. Like this pussy was built for my cock."

The vulgarity, so stark against his usual polished speech, sent a shockwave of heat through you. You arched, offering yourself completely. "Do whatever you want with me," you panted, meeting his erratic rhythm. "Fuck—Jaemin!"

He swallowed your cry with a searing kiss, tongue tangling with yours, tasting your surrender. His free hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with ruthless accuracy.

The dual stimulation was too much. The stretch of him filling you, the rough circle of his thumb, the possession in his voice... Your climax ripped through you, violent and blinding. You screamed into his mouth, body clamping down around him in pulsing waves.

Jaemin swore, his rhythm faltering as your walls milked him. "Tight—fuck—so fucking tight—" With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his groan raw and shattered as he emptied himself inside you.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the hum of the stalled elevator. His forehead rested against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling, his grip on your wrists easing.

The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sex and shattered resolve. Then, faintly, a mechanical whir echoed through the shaft.

The elevator jolted violently back to life.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flooding the cramped space with harsh, unforgiving light. Jaemin froze, his breath still ragged, pupils blown wide with shock and lingering desire. For one heartbeat, then two, the world narrowed to the slick heat between your bodies, the tremble in his arms as he held you against the wall, and the raw, exposed truth in his eyes.

Then reality crashed back.

He pulled out of you with a sharp gasp, scrambling backwards as if burned. His movements were frantic, jerky. He yanked up his slacks, fumbling with his belt, fingers trembling over the buttons of his ruined dress shirt. He wouldn’t look at you. Not at the smear of your lipstick across his jaw, not at the flush high on your chest, not at the way your skirt was still rucked up around your hips.

Wincing at the ache between your thighs, you smoothed your skirt down with deliberate calm. The air reeked of sex, sweat, and Jaemin’s expensive cologne, leaving no doubt of the kind of activity you've just engaged in.

A mechanical chime echoed through the cab.

Ding.

The elevator resumed its ascent.

Jaemin finally met your eyes. His hair was wild, his tie hanging loose, his collar undone. A vein pulsed in his temple. He looked… undone. Ravaged. Beautiful.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, his voice scraped raw: "We are never speaking of this again."

The elevator doors slid open onto the empty executive floor hallway. Cold, sterile air rushed in, a sharp contrast to the hot, almost-steam that had filled the cab.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, reaching up to wipe the smudged lipstick from his jaw with your thumb. He flinched but didn’t pull away. "Whatever you say, sheriff," you murmured, your voice low and honeyed.

His eyes flashed with a mix of fury, hunger, and something dangerously close to surrender. He caught your wrist, his grip tight but not painful, holding your hand against his face for a fraction of a second too long. 

Then he released you, straightened his shoulders with visible effort, and strode out of the elevator without a backwards glance. His steps echoed down the polished marble hallway, sharp and precise once more—the perfect HR enforcer, already rebuilding his walls.

You leaned back against the cool metal wall, inhaling the fading scent of him in the elevator. The doors began to slide shut.

Just before they sealed, you saw him pause at the far end of the corridor. He didn’t turn around. But his hand rose, fingers brushing the spot on his jaw where your thumb had been.

The doors shut, and you smiled.

𝜗ৎ... business casual series masterlist

[enhazy]

Does the offer still stand?

non-idol!Jay × reader, featuring non-idol!Jake

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

content warnings: NONCON/RAPE, reader is intoxicated and unconscious, voyeurism (Jake watches), public sex, poorly written car sex, coercion(?), implications of drugging, masturbation (m!receiving), unprotected sex, tummy bulge, Jake knows it's wrong yet still watches, not proofread

Don't like? Don't read. Seriously. Nobody is forcing you to read this.

MDNI

word count: 1,308

likes, reblogs, and feedback would be appreciated!!

DISCLAIMER:

I am not responsible for the content you consume. Content warnings are listed above (I may have missed something), please read thoroughly so you know what to expect. This is very very dark and I do NOT condone these things to happen in real life. THIS IS A FANFICTION WHICH MEANS IT DOES NOT DEPICT HOW JAKE AND JAY ARE IN REAL LIFE.

ฅᨐฅ notes: took inspiration from that taxi scene in 'No Way Out', wrote this in one go so I think it's kind of shit 😞

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

As a taxi driver, Jake liked to think he's seen all different kinds of passengers. He usually drove at night so he'd meet drunkards who vomited on his lap when they leaned over the center console to pay him, unconscious people whose friends entrusted him to get them home safely, stoners, shady drug dealers, people beat up, sober couples mad at each other, and even an old lady with dementia wandering the streets at night convinced she was still in World War II.

But nothing could prepare Jake for what he'd see this night. A well-dressed man called him over with an elegant wave of a hand, Jake didn't hesitate to pull over right in front of him. The man looked rather breathless—like he'd ran a marathon before deciding he gave up and just wanted to hail a taxi home. He had a half-conscious girl tucked under his arm.

Jake flashed him a smile as the mysterious man gently placed his lady, 𝘺𝘰𝘶, into the backseat before getting in himself after he properly settled you.

"All good, mate?" Jake asked, glancing at the man through the rearview mirror. The man clenched his jaw but nodded, looking down at the sleeping girl leaned on him.

Jake didn't stop taking glances at the man, he had this weird 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 feeling in his gut that told him something was going to happen. And his passengers would be involved in it. Jay seemed guarded, a protective hand over your thigh. He seemed like he was waiting for something.

𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱? Jake thought. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯.

Jake glanced once more and met the man's hard stare already on him, the former made the mistake of not looking away as quick as he should have—nervously gulping at the latter's brow raise.

"You've got a problem, 𝘣𝘳𝘰?" The way the man said it sent a shiver down Jake's spine, it was all but friendly.

"I'm Jake." He found himself introducing. The man tilted his head, still locking eyes with Jake. "Jay." The silence was deafening after they exchanged names, but Jay ultimately broke it, speaking with such coldness Jake was sure if Jay spoke enough it'd stop global warming.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦."

"No." The nervous driver cleared his throat, willing his nerves not to seep into his voice. "No problem. Not— not at all. Just..."

"Just 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?"

"Just... admiring you and your pretty lady." Jake replied, unable to come up with a better excuse. 𝘈𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘑𝘢𝘬𝘦? 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘢—

"Wanna have a go at her?" Jay asked, cutting Jake's train of thought. Jake's widened eyes met Jay's lustful, hooded ones in the rearview mirror.

A minute passed by, then another. Jake's eyes flitted from the road to the rearview mirror where Jay's stare didn't stop, the driver's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Fine. Don't say I didn't offer you anything." Jay chuckled, the sound sounding rich and honeyed. Jake let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, looking away from the mirror when Jay started stripping your skimpy dress off of your unconscious body.

Jake looked at the scene happening behind him through the rearview mirror, fixing the mirror so it'd face more of you and Jay. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱, he thought, but he didn't ignore the hunger throbbing in his pants. Jake whined as he watched Jay worship your body, pressing wet kisses everywhere his lips could touch.

Jay met Jake's eyes through the rearview mirror and the latter immediately pulled over. You didn't stir, you didn't move, you didn't even make a sound. But the scene was straight out of a porno and Jake is a 𝘮𝘢𝘯, he's going to watch, even if it seemed wrong.

The older didn't wait any longer, greedy hands grabbing and groping at your soft skin, littering your skin with marks from his mouth and hands. Jake's eyes didn't stray from the sight, palm pressed on the obvious bulge of his pants.

Jay fixed your position in the backseat, making sure you laid limp on your back so he could situate himself above you. Jake fumbled with his belt when Jay started to forcibly make out with you, the latter had his rough hand squeezing your face to create a pout—which he kissed, licked, bit, and prodded at with his tongue.

Half of your face was slathered with spit, shining beautifully as the streetlights shone through the car windows and lit your face up. Jay and Jake groaned at the sight, the latter already having his hand wrapped around his girthy cock, squeezing.

Jay hastily shoved three fingers inside your dry heat, the action was surely painful and you proved so when you squirmed slightly, a broken whimper leaving your lips, that broke Jake out of his trance.

"Doesn't that—𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘩—doesn't that hurt?" Jake asked, still fucking his fist. Jay ignored him, roughly plunging his fingers in and out until he felt that the slide became easier instead of constricting.

"Did you drug her?" Jake asked breathlessly, starting to realize how sick this was but that didn't stop him from chasing his high. Jay ignored him, again, which annoyed Jake to no end. But he didn't get to say anything since Jay has pushed the car door open.

"Jay! Where—where do you think you're go—𝘰𝘩."

Jay stood outside the car, grabbing your legs and pulling you down to the edge of the seat. They were still in the street so Jay 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 someone might see, but the thought didn't stop him. Jake scrambled to get out of the drivers seat, pushing the door open and nearly choking himself as he tried to climb out without unbuckling his seatbelt, he quickly did so before running around the car where Jay stood.

Jay glanced at the taxi driver, glancing down before chuckling and undoing his pants enough to get his cock out.

𝘑𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵. He was too irrational and horny to think about that right now, immediately starting to jerk off once Jay lined himself up to your entrance. Jay pushed inside in one thrust, setting a slow pace so he could enjoy the sight of your unmoving body taking his cock in like a fuck toy would. Jake moaned at the sight, walking closer to Jay until they were shoulder to shoulder—though Jay was slightly taller.

Jake moved his hand around his desperate cock at the same pace Jay moved in and out of you. Slow and steady at first, then fast and rough in just a matter of seconds. Moans and groans could be heard echoing out in the streets, the men's filthy sounds incredibly loud while nothing could be heard from you.

Jay's grip on your hips was tight, an angry red color already blooming on your skin from how tightly he gripped you. Jake could only imagine how tight you felt, cursing himself for rejecting Jay's earlier offer. Jay grunted, letting one hand leave your hip to hold the car door, grounding himself. Jake was whining at this point, desperately getting off to the sight of your pretty cunt engulfing Jay's cock like it belonged there.

Neither Jay's nor Jake's eyes drifted away from your pussy, your arousal made itself known through the squelching sounds it'd produce whenever Jay thrusted. There was a prominent bulge on your abdomen and Jake used his free hand to press down on it, earning an appreciative, animalistic groan from Jay.

Jay continued his assault on you whilst Jake watched, both groaning out profanities as they released—Jay inside you, while Jake on your abdomen. The driver squeezed his cock, looking at the older, who was already looking at him, breathing heavily.

"𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥?"

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ฅᨐฅ notes: there may or may not be a part 2 👀 (what was this? 😭)

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

taglist:

@chuuyaobsessed, @choeryyxyz, @engeneheree

[keirareidss]

the delivery - s.r

♡ summary: spencer anxiously waits on you to decide when to go to the hospital pairing: husband!spencer reid x pregnant!wife!reader warnings: basically just that episode of the office (S6 E17), reader is pregnant, descriptions of pregnancy, contractions wc: 3.3k from the results of this poll

Nine months. Nine months you'd suffered nausea, fatigue, back pain, swollen ankles, swollen breasts, and mood swings. And nine months your husband had tended to you hand and foot, getting you everything you needed, making sure you were as comfortable as possible.

You had continued going to work, staying out of the field but needing the fulfillment of doing something during the day. Spencer had protested but ultimately lost the debate. You just had to promise to be careful, stay off your feet as much as you could, and let him know immediately if something went wrong. He didn't care if he was halfway across the country, he'd hitchhike his way back if you had so much as a foot cramp.

Rossi and you had gotten closer during your pregnancy, him bringing in home cooked meals, whatever you had been craving lately, and eating it with you at lunch while explaining how he made it and what went into it. He was very precise with how his dishes were made and the fact that you were hungry a lot more often meant he could try out some of his new recipes on you.

You were sitting in the kitchenette with him now, trying his new spin on pesto pasta.

"I was thinking, maybe we should do something special before you go on maternity leave. One last perfect meal."

"Mmm, that sounds great, what are you thinking?"

"I think it should be a surprise." You suddenly feel a tightening pain in your stomach and your eyes close, lips pressing together as you let out a groan of pain.

"Ooh. Getting close, huh?" Emily asked, shutting the fridge door and leaning against it, looking at you with a grimace.

"No no. I still have time." You waved her off. You planned on waiting until midnight to go to the hospital so you could have a full extra day there, surrounded by doctors. It just pained Spencer to see you having to push through the pain.

You were standing by the copier when you got another contraction. You reminded yourself, they're irregular and far apart, so you'll be fine. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your hand found your back where the pain was the worst.

Spencer's head snapped up watching you carefully as Derek came around the corner, Penelope in tow.

"You're having contractions? That means you're in labor right? You should go to the hospital." Derek suggested, sending you a sympathetic glance.

"We're not going to the hospital yet, we're going to wait until midnight." You said, your voice tight as you shuffled back to your chair, Derek following close behind.

"Oh, why?" He asked, leaning against your desk as Emily and JJ lifted their heads to listen in.

"Because the insurance company only covers two nights." Spencer explained.

"Everything's fine. We have plenty of time." You assured them all.

"Did you know that labor can last weeks? Then they take your insides out, and they just plop them on the table, and sometimes epidurals don't work, and-"

"Okay, okay, thanks Pen, that's really good to know. Thank you."

You let out a breath as your contraction ended. Spencer, who'd been watching from the copy machine, rushed over.

"That's seven minutes. Here we go. This is happening."

"Hold on, hold on. You chuckled, cutting him off as he bent down, trying to help you stand from your chair. "It isn't midnight yet." His excited smile dropped.

"Are you serious? Angel..."

"No, the doctor said every five to seven minutes."

"I-"

"I'm gonna be okay, we should really try to make it to midnight."

"Honey, please."

"Yeah, you really should try to make it because if your baby's born tomorrow, he'll have the same birthday as the late great Johnny Hodges. The greatest saxophonist of all time."

"Did you hear that? Johnny Hodges." Spencer scoffs with a smile and stands up.

"Okay, but we are leaving at five minutes apart."

"Five minutes." You nodded as he backed away to his own desk.

You sank into your chair, eyes closed, as the pain slowly subsided.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay..." You whispered breathily. Spencer's eyes were locked on you, worry clear in his face. Your eyes open and you catch his stare. "Okay, stop watching me."

"Okay, crazy. I think I have some better things to do with my day than worry about you, like figuring out dinner." He said sarcastically.

"Mm hmm."

"Steak is 20% off, well now till Friday, that's a big deal, while we're on the subject, why don't I just run you down to the hospital and just do a quick check?" You click your tongue, shoulders still tense.

"Not till midnight." He purses his lips defeatedly.

"So have you guys thought about names yet?" JJ asks, standing beside your desk, a warm mug of coffee in her hand. God, you missed coffee. The sweet dark taste of it, warming your mouth- alright, stop thinking about it.

"We actually have them picked out already." You said, smiling at Spencer.

"Uh, Diana Lily Reid if it's a girl, and Jude Gideon Reid if it's a boy."

"Oh, those are so cute." JJ gushed. You chatted for a couple minutes before your next contraction came on, jolting through you. Your hand found your stomach as your face scrunched in pain. JJ squeezed your shoulder in support as Spencer ran a hand through his hair.

"Angel, we really should-"

"Spencer." Your tone was scolding and he quickly shut his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. The contraction passed and you took a few deep breaths.

"I think this is a bad idea." Spencer mrumurs.

"I know, honey, why don't you practice diapering again?" You suggested to get his mind off of it.

"I've already done that, I'm down to 21.3 seconds." He mutters, his leg bouncing. He'd been practicing changing diapers on anything he could find, a fake doll he'd brought in, a football from Derek's desk, he'd even practiced on one of Penelope's large cat figurines.

You were on your way back to your desk from the bathroom when you felt another contraction, the worst of them, shooting through your abdomen. You stopped in your tracks, changing course to one of the couches near the door. The cushions provided you with little relief, though, Spencer noticed immediately and rushed over, sitting next to you and taking your hand.

Your eyes shut tight, you squeezed his hand hard with your other hand over your stomach, groaning in pain.

"Oh! Oh, alright." He shifted on the couch, grabbing your clasped hands in his other one as you threatened to break his bones in your fist. "That's a good one." Spencer winced.

"Ow... okay." You breathed out, letting go of Spencer's hand. He bent, his elbows on his thighs as he put his mouth in his hand, deeply considering his life choices.

"Honey, maybe we should-"

"Don't even suggest it Spencer. We're waiting."

"I know." He sighs. He sits with you, rubbing you back soothingly and around six minutes later, another contraction comes on.

"That's every six minutes." Emily chimes in, checking her watch.

"Okay, you know what?" Spencer shifts restlessly in his seat, moving to stand. "I'm gonna go give the doctor a quick call, he'll probably know-"

"Spence, please." He sits back down next to you, glancing at the ceiling for a moment before looking down. "Happy thoughts here? Happy times."

"Why don't you just figure out the ways to induce labor and do the opposite of those?" Morgan suggested.

"You know what? Great idea, Derek, let's do that." You agreed, reaching out to take your husbands hand. Derek turned, looking up a list.

"Alright, number one, stimulate her nipples."

"Easy, no one's doing that, move to the next one." Penelope said and Derek scrolled down. Spencer bent, putting his hand in his hands, elbows on his thighs as he bounced his leg and tugged at his hair.

"Uh, walk around. Great she's already doing the opposite of that."

"Number three. Having sex. Well what's the opposite of having sex?" Penelope said and Spencer shot up from his seat, shaking his head.

"Nope, nope, come on, let's go to the hospital,"

"Spence,"

"Let's go to the hospital now."

"Spencer, honey, I love you,"

"Mhm." He said tensely, putting his hands on his hips.

"But you're really distracting me from my distractions."

"Okay, well, I'm sorry."

"Why don't you go do some work?" You gestured to his desk and he ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Great. I will do that. Sorry, I just feel a little bit frazzled and you know how very rarely I use that word."

"I know. You don't like to be frazzled."

"No, I don't." He said, sounding a bit like a grumpy child as he walked back to his desk. He stops to grab a stack of books on pregnancy that he's kept close just in case before walking out. Hotch, having come out of his office to watch the amusing spectacle, followed him out, a bit worried about his anxious protegee.

~

"I know her better than anyone in this office, and obviously she's gone crazy but everybody wants to say that I'm crazy. But I'm not crazy, she's crazy. I'm not crazy, she's crazy." Spencer repeated, pacing the hallway, his hair tousled from constantly running his hands through it.

"Reid." Hotch says gently.

"No, no, she's not crazy, I shouldn't say that. She's just pregnant. But she needs to be at the hospital and she's not listening to me."

"Reid." Aaron repeats but Spencer sinks to the floor, grabbing a book as his legs stretch out into the middle of the hallway, his back against the wall as he quickly finds the page he's looking for.

"Five to seven minutes." He points to the line in the page, grabbing another book to find the same information. "Five to seven minutes." It's almost as if he's talking to himself as he grabs a third book, searching for the information again. "Six minutes- different, but not really." He picks up the fourth book as Aaron watches on silently. "Five to seven minutes."

Spencer's head falls back against the wall as he looks at the ceiling. His gaze falls down on Hotch across from him.

"Reid, take a break. You're stressing yourself out here. She knows herself and she knows her body. She'll come to you when she's ready."

"You're right." Spencer mumbles, getting to his feet. "I think I'm gonna go sit in the car for a bit. I need some fresh air." Aaron nods, watching him leave, a hand threading through his hair and tugging slightly.

Spencer is sitting in your car in the parking garage, staring off into space when he hears a gentle knock on the window. He sees you giving him a soft smile and rolls the window down, leaning closer to you.

"Hey."

"Hey." You gave him a small wave. "I'm not gonna get in the car, because I know if I do you'll try to drive me to the hospital."

"You know me too well." He chuckles anxiously, the smile quickly falling, replaced with a tense expression.

"Okay, Spence?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything is fine,"

"Totally." He mumbles.

"You don't have to worry, try not to think about it. She's not coming out for a while, okay?" You chuckled a bit, trying to reassure him. He smiles but it quickly drops when he registers what you said.

"Did you say she?" You smile falls as well.

"I called the doctor, like, a week ago. I couldn't wait." His eyes go hazy as he stares at the spot next to you. You can't gauge how he's feeling and a pit forms in your stomach. "Oh, go, don't be mad." You breathed.

"Mad?" His eyes are teary as he looks up at you. "How could I be mad? We're having a little girl."

"Mhm." You let a small, hesitant smile form, still unsure of what he's feeling.

"We're having a little girl. Oh, wow." He sighs and you giggled a bit in relief.

"I know."

"All right. Well I definitely feel better."

"Good." You grinned, leaning down to kiss him through the window opening. He turns to watch you as you head back inside but he notices something.

"Hey, did you change?" You turn back around.

"Oh, yeah. My water broke." You giggled.

"Oh." He chuckles and you turn, walking away and his smile quickly falls. "Oh."

You walk back inside, shedding your coat but you quickly pause as pain shoots through you.

"Oh! Woah..." You pause to lean against the wall and Derek gets up, rushing to you. Hotch looks up, coming out of his office to survey from the balcony. "Haa!" You breathe out, Derek steadying you.

"Okay, alright, it's time, time to go to the hospital, somebody get Reid."

"No, not yet Derek, it's not midnight yet. And I still need to try Rossi's dish, where is he?" You head to the kitchen as Derek looks on helplessly. He shoots a text to Spencer who comes up quickly, though, he knows he won't be able to convince you to go to the hospital.

You sit down with Rossi in the kitchenette as he prepares the meal. Spencer paces nearby, his thumb and pointer finger working at his temple, his other hand stuffed in his pocket, clenched into a fist.

"Alright it's essentially a three course meal. First, we have Bistecca alla Fiorentina, a steak that was grilled to rare perfection, and then we have-" He cuts himself off when he notices that your face is all scrunched up and your hunching over slightly. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out to put a hand on your arm.

"Mhm." Your voice is tight and in a higher pitch from the pain. "Yes, I'm fine. Um..."

"Are you sure?" He asks gently.

"Yeah, the doctor said it's still considered a minor contraction as long as I can talk through it!" Your voice breaks at the end, raising louder as the pain sharpens.

"Okay, Spencer-" Derek, who'd been sitting by, watching with worry, called to his friend who rushed over, immediately looking down at you. "I think it's time to go to the hospital.

"Alright, time to go? Let's do this."

"No, no it's better." Your voice was a wavering whine as you tried to breathe through it. "That wasn't even the worst of 'em- I'm fine." Spencer bends slightly, his hand on your back.

"Hey, come on, let go to the hospital."

"They're not that bad still, Spence." He says your name in a firm voice. "No, it's passing, it's fine."

"Honey, it's time. Let's go to the hospital."

"It's okay." You whined in protest.

"I really think we should go to the hospital."

"No it passed now, it's fine."

"You know what, I'm not asking anymore." He reaches down, one hand at your back, the other grabbing your arm as he tried to pull you to your feet. Rossi's hand was at your other arm, more hesitant in trying to help you up. "We got to go."

"No, I'm not going."

"We need to go." He changed his positioning as you resisted his attempts.

"No, no come on, I'm not going, okay?!" You shouted, making all three men back off in surprise but you were staring directly at Spencer, your eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not going today, because I can't do it, I don't think I can do it." Your voice broke as tears sprung to your eyes and Spencer immediately crouched down in front of you, his hand on your knee as his voice soffented.

"Hey, hey, are you kidding me? If anyone can do this, you can do this. If you can take down two unsubs on your own with no back up, you can do this. Angel, I'm scared. But the best news is, we're having a baby today. So let's have it at the hospital." His gentle voice successfully soothed you and he turned his head slightly to address Derek. "How are we doing on contractions?"

"Two minutes apart."

"Two min-" Spencer froze, tightening his lips.

"Oh god." You said as you realized what that meant. "Oh no." Spencer stood, turning to face Derek.

"Morgan I told you to warn me at five minutes."

"Spence, we waited too long." Your voice was filled with worry.

"We waited too long. Two minutes doesn't do us any good-"

"I know." Derek tried to calm him.

"Well, what happened to four and three?" Your breathing sped up as tears started forming again. He sighed sharply, running a hand through his hair and turning back to you.

"I don't wanna have my baby here." You whimpered.

"You're not going to, you know where we're going?"

"The hospital."

"Yes and we're going to have a baby, okay?" You nodded and Spencer gently helped you out of your seat but, internally, he was freaking out, forcing himself to put a brave face on for you. He ran to get your bags from the desk before rushing back, putting an arm around your back to lead you out of the precinct.

"Oh, good luck, guys!" Penelope called to you, the team gathering in the middle of the bullpen to wish you goodbye.

"Bye, good luck!" JJ smiled brightly, as the two of you hurried out the door.

After nineteen long hard hours of labor, she was out, cleaned up and swaddled, in your arms. Spencer was laying in the bed beside you, his arms gently around you as he stared at your baby in awe. She was beautiful, the perfect mix of both of you. Diana Lily Reid, named after Spencer's mother and your favorite flower, had Spencer's eyes and bone structure, and your nose and lips.

"She's perfect." You whispered, brushing your pinky down her tiny nose, barely grazing her skin, not wanting to wake her.

"I know." Spencer agreed. You turned to look at him. "How are you feeling?" He asked softly.

"Better. Still a little sore." He hums, kissing your temple.

"Good." The door opened slowly and Penelope poked her head in.

"Is this the little baby Reid?" She asked quietly, coming into the room. The rest of the team was behind her with various gifts, Derek carrying balloons, Aaron holding a teddy bear with a bow around its neck. "Oh, she's gorgeous!" Penelope gushed.

"I made you a bunch of easy meals that you can heat up, I dropped them off in your fridge on the way here." JJ told you and you gave her a grateful look, grabbing her arm.

"You're a savior, JJ, thank you." She smiled.

"And we're all offering babysitting and cleaning help whenever you need it." Hotch gave you a smile and you felt tears pricking behind your eyes and the immense display of kindness.

"You guys are so sweet." Your voice wobbled and they all smiled. Spencer reached over, wiping the tears that slipped out and ran down your cheek. Spencer let you hand him your daughter as you composed yourself.

"If you guys want to hold her, there's hand sanitizer on the table over there." Spencer nodded to the nightstand. Emily was first, sanitizing before carefully taking the baby into her arms.

"Hi, baby. Hi." She cooked, smiling down at her. Diana yawned and everyone gushed as her. You knew right away that this baby would be loved by everyone in her life. She'd be close with all her aunts and uncles, closer with her parents. You'd give this baby the best life imaginable, showering her in love and care, knowing she deserved every bit of it.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni, @pixie-verse

[tommysparkles]

moment in a life

Heya. This is a little fic for today's @bottomtommyweek prompt, which is mpreg. It's so fluffy, you guys, lol. Also this is my first mpreg fic? Dunno how that's possible, but here we are. Hope you like it!

lol, oops, I'm a day early. I thought it was Tuesday 🙃 Oh well.

bucktommy - words: 1.1k - rating: gen - complete

Sometimes Buck can't believe this is his life now. 38 years old, waking up next to the love of his life, smiling even before his eyes open, because he knows exactly what he'll see.

Said love of his life, on his back, mouth open, a protective hand over his bulging stomach, even in his sleep.

When Buck finally does open his eyes, sure enough, there he is, exactly how he imagined, although, to be fair to his husband, Tommy doesn't have much choice in sleeping positions these days, being that he's 7 ½ months pregnant. Sleeping on his side used to be the way, but the bigger he got, the less comfortable that was, no matter how many types of pillows they tried.

His mouth is open wide, his snoring sounds like a frieght train. Buck thinks he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

It had been a hell of a surprise when they'd discovered, the long way around, that Tommy was a carrier for the male pregnancy gene, but Buck wouldn't change a damn thing. He's married now, he's about to have a kid with the best person he knows. He loves his life.

He watches as Tommy's hand jumps on his stomach.

"Hi, nugget," Buck whispers, though he knows it's unnecessary; Tommy is a hard sleeper, even in pregnancy. "Too bad you can't tell me what you want for breakfast yet, huh?"

Buck snags Tommy's left hand carefully, watching his face for signs he's waking. When there's nothing but another deep snore, he grins, kisses the wedding ring on his left ring finger, before kissing the spot on Tommy's stomach, where he can clearly see a limb poking through. How Tommy manages to sleep through that, Buck will never know, but he's grateful. He knows Tommy needs all the sleep he can get.

He climbs out of bed, pulls on his boxers, and makes his way out of their bedroom. Tommy's cravings have only heightened his sweet tooth, so he's thinking chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. This will be the third time this week he's made them but he knows that Tommy certainly won't argue with that.

He's just got the batter on the stove when he feels shuffling behind him. Buck flips a pancake and turns. "Hi baby."

"Hi," Tommy says around a yawn. He waddles (Buck thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen in his life) up to Buck and wraps his arms around him as best he can. Really, the best he can do is his hands on Buck's hips, but that works too. "Smells good."

"Should be done soon," Buck says, shivering as the cold tip of Tommy's nose buries itself in the back of his neck. "Want a smoothie too?"

"Yes, please," Tommy says. "The blue-"

"-berry and raspberry," Buck finishes for him with a grin. "I know. Sit down, I've got everything covered."

Tommy makes his way over to the table, sits down in one of the chairs.

He's getting everything plated when it starts.

"…room already for you," Tommy is murmuring to his stomach, hand rubbing up and down. "We hope you like the colors we picked."

Buck loves the room that they made for their little boy. Baby farm animals, the room is done up in soft yellows and greens. It's adorable.

He freezes when he hears Tommy's next words. "…hope you like me."

They've been together long enough that Buck knows all of Tommy's insecurities, but this one…it's said so softly that Buck is almost sure he wasn't meant to hear it. It's said as though Tommy hadn't meant it to come out at all.

He takes deep breaths, decides maybe he'll see if he can bring up the topic later. He finishes Tommy's smoothie, holds it in one hand and their two plates in the other, setting Tommy's in front of him with a soft kiss to his mouth.

Sitting across from him, Buck can tell something's off and when Tommy looks at him and sighs, he knows the decision of what to do about what he heard is out of his hands.

"You heard?" Tommy asks softly.

Buck nods. "Yeah. He's going to love you, Tommy."

Tommy shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance, but it's certainly not working. "I don't have a great example to go from. What if I'm not good at it?"

Buck really does feel like he should have seen this coming. "Baby, you put on a tiara for Jee last week."

Tommy looks embarrassed. "She asked me to, what was I going to say, no?"

Buck bites his lip to hold back a grin. "When Robbie handed you his fire truck at the last barbecue, you sat on the ground with him and played for like half an hour."

"Oh man, it took me forever to get up," Tommy groans. "I thought we were gonna have to rent a crane or something."

"You're gorgeous," Buck says sincerely. He's said it a lot over the last few months, as Tommy's body changed and his stomach got bigger.

He continues, "The farm animals for his room were your idea."

Tommy motions to him. "Have you seen you? If he looks anything like you, he's going to be adorable. He should be surrounded with other adorable things."

Damn it, Buck loves him so much. "And you take care of me. You have for years."

"I'm not sure that's the same thing," Tommy points out, but Buck can see it's working. Helping Tommy through his insecurities over the years has become almost second nature. Tommy had once admitted that he'd always thought he'd deal with his own issues, well, on his own. Buck's made it his life's work to prove otherwise.

"Maybe," Buck allows. "You're going to be the best dad, Tommy. I know it."

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek before he says, "Really?"

Buck gets up from his seat, knows he's going to have to reheat his own breakfast, but he doesn't care as he sinks to his knees in front of him. "You're the best man I know. My person. I'm not worried at all about your abilities as a dad. It never even crossed my mind."

Tommy sniffles and Buck reaches for a tissue from the box on the table, dabs it at his eyes. "You're my person too," Tommy says, voice thick.

Buck grins, holds up his left hand, and wiggles his ring finger. "I had a feeling."

Tommy laughs. "Sorry, I don't know why today, it just sort of hit me that we're going to be dads soon, you know?"

Buck rubs his stomach, feels their son kick under his hand. "Don't say sorry, I know. Jesus, Tommy, there's a little person in there. I'm scared to death. But I've got you, so I'm not worried."

Tommy laughs again, nods. Buck moves up to kiss him. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says sheepishly. "Thanks."

Buck kisses him again. "Always." He motions to his plate. "Want me to reheat those for you?"

But Tommy's already digging in. "No, they're perfect."

Soon enough, they're eating their breakfast and when Tommy gently sets the glass with the smoothie onto the shelf of his stomach as he tells the baby about how helicopters stay up in the air, Buck thinks his life is pretty damn perfect.

[lvrspiastri]

i loveee ur stuff, i was wondering if u could write a arthur x fem!reader smut, where she works on charles team (not on ferrari, but like personal photographer or smth, like she travels with charles basically) n she and arthur have like veryyy big tension (like non stop banter, snarky comment, teasing, barks). Then at an after party (monaco 24?) she ends up in his room and they fuck.

hope this is something along the lines of what you were looking for :) also it isn’t proofread so i apologise for any mistakes!

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines, masterlist

Most Ardently ᴬᴸ

✧. ┊     PAIRING: arthur leclerc x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 2.5k words

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, enemies to lovers, coarse language, taunts, unprotected sex

There were a lot of perks that came with being Charles Leclerc’s personal photographer.

It wasn’t the career path I imagined back when I was a broke uni student shooting blurry portraits of my friends in exchange for takeaway, but somehow, through a chaotic mix of luck, timing, and a shared love of vintage lenses, I ended up with a dream job I never knew I wanted. Private planes stocked with champagne, hotel suites bigger than my entire apartment back home, and front-row access to the kind of glamour most people only glimpse through a screen.

And, of course, Charles himself.

A vision of a man who looked like he stepped straight out of a black-and-white film reel. The kind of subject photographers would kill for.And honestly? One of the kindest clients I’d ever had.

But there was a downside.

A very loud, very smug, very infuriating downside.

His motherfucking brother.

Arthur Leclerc.

The most demonic Leclerc there was.

Arthur Leclerc was a menace.

Not in the villainous, tabloid-scandal kind of way—no, that would’ve been too easy. Arthur was worse. He was charming. The kind of charming that made people forgive him for everything, from stealing your towel when you were in the swimming pool to “accidentally” locking you out of your hotel room at 2AM barefoot. Which he’d done. Twice.

He took one look at me, day one on the job, and decided I was going to be his favorite new toy. Not in a romantic way (though he flirted just enough to keep me constantly confused), and not in a cruel way either. It was worse. He teased.

Endlessly.

Relentlessly.

Like it was his full-time job.

“Your lens cap is still on, Picasso,” he’d say, even when it wasn’t. "Do men not get with you because of your face or your personality?" “You hang around Charles too much. You’ll start talking in italics and heartbreak soon.”

Just constant yapping.

We were in Monco that weekend. Sun-drenched and stupidly beautiful. Charles had disappeared into a meeting with the team, leaving me with a golden hour and a memory card begging to be filled.

I was crouched near the harbour, fiddling with exposure settings, when a shadow loomed over me.

“Careful,” Arthur’s voice drawled. “You might fall in. Not that anyone would notice.”

I didn’t look up. I didn't need to see him to know who it was. “And yet, somehow, I always know when you’re nearby. Must be the smell of arrogance and body spray.”

He tsked. “That is rich, coming from someone wearing a shirt that says ‘Pentax 4 Life’. You are realising it makes you look like a cult member?”

I finally looked up, squinting at him through the sun. He was wearing that ridiculous smirk again—the one that made people hand him drinks or forgiveness without thinking. Not me. I knew better.

“You don’t have to stand here, you know,” I said. “There’s a whole country for you to go be irritating in.”

“Ah, ange, you are the most fun to irritate,” he said, crouching beside me like he belonged in the frame. “Besides, Charles said I should try being helpful.”

I paused, suspicious. “Helpful how?”

He reached over and—without asking—tilted my camera up a fraction. “There. Better composition. Rule of thirds, no?”

I swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch my camera.”

“Relax, Picasso. You will still get your moody shot of a yacht.”

“It’s a catamaran, you Philistine.”

He grinned wider, and for a second, I hated how good his eyes looked in this light. Gold-flecked. Unfair.

“You know,” he said casually, “for someone whose job it is to observe, you are much terrible at hiding things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Arthur stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off his shorts. “Nothing. Just that you get really flustered when I’m around. It is cute. Like a kicked puppy.”

“I don’t get flustered,” I snapped, rising to my feet. “I get annoyed. Because you never shut up, and you always assume everything is about you.”

“Because it usually is.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

He leaned in then—too close, the heat of him sudden and sharp in the salt air. His voice dropped low, almost amused. “And yet, you never walk away.”

That shut me up.

Only for a moment.

“Because I don’t lose,” I said, chin lifted. “And if I walk away, you win.”

Arthur blinked, something sparking behind his gaze.

For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

Just a half-smile, a beat of silence, and a slow, measured step back.

“Well then,” he murmured. “Let the games continue.”

The afterparty was a blur of champagne flutes, flashing cameras, and the sound of Charles’ name being chanted like a hymn. He’d won. Finally. Monaco. His home race.

I was happy for him. Ecstatic, even. But also bone-tired and overstimulated, wedged between celebrities and sponsors and too many people who thought owning a Leica made them a creative.

And I was clinging to the edge of the dance floor, counting the seconds until I could leave.

Until he found me.

Arthur.

His shirt half-buttoned, a drink in one hand and mischief in his eyes.

Of course.

He sidled up, shameless. “You look like you would rather be at a funeral.”

“I’d rather be anywhere you’re not,” I muttered.

“Yet you are watching me,” he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Is it the shirt? It’s the shirt, isn’t it?”

I turned to face him, glaring. “It’s the fact that you’ve been following me around like a lost kitten all night.”

“I prefer ‘charming menace.’”

“I prefer ‘walking red flag.’”

He grinned, leaning in so our noses nearly touched. “Then why haven’t you walked away?”

I opened my mouth to fire back. Something scathing. Something final—but his hand brushed my waist, possessive and sudden.

I froze.

We were tucked into a corner of the club, the shadows flickering just enough to make it feel hidden, but not enough to be safe. Not really. People were all around us, drinks sloshing, cameras flashing, music pulsing like a heartbeat.

“You keep looking at me like you want to slap me,” Arthur said, voice low.

“Maybe I do.”

“Or maybe you want to do something else.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hand slid lower, fingers splaying across my hip. Not subtle. Not coy.

I shoved him back, hard.

“What is wrong with you?”

That got his attention. His jaw tensed, sharp under the flashing lights. “What, now you are pretending like you don’t want this?”

“I don’t want you—”

“Ah, c'est conneries!”

We were nose to nose again. Breathing hard. Both of us trembling with something hot and ugly and undeniable.

And then—

I kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed me. It didn’t matter. We crashed into each other, mouths colliding like a car crash, hot and reckless, all teeth and tongue and fury.

Someone bumped into us, laughed, maybe even whistled. I didn’t care. Arthur’s hands were gripping my waist, my jaw, my hair, like he didn’t know where to hold first. Like he couldn’t decide which part of me he wanted most.

“You’re out of your mind,” I whispered against his lips.

He grinned, wild and breathless. “You make me that way.”

And when his hand slid under the hem of my dress, low, possessive, there, I didn’t stop him.

I should’ve.

But instead, I tipped my head back and let him.

Let him claim me, right there in the corner of that stupid glittering club, with Monaco spinning around us like a dream we couldn’t wake up from.

The moment the hotel room door slammed shut behind us, it started.

“You’re impossible,” I snapped, walking in ahead of him. “You don’t know when to quit.”

Arthur’s laugh was sharp. “And you don’t know when to admit you liked it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

He paused. “So say you did.”

I turned around slowly. “Why? So you can gloat? Add it to your list of wins?”

“I am not keeping score!"

“You’re a Leclerc. Of course you are.”

He stepped closer, the heat between us flickering back to life. “You kissed me first. You grabbed my hair. You moaned my name in the middle of a fucking club.”

“And you let me.” My voice dropped. “You wanted me to.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just stared at me like he was trying to figure out if this was real—or if he’d imagined the way I came apart in his hands.

I kicked off my shoes, backing toward the bed. “So what now, Arthur? You want a round two just to prove something?”

He shrugged off his jacket, eyes still locked on me. “I want a round two because I can’t stop thinking about how you looked when I had your thighs shaking.”

My breath caught. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

“You’re such a cocky little shit,” I muttered.

“And you’re still here.”

He crossed the room in two strides. Grabbed my waist. Kissed me like he was punishing me for every word I hadn’t said.

We tumbled backward onto the bed, all teeth and hands and heat.

“I hate how good you are at this,” I whispered against his throat.

“Good?” he scoffed. “You were begging.”

I shoved his shoulder. “You’re delusional.”

He pinned my wrists above my head, smirking. “Say you didn’t like it. Go on.”

I didn’t.

I bit his lip instead.

His groan was low, broken. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

He didn’t argue.

He just kissed me again—deeper, hungrier, like he wanted to crawl inside my skin and stay there.

There was no pretending it was casual this time. No drunken excuse, no blurry club lights to hide behind.

Just us.

Sharp edges. Fast hands. Bruised mouths.

He peeled my dress off like he’d imagined it a hundred times. Maybe he had. Maybe I had too. His hands weren’t soft. They were sure. Greedy. Mapping skin like he didn’t believe it was real.

I shoved his shirt off and dragged my nails down his back, marking him. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

Arthur’s breath caught, then he smiled, dark and wrecked. “Then show me.”

I pushed him onto the bed, climbed over him, settled myself over his hips without breaking eye contact.

For a second, neither of us moved.

He stared up at me like I’d just ruined him. And maybe I had.

“You don’t get to ruin this,” I whispered, breath shaking.

“I would not dream of it,” he said, voice raw. “Just tell me you want this.”

I didn’t say it.

I showed him.

His hands were on my waist, guiding me, grounding me. My mouth on his shoulder, his jaw, his throat. The sharp gasp he let out when I rolled my hips harder made something twist low in my stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel—god, you feel unreal.”

I pressed my forehead against his. “You talk too much.”

He flipped us, pushed me down into the mattress with a quiet, breathless laugh. “Then shut me up.”

He pulled himself out of his tight jeans, manhood springing free like he hadn't let himself release in months.

He shucked off his jeans, cursing softly when they caught at the knees. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, every inch of him flushed and trembling, like the moment itself was too much to hold.

And then—

"I do not have protection..." he muttered, like this information could stop him from all he's every wanted.

"I don't care."

"But ma chérie..."

"Just put it in, God!"

And he sank, letting out a deep groan emanating from low in his throat. He took it inch by inch, careful to take it easy and not hurt me. Not when he'd just got me.

"You've been fucked before, yes?" God, he really did let his mouth run.

"Yeah." His jaw clenched at my answer, thrusts growing harsher. "What, you expect me to be a virgin?"

"No," he exhaled, eyes shut tight as he changed his angle, grunting. "Do not like that you have had another man inside you."

"Whoever said anything about a man?"

"Don't tease me, coucou." Thrust. One. Two. A whine from me.

"I'm gonna..."

"I can feel you clenching."

“Arthur—”

He leaned down, lips brushing my jaw, my cheek, my mouth. “Come for me,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”

I broke with a cry, the tension snapping like a string pulled too tight. My body arched up into him, shaking, legs wrapped tight around his waist. My nails dug into his back, anchoring me to him as he fucked me through it, slow and deep and possessive.

“That is it,” he growled, breath ragged. “That’s my girl.”

His pace faltered. His hips jerked once, twice more, and then he was spilling inside me with a stuttering groan, his forehead pressed against mine, eyes screwed shut like the pleasure hurt.

We lay there for a moment, gasping, sweat-slicked and silent. The only sound was the hum of the city through the hotel windows, far away and irrelevant.

Then Arthur pulled out gently, collapsing beside me on the bed, arm flung over his eyes.

I stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving. “Well. That was...”

“A mistake?” he offered, voice muffled.

“No,” I said, too fast. Then softer: “No. Just... unexpected.”

He turned his head to look at me, lips still parted, hair sticking to his forehead. “You going to regret this tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “I’m only going to regret stopping.”

I turned toward him, tracing a lazy line along his shoulder. “We fight too much.”

“We flirt too much,” he corrected. “And then we pretend it’s fighting.”

A silence bloomed between us. Not awkward—just full. Full of all the things we hadn’t said. All the things we were too afraid to admit out loud.

He reached for my hand. Twined our fingers together without asking.

“I’m not just playing with you,” he said finally.

“I know,” I whispered.

"Be mine?"

I nod.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you make alan a scarf. he tries to repay you for everything you've done for him.

COMMENTS: happy birthday @dove-da-birb :3 i hope u have a good day !!!

The soft yellow yarn looks almost funny in his rough hands. Alan gazes upon the fabric with a furrow brow, cheeks red from the winter chill. You stand before him, waiting for him to give you any reaction at all to your gift.

“What is this?” he asks, voice soft and rough, sweeter than honey as he addresses you.

“It’s a scarf. I made it for you. Noticed you didn’t have one and decided to fix that,” you shrug, watching as he turns it over in his hands.

“You made this?” he murmurs, eyes widening with wonder.

“I did, yes.” you confirm.

Alan looks touched. It’s the softest you have ever seen him, standing outside Clementia’s door, hunched over as snow piles by his feet. He came all this way to see you, just to check in after a particularly stressful day—and yet, he was making you feel better just by being around.

Snowflakes dot his hair, melting into the dark, tousled strands. You almost want to reach out and brush them off, to run your fingers through it and do away with the wetness from the melting snow, but you don’t. He looks so pretty like this—and you reckon he would look even prettier if he was wearing that scarf and keeping warm.

“Let me put it on for you,” you offer, placing your hands on top of the soft woven yarn.

Alan freezes, much like the icicles that have formed overheard, looking so sturdy and yet being so, so fragile. One touch and they could fall, plummeting toward the Earth before shattering completely.

Removing the scarf from his hands, you take care when wrapping it around his neck. Alan’s face feels warm—you have gotten close enough to feel his body heat, taking the opportunity to do so, slowly moving the scarf around and around his neck.

You’re lucky it’s not snowing harder, or else the moment would be ruined and you’d have to crowd inside this broken down building. Not exactly the most ideal for a romantic getaway.

It isn’t until you pull away that you realize Alan has hunched over, trying his hardest to make it easy for you to help him. It sends a warmth flowing through your veins, even as the cold air nips at your nose.

“You can come inside, if you’d like,” you say.

Right, yeah. Because you just wrapped the scarf on him so of course he would come inside and take it off. That makes perfect sense.

You just don't want him to leave.

“No, I—I don’t want to impose. I just wanted to check in,” he says gruffly, shrinking in on himself, “If you’re alright, then...goodnight. See you.”

“Alan, wait.”

You don’t reach out to him. He might run away if you touch him. Your words, thankfully, are enough to freeze him in place, his trembling back your only indicator of how he feels right now.

“It’s cold. Let me make you tea. You can sit across the room if you want, just—let me.” you plead.

Your front door is wide open, and for him it always will be.

“...I’ll make the tea. You sit down,” he mumbles, turning back to face you, “You should rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“So you’re staying?”

He hesitates.

A nod.

Relief floods your veins and you beam, stepping aside to let him through. The shitty wooden floor creaks under his feet and your heart sings at the familiar sound.

Clementia only ever feels like home when he’s inside of it. You only even feel at home when he’s around.

Stay the afternoon? You hope he stays forever.

[lilhughesy]

Baby in Blue | Matthew Knies x Fem!Reader

warnings! slightly suggestive at the end

word count: 0.6k

a/n: my first blurb for my 1k celly event for my love @lovesickhughes, i hope you guys enjoy!

The sun was starting to set and the hot July heat was settling down for the day. It was the day of your weekly date with your boyfriend, which was a rule that the two of you agreed upon to ensure that you two always had quality time together. Something which you both appreciated considering his typical busy schedule throughout the hockey season.

Your shared bedroom floor was now covered with various articles of clothing, from long skirts and lace tops to different sun dresses as you tried outfit after outfit. Yet, nothing seemed to feel quite right for your dinner date tonight. The dinner was honestly nothing special nor nothing too fancy, just a nice dinner out on a patio by the lake to enjoy another summer sunset together over a good meal. It was more to both of your standards rather than fancy meals where a specific dress code was required.

A frustrated groan slipped past your lips as you peeled off yet another failed outfit, tossing it to the far corner of your bedroom while you headed back to your closet. You reached for the light blue sun dress that hung towards the back of the rest of your clothes. It wasn't one of your go-tos, instead, it was actually never worn since you (your boyfriend) bought it last year.

But with your hope running low and outfit options decreasing, you decided to slip the dress over your head. Your feet carried you to your bathroom, where your hands were to move the material around your torso to adjust the fit of the dress. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, turning side to side to check the different angles and... you didn't hate it.

"Oh wow," You twisted your head to see your boyfriend, Matthew, leaning against the doorframe with his eyes scanning over your frame, "How come I've never seen you wear that dress before?"

You let out a breathy laugh as you face the mirror again, adjusting your hair whilst contemplating keeping the dress on for the evening, "I've never worn it out before, plus I don't even know if I like it."

He came up behind you, placing his hands on your hips as he dipped his head down to press a kiss to your temple, "You should wear it tonight, and with those new heels too."

"Really?"

"Mhm, plus we gotta start heading out soon, our reservation is coming up." He said as he fixed his own hair quickly.

You nodded, "And you're sure I look okay?"

Matthew rolled his eyes playfully before turning you around by the waist to make direct eye contact with him, "You look beautiful."

And even though the two of you have been together for a couple years now, his words never failed to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Your cheeks heated up and turned a light shade of pink as you reached up on your tippy toes to kiss him gently, "I love you."

"And I love you, baby." He mumbled against your lips, "We should leave now, any more of this kissing with you in that dress... and we won't be leaving anytime soon."

"Says the man with his massive biceps showing through his shirt." You winked at him before pulling him out of the bathroom by the hand.

[ang3ltine]

𝖭𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𓍯𓂃 Bob reynolds fic

A classic dinner party was all Bob needed to finally confess to the person whom he had been harbouring feelings for months

a.n - Just Yelena teasing the hell out of you and Bob.

This is another teaser! Sorry guys I'm busy with work during the week but during the weekend I will post the full story.

Before Bob met you and the thunderbolts team, his world was empty and seemed endless. He felt as if there was nothing else left for him.

But he was wrong. When you saved Bob from the void, he naturally looked up to you. This of course, brang teasing comments from the others, especially from Yelena and Ava, sometimes even Walker.

He felt himself becoming completely enamoured by you. It began as a spark, so small that he mistaken it as something else. Yet over time, it grew stronger. As if an unseen force was pulling him closer towards you.

When he consulted this 'issue' with Yelena, he soon learned that he had indeed fallen in love with you. Which scared him at first. He had no idea how to approach it.

That was until Valentina decided to invite him to one of her extravagant parties to celebrate her 'success' in bringing the official Avengers team together. It had been a few months since then, but she finally got permission from the government to carry out her plans.

The dress code for this evening was vintage couture, Bob ofcourse had help from the girls since he's never really dressed up for an event this fancy before. So here he was in a nervous state, infront of the vanity table of none other than Ava Starr. Who was getting rather impatient with Bob for a number of reasons.

"Bob sit still. Your hair's gone messy again," Ava groans while trying to brush through his dark curls once again. He had alot of opinions on how his hair should look but Ava insisted on her idea with the side swoop was better.

After what seemed like forever, Bob was ready. The only thing left was his bow tie, suggested by Yelena, who was now putting in on for him. Ava almost snorted when she saw that he had to bend down slightly for Yelena since she was significantly shorter than him, earning a glare from the young blonde.

Yelena was firm yet reassuring when speaking with Bob, making sure he was ready for the night ahead of the. "Bob, listen to me. You're confessing to her tonight. I don't want to see you loitering near the tables with us alright?"

Bob was quiet for a moment before talking, a noticeable shift to worry evident in his voice. "But...what if I'm wrong? I... I don't want to ruin things between us if I am-"

Yelena interjects before Bob could say another word, already sensing that he'd ramble on about him not being worthy for you. "Bob you're being ridiculous! She's been giving you the same signals for months, there's no way she'd turn you down."

Ava had been listening from her bed and offered some advice for him too after fixing her own makeup. "I agree. Otherwise she's not going to get the hint and move on to someone else."

Bob talk a deep breath and exhaled before nodding in agreement. Ava was right, he had to make a move.

It was quite the classy event, almost timely even. A massive hall that was dimly lit with candles and looming chandeliers and the place was already packed with people.

If anything, Bob grew even more nervous while he sat idly at his table. You along with the rest of the team was doing an interview with the press for the promotion of the new Avengers agenda. He looked around in the meantime, many were in sleek suits or vintage dresses, posing for the press with polite smiles and champagne in hand.

"You think Bob's alright? All of this must be overwhelming for him." You whispered to John while waving at the flashing cameras infront of you. Your cheeks were becoming sore from smiling too much.

It was understandable for you to be worried, you weren't sure whether an introverted man like him would cope in such a crowded place.

"I'm sure he's doing fine. It's not like he's a little kid." John responds while patting your back, he then turns your attention towards someone in the crowd. "Speak of the devil, here he comes."

You followed John's finger to where Bob was standing, his hands politely folded infront of him as he patiently waited for you all to be finished. It was quite adorable to spot his head bobbing up and down in the sea of guests beyond the press team.

"I don't think he can see us properly," you mused while giving your last signature to a fan, kindly thanking them for coming.

"Well he's clearly not here to see us." Ava nudged playfully, giving you a knowing look. Sometimes, you wished that wasn't so brazen with the smug look on her face.

"I don't know what your insinuating but I know it's not like that." You let out an exasperated sigh as you followed her off the stage, with the rest of the team following in pursuit. Ava wanted to tease more but thought it would be better to let things play out itself.

"Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that."

The interviews had gone well, nobody spilled secrets thanks to Bucky. As for swearing it was kept to a minimum, which was a pretty hard thing for Alexei and most importantly, Walker didn't lose his temper. Which you took as a pretty big win considering how hot headed he can be.

"You guys go on ahead! I'll bring Bob with me when I find him."

As for Bob, he had some trouble getting through the dense crowd so that he could finally reunite with them. Abhorrently overwhelmed and only wanted to seek some sort of comfort from you. To his relief, he spots you in the distance, prompting him to press further and almost pushed a lady by accident on the way.

At some point you see him too, and began making your way towards him. Lucky for you both, there was some space in the middle of the dance floor for you two to meet. "Bob over here!"

You wouldn't say Bob's reaction was 'dramatic' when he falls into your awaiting arms, if anything you were grateful that he found solace in you. He didn't even get a chance to properly look at you since his first thought was burying his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent.

Black cherries and dark liquor filled his senses. Sharp yet addictive. It was more than enough to calm himself down .

Maybe the night ahead won't be so bad after all.

[justonedreamersworld]

Just like he always does

Lukas Radzevičius (Katarsis) x reader

Warnings: an argument with a loved one

Summary: Lukas is there for you after you've had a fight with someone

After being completely overwhelmed by the positive feedback on ‘Escape’ (thanks to every single person who read and liked the story - that means a lot to me!❤️), I decided to write another one shot about Lukas. He and especially the music of Katarsis continue to be extremely inspiring to me. And after a certain post by @baltameile I got the idea for this story. I hope you like it! :)

1,2k words (not proof read, one shot)

You grab your suitcase from the baggage carousel in the arrivals hall at Vilnius airport. You would like to run straight to the exit, but you pull yourself together – after all, there are other people here and you want to avoid the angry looks. So you rush towards the exit so fast that it still counts as walking and not yet as running.

The last few hours have been anything but easy for you. Shortly before you left for the Lithuanian capital, you had a bad argument with someone close to you. You threw things at each other that weren't exactly nice. Even before you were on your way to the airport, you regretted every word you said. You couldn't think about anything else on the plane - when you should actually be looking forward to your time in Vilnius with your boyfriend. Because of your long-distance relationship, you see each other far too rarely, so every second of it is precious and the anticipation that comes with it is also part of this valuable time.

You take one last deep breath, trying to banish the negative thoughts from your body before you walk through the automatic sliding door. Your eyes search the crowd of waiting people for your boyfriend's bleached hair. It only takes a few seconds before your eyes meet his and your heart stops for a moment. Despite the fact that Lukas is still about five metres away from you, you recognise how his eyes light up. His lips curl into a beautiful smile.

Now you can't hold back any longer. You approach him with quick steps, let go of your suitcase just before you reach him and let yourself fall into his arms.

‘Hey, mano meile,’ Lukas whispers before giving you a kiss on the roots of your hair.

You close your eyes, bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe in his familiar smell. All the negativity is blown away for a moment, because now you are where you are supposed to be – at home.

After dropping off your luggage at Lukas' flat, you take the bus a little way out of the city. By now you love Vilnius, but it has become a little tradition for you and Lukas to spend the first day you visit him in the nature on the outskirts of the city - weather permitting, of course. Today is a warm early summer's day - the perfect temperature for a little walk.

Your fingers are tangled with Lukas' as you walk along the edge of a forest, talking about this and that. The smell of the trees around you and the man you love by your side - it could hardly be more perfect. Nevertheless, the thoughts of the argument you had earlier don't quite leave you. Again and again they creep into your head and tear you away from this wonderful moment.

"What's wrong, mieloji? I notice that you're not fully here with me," Lukas remarks at one point and gives your hand a light squeeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking at you from the side.

Of course he notices. He notices everything. Especially everything that relates to you.

‘Yes, you're right,’ you mumble.

With a short ‘Come’, Lukas gently pulls you off the path and towards a dead tree trunk lying on the ground in the shade of the forest. You settle down on it, your fingers remaining intertwined. You keep your gaze lowered, looking at your hands. You can feel Lukas continuing to look at you. Nothing more. He waits patiently, just like he always does. Waits until you are ready to speak.

'I had a terrible argument with ...', you start at some point and from then on the words just spill out of you. You tell Lukas the whole story: How the argument came about, how it escalated, what you said to each other and that it's still really bothering you. You can feel the burden lifting a little more with every word you say.

While you're talking, Lukas doesn't interrupt you once. He sits next to you in silence, continues to hold your hand and listens to you - just like he always does.

After you have told him everything, you lift your head and look directly at Lukas. You recognise deep compassion in his eyes. He reaches out his free hand and gently strokes your cheek. Only then do you realise that a few tears are running down your face.

‘Don't cry,’ mumbles Lukas, carefully wiping away a few tears.

‘Sorry,’ you whisper in a choked voice.

You don't want to cry. You don't find it as easy to cry in front of anyone as you do in front of Lukas, but you've only had him back for a few hours and you already feel like you're ruining the mood.

"You don't need to apologise for anything. It's all right," he replies a little louder now.

You nod and wipe the last tears from your cheeks before letting Lukas pull you into a hug. You immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your chin on them. With your eyes closed, you feel how his warmth and scent envelop you - almost like protection from the outside world.

You try to concentrate fully on Lukas and what's around you. The sounds of the forest. The gentle wind. The rustling of the leaves. The birds chirping down from the trees. Bit by bit, you realise how you are calming down and arriving back in the here and now.

You carefully release yourself from the embrace, but keep your face close to Lukas'. You lose yourself in his ice-blue eyes, the tip of your nose almost touching his. His warm breath tickles your skin. Slowly, you place one hand on his cheek and with the other you gently brush back a strand of his hair that has fallen over his forehead as it so often does.

You close your eyes as Lukas' lips meet yours. As always when he kisses you, your whole body fills with warmth.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Lukas wants to know after you've pulled away from each other again and you've slipped away from him a little.

This time you hold both his hands in yours and continue to look directly at him.

‘Yes, much better,’ you reply in a slightly stronger voice and even manage a small but sincere smile.

Satisfied, Lukas smiles back and says: "Good. And tomorrow the world will look different again. Maybe you can talk to each other again then and sort things out in peace." 

‘Thank you,’ you say, nodding, after breathing in and out loudly.

"Not for that. That's what I'm here for," Lukas replies and gently squeezes your hands again.

‘And that's why I love you.’

‘Just for that?’

He raises an eyebrow questioningly and tries to look serious, but you can see clearly that he's holding back a grin.

You roll your eyes sarcastically and reply: ‘Of course not.’

Lukas starts to laugh, pulls you closer to him again and kisses you on the forehead before wrapping his arms around you again.

‘I love you too.’

Happily, you lean against him.

[kellykadesperate]

nicole, all these amazing prompt fills from you are such a treat!

if it sparks any inspiration, 52 is intriguing me!

lorna thanks so much my love!! ur new header is PERFECT!

enjoy some affair era angst. set the day after robert comes to see aaron in hospital and has tried to kill chas with the hit man situation lol

“Nobody needs me.”

Aaron isn’t expecting to see anyone today. His mum has already told him that she has to run the pub practically by herself all afternoon and Paddy’s apparently trying to give him space.

The door does open around half ten though. His eyes are still closed shut and he intends to pretend to be asleep through any nurses checking he’s still breathing.

There’s a scrape of a chair though, he didn’t think they’d actually do that. 

Then there’s a hand on his arm and that’s what makes Aaron open his eyes. He sees Robert staring back at him. The first thing he thinks is that Robert’s hair is a mess, it’s not styled the way it usually is, it’s sticking up in places.

Robert looks the way he does when he first wakes up. Only now it’s clear to see he’s not slept a wink, he looks bone tired, like he should be in this hospital bed instead.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron croaks the words out. Someone has to. Robert makes no point of attempting to do anything other than stroke Aaron’s arm, small gentle circles with his thumb. 

“Seeing you.” Robert says, like it’s obvious.

Aaron looks down at the way Robert is still gently caressing his arm. It’s weird. It’s everything. 

“Not got a takeaway to collect or a deal to do?” Aaron ruins it because it’s what he has to do, it’s what happens. He braces himself for Robert to say something back, something meaner before he ups and goes.

Robert doesn’t do that though. He surprises Aaron by bowing his head; almost surrendering.

“I wanted to see if you were OK.” Robert says quietly, like there’s really no agenda to any of this. “My head was all over the place yesterday.”

Aaron chews his lip. “I told you my mum won’t say anything.”

Robert looks like he’s going to be sick. Aaron wants to reach over and borrow himself in Robert’s head for just a second or two, work out what’s going on in there. It’d be scary, terrifying maybe but Aaron knows he’d still love him. The feeling is just not budging. 

“I know.” Robert breathes all unevenly, so unlike him. “I just — it wasn’t nice seeing you like that, finding you so helpless.”

This doesn’t happen. This is said through breathless kisses and Robert making Aaron feel it when they’re pulled together. It isn’t said like this. 

Aaron carefully pulls a hand towards the middle of the bed and waits for Robert to meet him there. Robert stares at Aaron’s hand but doesn’t move towards him. Aaron curls his hand up into a ball, feels like a fool for a second.

“I’m fine.”

Robert scowls, he shows all this emotion on his face. “You’re not.” He says like it’s just a fact, no debating it apparently. 

Aaron turns his head away. He thinks about lying there in the cold, thinking about completely disappearing altogether. He thinks about how mind went to a dark place as he imagined no one finding him. He was thinking of Robert, he was thinking about the fact that if he did disappear then at least he met Robert, at least Robert knew him. Then Robert was there. Robert.

“You need to properly look after yourself.” Robert says now.

“I’ve had this from my mum, I don’t need it from you n’all.” Aaron runs a hand over his face and knows he’s being childish but he wants Robert to go now. He’s decided. Robert being here and checking in on him is everything he wants and yet everything he can’t have. It’s dangerous, reckless, it feels like something so close to feeling right that it makes Aaron feel dizzy.

“I’m just trying to —”

“Well don’t.” Aaron snaps. “Robert, you don’t need to stay.”

Go.

Go back to her.

Robert sits up straighter. “I know.”

Aaron chews his lip again, harder this time. “It wasn’t your fault.” He whispers. “If you’re here because you feel guilty or whatever.”

Robert looks at Aaron like he’s mad. He’s been doing it more often than not recently. 

“I know that.” Robert says but then he falters just slightly. “I wish we had longer at Home Farm too, you know.” He doesn’t say at his, he doesn’t say mine. 

He says it like he hasn’t made it obvious enough. That’s the thing though, he can’t make it obvious. Robert has to pretend and pretend and pretend and Aaron’s tired of watching it all play out right in front of him. 

He thinks about lying in Robert’s marital bed, kissing and touching and talking until their voices were sore from it. He has no idea how Robert could forget it just like that, with one text from Chrissie, how he could walk away from what this is time and time again. 

“I know. But Chrissie came back.” Aaron looks down at the bedsheets. “Wasn’t needed anymore.”

Robert looks angry. “Don’t say that.” He says, like the thought entering Aaron’s head is a ridiculous one, a stupid one that’s not got any weight to it at all. “You’re always —”

Aaron scoffs at whatever kind thing Robert is going to say.

“Nobody needs me Robert, that’s fine. I like it that way.” Aaron doesn’t. He wants Robert to need him the way he needs Robert. Aaron wants to know that Robert thinks about him when he’s not around, when he’s alone and with her and when there’s already a million other things swirling around his mind.

Aaron wants to know that Robert feels like he’s going slightly insane over what this is between them too. 

He wants to feel less alone but he can’t ask for any of that. He has to settle with the look of anger on Robert’s face at what he’s just said.

“I need you.” Robert blurts the words out without the finesse he usually likes to speak with. 

Aaron holds his breath. “Well I’ll be out of action on that front for a while. Sorry.” He plays with a thin thread of the bedsheet and then hears Robert make this sound. 

Suddenly Robert is off the chair. Aaron thinks he’s gone and for a second, something twists in his chest. It hurts, it always hurts so much.

Robert doesn’t go. Instead he sits down on Aaron’s bed and pulls Aaron’s hand towards his own. “I’m not talking about for that.”

Aaron can’t open his mouth for a second. “You don’t — don’t need me Robert.”

“Yeah. I do. For everything.” Robert just says things sometimes. It’s like he doesn’t know he isn’t talking to his wife, like he’s confused or something. “Didn’t I make that clear when I told you I — I love you.” He whispers the last bit out like it’s their second. Aaron supposes it is. 

Aaron does believe Robert, mostly. Robert loves him but he still goes. This isn’t enough. People don’t stay. But Robert loves him in a way that is probably messing with his head whenever he goes home and kisses his wife.

“I wasn’t lying.” Robert says, like he’s a little boy.

Aaron realises he hasn’t said anything. 

Aaron watches Robert run a thumb over their hands that are still joint. Aaron’s palms are suddenly sweaty.

“I know.” Aaron croaks out.

Robert drops his head to look at their hands. “Don’t say you’re not needed.”

“I’m not going to do anything daft.” Aaron says, because he sees this worry race across Robert’s face. 

Robert’s thumb strokes over Aaron’s knuckles. “You better not.” He says.

Aaron studies the look on Robert’s face. He sees this worry, this panic and fear and maybe it was all there yesterday too. The thought makes Aaron squeeze down on Robert’s hand a little. Robert’s shoulders relax at it like they’ve communicated something, like they’re on the same page now.

Then Aaron ruins it. He stares at Robert’s wedding ring. 

“Where should you be then?” Aaron says, because he knows he’s accepted it but he still wants to feel this ache for some reason. He still wants to remind himself every now and again. 

“Here.” Robert whispers. “Right here.” He doesn’t look, doesn’t stop staring at Aaron’s hands and the small cuts and the dirt still pressed under his fingernails.

Aaron accepts the answer for what it is.

[rats-n-roaches]

tav relationship chart!

(sorry for no minthy - i’ve never recruited her)

amadea’s thoughts on her companions below (warning for a WHOLE LOT of yapping)

Wyll: Who would've thought I'd become the object of a hero's affections? I feel so silly around him; so weightless and loved. My dad once told me I fall in love too quickly - that I mistake kindness and affection for real romantic love, which I know to be true. I realise I'm far clingier than anyone deserves, suffocatingly so, but I do think Wyll likes it. I hope he does, at least. I'd say spending so long with only that she-devil for company would make anyone starved for affection. I am, too, though. He sometimes pushes his forehead into my lips, not unlike a cat. Oftentimes, we share a tent, as I'm not so keen to be by myself anymore, and Wyll uses me as a pillow so he can sleep comfortably with his horns. Speaking of which, I find them utterly gorgeous, and I only wish I could convince him of their beauty. Maybe he'll let me dress them up some? I saw some piercing scarring on his ears, so perhaps he isn't totally against jewellery. He's definitely made for gold - I think ruby would suit him too. Or maybe prehnite, so we can match? He's good with children, I should add. Something for me to tuck away for later. I assume it's from his own childish, for lack of a better word, nature. There's a certain...naivety about him. He is every storybook hero I have read to Indigo - surely the same stories he was read as a boy. Courageous and unfaltering, never one to back down. In other words, a mite egotistical. I don't say that maliciously, of course, I say it with pity. He has such boyish pride - something I don't think is so common for someone only two years my junior.

Shadowheart: Shadowheart's nice...when she wants to be. When she told us she was Sharran, I was taken aback. First, I was worried. Shar's followers are hardly merciful. Time and time again, Shadowheart has been rather negative and graphic. She and the undead are close, and they speak lowly of us in elven. Sometimes I am thankful that my mother taught me her tongue; other times I am not. I digress - back to Shar. I, personally, find the whole cult religion of Shar to be quite...edgy. All salt, vinegar, and everything sinister. Gloomy people who decided to wallow in their grief rather than get out of it. No, I'm being rude. Most Sharrans, from what Mum said, have lost so much that they feel there is nothing left except the darkness. Maybe Shadowheart had felt that way? But she's so young...in elf years, at least. I find myself wondering what she'd gone through to turn to Shar. I see a light in her; a light that Shar has yet to diminish.

Karlach: It's nice to be travelling with a fellow tiefling. Karlach is loud and hot-headed, but she is so very sweet. Now, with my blood being pitch, I am very sensitive to heat. I can't sit too close to the hearth, I can hardly stay outside during summer and spring, and I can't be near her, lest my blood clots. I had a heart attack very young because of that. I (try to) keep my distance, but she...draws me in. She is everything I fell for in Ma him. Strong and sweet, and Hells, she even looks a bit like him. Strong jaw, wine colored skin, cat-like pupils...hers are gold, though. His were silver. I find myself staring quite often, and I can hardly turn my eye away when I watch her and Wyll in battle. I've had few infatuations with women, most stemming from my youth. Still, I can hardly decipher if my feelings are those of affection and admiration and not real love. My dad tells me that I mistake those often. I can't help but think of Wyll among this. I know it's not uncommon for people to have multiple partners, but I don't know if either would be okay with that. I'm certainly not about to broach the issue. I don't think she'll be around much longer, much as it pains me to say. I don't want her last memories of me and Wyll to be awkward or uncomfortable. Lord Death, keep her safe when she makes her journey to your domain.

Lae'zel: I don't really know much about her, but she is very scary. Understandable, considering what I know of her upbringing. in a cresh crech cresch To my surprise, she's keeping the egg we obtained. In the nursery, I was hesitant to take it. I, foolishly, assumed its parents would worry about its absence, but Lae'zel explained to our party in great detail the customs of not only how Githyanki are raised, but also their...procreation...rituals. We (sans our darling Blade) were all mildly discomforted. Digressing, she is not completely cruel. Blunt, yes. But she cares. She never had to stick with us or try to cure our parasites, but she did. I think her egg has softened her up a bit. Maybe I can help her with her kid when it hatches?

Jaheira: She knows my mother. Apparently, they were both at Moonrise one hundred years ago. I asked Mum, and she said she also laid her husband to rest before that; his name was Khalid. In many ways, Jaheira reminds me of Mum. Scary, old elven travellers, both haunted by things I doubt I could comprehend. Jaheira is more expressive than Mum has ever been, though. She's fun to talk to; we trade snarky remarks on the road. I keep forgetting she's sort of famous and not just Mum's friend, though, and Karlach is more than kind enough to remind me with a glare and stepping on my tail.

Minsc: So that statue that was a common meeting spot for Indigo and her friends turned out to be a whole living man. And hamster. I don't really have many thoughts on him. He's loud and not very smart, but he's quite fun. I will say, I was impressed and mildly nauseated when he wrestled his way out of a mimic.

Halsin: He knows my mum too. Knows of her, at least. He witnessed her performing rites at Moonrise 100 years ago. I like Halsin. He reminds me of my dad, though Dad is much less...au naturel. Scent aside, I do think the two would get along. Both are adept at healing and nursing plants. Speaking of, while in the Underdark, Halsin made a brew for me so Shadowheart wouldn't have to put me under a calming spell every hour. It was disgusting, but I believe it held the same properties as the medicine I take at home. We talk about birds sometimes. He likes that I named Indigo after one of - my little bunting.

Gale: At first, I was catty to him. I ribbed at his wizardry, at how he had to learn magic, unlike myself, who was born with it. Of course, I did have to learn magic as well - as a branch grafted onto another family tree, my parents had no way of knowing about my draconic lineage (my scales only sprouted during puberty). When I accidentally burnt a leaf off one of my dad's plants, they realised I had sorcery in my blood, and hired me a tutor so I wouldn't burn anything more valuable, such as myself. Anyways, I still poke fun at Gale, but it's all good-naturedly. Like Jaheira, we often banter back and forth, trading droll insults to one another. One time, he described me as the sister he never wanted, though he grinned as he said it.

Astarion: Kelemvor guide me. He is an undead - an abomination by your decree. In my waking, he is cruel. Our first meeting, he pinned me down with a blade. I had memories of Malieos that had not resurfaced in years. He reminds me of those in my youth (and maturity, I fear) who call me foulblood and unbirth. In my slumber, he is worse. I woke to his teeth at my neck. I can't recall what I said, but he left me alone afterwards. Did you speak through me? His eyes pierce me like his knife once did. He watches me. No others hear my pleas for his undeath to end, so I plea to you, Lord. I pray you will grant him eternal rest. I pray you guide him through the Fugue swiftly and safely, and allow his soul to sleep.

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 10

Summary: Spencer shows up for Maddie’s birthday party with a gift straight out of a fairytale. Overwhelmed by how deeply he’s become a part of their world, Y/N does something that changes everything. Couple: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warnings: so much fluff, feelings of rejection, angst (towards the end) Word Count: 7.3k

Series Masterlist

There’s something about birthdays that makes you think about time. How it slips past you quietly, how it adds up. How it circles back around in ways you didn’t expect.

I’d been thinking about it all morning. Not consciously, at first. Just little things — the smell of wrapping paper, the way the light filtered in through my blinds, the sound of a child’s laughter echoing faintly from somewhere outside my apartment window. All of it kept tugging at something quiet in me. Something I hadn’t wanted to name.

I hadn’t gone to many birthdays as a kid. Not the kind with cake and balloons, anyway. Most years, it was just me and my mom. Sometimes she remembered the date, sometimes she didn’t. I never held it against her. But I think part of me learned early on not to expect much from those days.

Aside from me not having too many birthday parties of my own, I was also just never invited to many. There’d been a couple of times where I’d get a pity invite, but for most of it I’d just stay by myself.

Which is probably why I spent so long planning the perfect gift for Maddie.

“Garcia, do you know how I could illustrate a children’s book without any actual drawing experience?”

“A children’s book?” She spun around in her chair, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why would you need to illustrate a children’s book?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Part of it was self-preservation. Y/N and Maddie were… mine, in a way I wasn’t ready to explain out loud yet. I’d only just told her about the darkest parts of my life — the kind most people wouldn’t stick around for… I didn’t want to involve them further.

So I kept them to myself.

Maybe I shouldn’t have — especially considering how the last time I kept a relationship secret, it ended in ways I still can’t think about for too long. I knew I should be honest. I just didn’t know how to be. Not yet. Not all the way.

So I shrugged. “It’s for someone’s birthday.”

Garcia blinked. Her brows lifted slowly, like she was putting together a puzzle she already knew the answer to. “Who?”

“It’s for… my niece.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at me with that knowing look that meant she absolutely didn’t believe me — but also wasn’t going to push. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said eventually. “You’re writing her a whole book?”

“I already wrote it,” I muttered. “I just need help with the illustrations.”

Of course, Garcia knew someone. A friend-of-a-friend who freelanced for indie authors. She texted me the contact information before I could change my mind. I sent the manuscript that same night — along with a painfully detailed list of character notes, color preferences, and very specific instructions for how Maddie’s dress had to be purple.

I ordered two copies of the book. One for them — and one for me.

Just in case.

In case one day they woke up and decided this was all a mistake. That I was a mistake. If that ever happened… at least I’d have this. A small, tangible reminder that for a little while, I got to care for something good. That I tried.

It was a simple book. Short. The kind with thick, cardboard pages meant to survive peanut butter fingers and bedtime rereads. The cover showed Maddie as a fairy princess, smiling mid-spin, her dress sparkling in layers of purple — just like I asked. Y/N and I stood in the background, slightly blurred, like illustrations often are. Not hyperrealistic, but recognizable enough that anyone who knew us would know.

It was perfect.

Exactly how I pictured it when I first wrote the story. Maybe even better.

I kept the extra copy tucked away in my apartment. Top shelf. Behind a stack of old psychology journals I hadn’t touched in years. Safe. Hidden. Just for me.

But the other — the one wrapped carefully in pastel tissue paper, sealed in a small gift bag with stars on it — that one sat in the passenger seat beside me as I drove to the park. I’d checked it three times before leaving. Adjusted the ribbon twice. It was ridiculous how nervous I was.

It wasn’t like I was proposing.

But still… it mattered. Too much, maybe.

The park was already filled with giggles when I got there. It was the kind of early afternoon that made everything feel a little softer — sunshine dappled through tree leaves, the faint scent of hot dogs from a nearby cart.

I spotted them almost immediately.

Y/N had set up beneath a wide oak tree, a picnic blanket sprawled across the grass, its corners fluttering in the breeze. Maddie sat cross-legged in the middle, paper crown tilted sideways, a streak of frosting on her cheek like a badge of honor. Y/N looked up just as I stepped out of the car, brushing hair from her face. Her eyes found mine instantly.

It had been a few weeks since the planetarium.

I’d like to say work got in the way — that the only reason I hadn’t seen them was the job — but that wasn’t the truth. Not really. The truth was, Y/N wasn't communicating as much as she used to. I thought about the many reasons she could be avoiding me, but each one tends to get more and more dramatic. Maybe she's just been busy, but still… things felt different.

And that scared me more than anything else.

She smiled — open and real, like she was glad I came. Like she’d been waiting.

And I felt it again. That ache I’d been trying not to name.

Because I wanted this.

I wanted them.

More than I probably should.

“Spencer!!” Maddie’s voice cracked through the afternoon like a firecracker.

She launched off the blanket with the kind of wild, sugar-fueled energy only birthdays can bring — arms outstretched, paper crown wobbling with every step.

I barely had time to catch her.

“You’re late!” she announced, throwing her arms around my waist.

“I’m exactly on time,” I murmured, hugging her back carefully — like I was afraid she might dissolve if I held too tight. “I brought you something.”

That got her attention. She pulled back instantly, eyes wide. “Is it magic?!”

“Better,” I said, holding out the star-covered gift bag.

Y/N stood then, brushing grass from her jeans. She didn’t say anything — just watched us with that unreadable softness she wore when she was trying not to let me see how much something mattered.

Maddie tore into the wrapping like it might contain fireworks.

“Maddie!” Y/N called, her voice half-laugh, half-motherly scold. “Don’t open it yet! You know the rule — gifts come after we sing happy birthday.”

Maddie froze mid-rip, pouting. “Okay.”

She hugged the bag to her chest anyway, like even waiting couldn’t undo how excited she already was.

I sat with them after that — a little stiff at first, knees tucked awkwardly under me at the corner of the blanket. Y/N handed me a juice box with a crooked grin, like she knew exactly how out of place I felt and was offering the simplest kind of kindness.

“Apple or grape?” she asked, holding both out like I was a very large child at a school picnic.

I blinked. “Grape, I guess.”

“Good choice. Apple’s for suck-ups.”

I gave her a look. She winked.

Maddie, meanwhile, was humming “Happy Birthday” under her breath, already halfway through her second cupcake. Purple frosting smeared across her chin like war paint, glitter from the crown in her hair, socks dusty from the grass. She looked feral. Perfectly, beautifully feral.

Y/N leaned back on her palms beside me, stretching her legs out lazily like she belonged to the sun. She had sunglasses perched on her nose and her shirt knotted at the hem, and I couldn’t stop noticing the way her shoulders moved — soft and unbothered, like she was finally relaxing for the first time in days. Her ankle brushed mine at one point. She didn’t move it.

And that shouldn't have meant anything.

But it did.

We sang the song a few minutes later — too loud, too fast, Maddie clapping offbeat and Y/N laughing halfway through. I watched them more than I sang. Watched the way Maddie’s cheeks flushed when we hit the “dear Maddie” part. The way Y/N’s smile went crooked when she tried not to tear up. The way their voices filled the space between my ribs like they belonged there.

I think that’s when it hit me — not just the ache, but the weight of it.

I no longer just wanted this, them… I ached for this. I needed them in my life like I needed air to survive.

Y/N lit the candle — a purple number five — and Maddie closed her eyes before blowing it out. She didn’t say her wish out loud, but I watched the way she peeked at me when she opened her eyes again. Like maybe her wish had something to do with me.

“Presents now?” she asked, practically vibrating.

Y/N made a show of checking an imaginary watch. “I don’t know… might be too soon.”

“Moooom.”

“Fine,” Y/N relented, reaching for her phone. “But let me take a picture of you two with the gift first.”

Maddie grinned, immediately scooting closer to me like it was routine — like we’d done this a hundred times before. Her head bumped against my arm, her crown tilting dangerously sideways. I instinctively reached up to fix it, and her hair — soft and warm from the sun — brushed my wrist.

Y/N stepped back a little, framing us in her phone. “Okay, Maddie, big smile.”

Maddie’s was automatic.

Mine wasn’t.

Not because I wasn’t happy — I was — but because I could feel the moment crystallizing. Y/N holding her phone steady. Maddie leaning into me like I belonged there. The late sun painting everything gold. And I knew, even before she clicked the shutter, that this photo would haunt me if I ever lost them.

“Spence,” Y/N called gently.

I looked up.

“Smile.”

So I did. Soft. Quiet. Barely-there.

Click.

“There,” she said, lowering the phone, already smiling at the screen. “One for the scrapbook.”

Something about that word — scrapbook — lodged in my throat.

Maddie didn’t wait. She immediately dove back into the gift bag like the brief delay hadn’t happened. She fished out the book, already familiar with the shape of it, like she’d memorized it by touch. When she pulled it into her lap again, she turned it around and held it up toward her mom like she was presenting a trophy.

“Look! It’s me!”

Y/N’s expression immediately changed.

It was subtle, but I noticed it — of course I noticed it. The slight parting of her lips, the sudden stillness in her shoulders, the way her fingers went lax around the phone like she’d forgotten she was holding it. Her eyes scanned the cover in slow motion — not blinking, not smiling, not yet. Just… looking.

And I knew that look.

I’d seen it before — on grieving families when we gave them answers, on victims who’d just been told they were finally safe. That look of something cracking open inside them. Relief, disbelief, awe, and sadness all sitting in the same breath.

She didn’t say anything right away.

And neither did I.

Because I could feel the gravity of the moment pulling tight between us — heavy and fragile and full of things I didn’t know how to say out loud.

Her daughter was holding a book I wrote. A story I built around her. A version of the world where she got to be a hero, a dreamer, a star. I hadn’t done it for credit. I hadn’t done it because I thought it was what a good person should do. I did it because I couldn’t not do it. Because ever since that day in the Library, with her teary eyes that turned excited once I did a magic trick — I’d felt this quiet, persistent need to give her something. Something kind. Something lasting.

And maybe, selfishly, something that proved I could be good for them.

I watched Y/N’s throat move as she swallowed.

Her fingers brushed Maddie’s curls absently — a grounding motion, but I could see her eyes start to gloss over.

She was trying not to cry.

I’d seen people getting emotional before, but this was different. There was no sadness in it. No fear. Just… overwhelm. The good kind. The kind that sneaks up on you and wraps around your ribs when you realize someone has seen the people you love and chosen to love them too.

And for some reason, that hit me harder than I expected.

She looked up at me.

Eyes soft. Wide. So full of feeling it almost knocked the air out of me.

“You made her a book,” she said, barely above a whisper.

I tried to smile. It came out lopsided. “It’s just a short story.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly, voice breaking like she couldn’t hold all of it in at once. “You made this. You wrote her a book.”

Her voice cracked at the end. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to make my chest tighten with something unbearably tender.

I wanted to reach out. Touch her hand. Say something — anything — that could make the feeling in my lungs settle. But I didn’t.

Because Maddie had already curled up against me, book in her lap, head resting on my leg like it was her default position.

And that, somehow, made the moment louder than anything I could’ve said.

She flipped the cover open gently, like it was something sacred.

“Mama,” she mumbled, “Spencer’s gonna read it to me.”

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay, baby. Go ahead.”

I hesitated only a second — not because I didn’t want to read it, but because I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to breathe through this.

Through the feeling of this small, trusting body curled into mine.

Through the look in Y/N’s eyes like she was seeing me differently now — not as someone orbiting the edges of their lives, but someone inside the center of it.

I opened the book.

And read the first line.

“Once upon a time, in a world made of books and stars and peanut butter toast, there lived a girl with a laugh so bright, it made the flowers bloom twice as fast.

Her name was Madeline, but everyone in the Kingdom called her Maddie the fairy princess. She wore glittery skirts and mismatched socks, because she believed lucky socks helped her run faster through dreams.

One cloudy afternoon, while chasing a butterfly made of stardust through the Royal Library Gardens, Maddie found herself somewhere new. The book castle of the Great Wizard Spencer….”

At that, Maddie gasped. Her head lifted just enough to look up at me, wide-eyed and smiling. “That’s you!” she whispered.

I nodded, smiling back, my voice catching slightly on the next line.

“…a tall, silly man with too many books, too many facts, and not enough snacks.”

Y/N snorted — an actual snort — then quickly covered her mouth like she’d broken something sacred. Her eyes met mine and sparkled. “Accurate.”

I swallowed down a laugh and turned the page.

Maddie was still, listening. Her thumb traced the corner of the page, slow and methodical, like she was absorbing the words into her skin.

Y/N, meanwhile, wasn’t looking at the page at all.

She was watching me.

And not casually — not politely. Watching me like she could hear everything I wasn’t saying. Like she knew that I had written that line not just for the story, but for myself. Like she could see straight through me — into every silent hope I hadn’t admitted yet.

I looked back down at the page before I could let her see too much.

Yet still, I noticed everything.

Despite not wanting to — or maybe because I always do — I could see her from the corner of my eye. The way her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket. The way she blinked, deliberately and too often. The way her mouth pressed flat, like she was trying to stay composed for Maddie’s sake.

Maybe she thought we couldn’t see.

Maybe she thought we were too immersed in the story to notice. And to be fair, Maddie was immersed — curled tight against my leg, eyes wide, head tilted toward the page like it was casting a spell on her. But I wasn’t fully in the story anymore. Not with the way Y/N was slowly, silently coming undone beside me.

She wasn’t holding it in anymore.

She was crying. Quietly. Not with sound, not with breath. Just tears slipping down one by one, unannounced, as if her body had decided for her.

And still, she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t get up. Didn’t wipe them away. She just sat there, watching me — watching us — like this was the softest kind of heartbreak. Like she didn’t know what to do with the way it felt.

And I…

I didn’t know what to do either.

So I kept reading.

Not to ignore it. Not to pretend I didn’t see. But because stopping would have drawn attention to it, would have broken the spell — and I knew, somehow, she needed the spell to keep going. Just a little longer.

So I gave her that.

I let the words come soft and steady, even though my throat was starting to ache.

Even though my hands had gone clammy from the warmth of Maddie’s weight.

Even though my whole chest felt like it might split open if she looked at me like that for one more second.

And in between the pages, in between Maddie’s tiny whispers and occasional gasps, I thought about how it felt to sit here like this — with one of them against me, and the other quietly falling apart beside me, and both of them staying.

“And they all lived happily ever after… The end.”

My voice faltered slightly on the last word. Not enough for Maddie to notice — but enough for me to feel it.

It landed heavy in my chest. Not because of the line itself, but because I meant it. In that fragile, irrational way you mean things when you know they might not last. I wanted them to live happily ever after. Not the characters — us. Them. Me. This.

“I love it!” Maddie squealed, practically bouncing in my lap. “It’s my favorite book ever!”

She turned and threw her arms around my middle without warning, squeezing me so tight it knocked a breath out of me. She smelled like grass and cake and sunscreen. Her cheek was warm against my shirt.

I wrapped an arm around her carefully, trying not to let my hand shake.

“I’m glad,” I murmured. “It’s yours to keep.”

“I’m gonna read it every night,” she promised, pulling back just enough to look up at me. “But you have to read it again. At bedtime.”

Before I could answer, Y/N finally spoke — her voice quiet and a little hoarse.

“Baby, maybe Spencer’s tired…”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

Her eyes were still watery, but she’d wiped the tears away. Her hand was curled over her knee, knuckles pale from holding tension she hadn’t let out yet. But her expression — God, her expression — it was something I wasn’t sure I had the vocabulary for.

She looked at me like I’d done something irreversible.

And maybe I had.

Because nothing would ever be the same after this. Not for me. Not for her. Not for the three of us. No matter what happened tomorrow, or next week, or in a year — this would always be the moment everything changed.

I swallowed. Hard.

“If it’s okay,” I said, voice lower than usual, “I can stay for bedtime. Just for a little while.”

Maddie cheered.

Y/N didn’t say anything.

But she nodded once. Soft. Like she was afraid her voice might betray her.

And then she reached for the book — not to take it from me, but just to touch the cover. Her thumb moved over the illustration like she was still making sure it was real.

Her hand brushed mine.

Neither of us moved.

And for a second, I thought she might say something. Something big. Something that would make the ache in my chest snap wide open.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she looked down and whispered, “Thank you.”

And I think that might’ve ruined me more than anything else could have.

By the time we got back to the apartment, Maddie was trailing behind us like a balloon losing helium — crown in hand, glitter on her cheeks, book clutched to her chest like something sacred.

Spencer held the door open for us without saying anything. He hadn’t said much since we left the park, but his silence didn’t feel cold. It felt… full. Like there was too much inside him to spill out all at once.

And honestly? I understood the feeling.

Maddie padded inside first, holding the book close to her chest like she was afraid someone might take it. Her crown had been removed with care, cradled under her arm like a stuffed animal. There was frosting still crusted near her ear, and her eyes were a little sleepy now — that sweet, softened calm she always got after something big and exciting.

“Alright, birthday girl,” I said, crouching next to her. “Shoes off, book on the couch, and go take a quick shower while I make some dinner, okay?”

She pouted immediately, that tiny lip wobble she knew could sometimes buy her five extra minutes.

“But I wanted to read it again…”

“You can,” I said gently, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “After dinner. And after your shower. Deal?”

She hesitated. Then gave a tiny nod, already kicking off her shoes. “Deal.”

She walked past Spencer on her way to the bathroom and tilted her head up just long enough to whisper, “You’re gonna eat with us?”

“If it’s okay with your mom,”

She didn’t wait for my answer. Just gave him a quick smile and padded down the hallway, still holding the book tight to her chest instead of leaving it at the couch like Y/N said. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut, and the apartment felt suddenly quieter. Still warm — but quieter.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen for a beat, not moving. I could feel him behind me, standing near the table, probably trying to figure out whether he should sit down or hover or offer to help. I didn’t turn around.

Instead, I reached for the soup cans. My hands were steady, but my chest wasn’t.

The truth was, I didn’t want him to leave.

And that thought — so quiet, so sharp — made everything inside me ache.

“I have tomato or chicken noodle,” I said eventually, keeping my tone light.

Behind me, I heard him shift, finally taking the seat closest to the window.

“I’ll eat whatever Maddie likes.”

I smiled to myself. “That wasn’t the question.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I like tomato. But only if there’s grilled cheese.”

“There’s no grilled cheese,” I said, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Just soup and me.”

His gaze met mine. “That’s enough.”

Something in my stomach twisted, low and hot. I turned back to the stove before he could see what that did to me.

Still, I’m pretty sure the silly smile on my face was beyond obvious.

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese with it,” I said softly, setting the pan on the burner. “I’m sure Maddie would appreciate one too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” I murmured, buttering the bread. “But I want to.”

He didn’t say anything after that, but I could feel it again — that silent shift in the air, like he was about to say something and thought better of it. Like my answer had pressed on something he wasn’t ready to let move.

I dropped the slices into the pan and listened to the sizzle.

There was something grounding in the sound. Something normal. And yet nothing about this felt normal.

Spencer was sitting at my kitchen table like it wasn’t strange. Like we did this all the time. It wasn’t the first time we had spent time together in my home, or even the first time he was here late at night. In fact, he stayed the night the other day. Still, The domesticity of it wrapped around me so tightly, I almost forgot how rare it was.

“I’m glad you came,” I said, barely loud enough to be heard over the crackle of butter.

A pause.

“I’m glad you invited me,” he replied.

When I glanced back at him, his face was all soft lines and careful eyes. Not guarded, exactly — just like he was trying to memorize the way this felt. Like he didn’t want to risk breaking it by being too loud.

The grilled cheese hissed in the pan as I flipped it, the crust already golden.

I focused on the sandwich, but my mind was elsewhere. On the fact that he hadn’t hesitated when I asked him to stay. On the way he’d looked at Maddie like she was the center of something. On the way he looked at me now.

And I didn’t know what to do with all that softness, except pretend I wasn’t afraid of how badly I wanted it to stay.

I placed sandwich after sandwich on the plates, moving carefully, like rushing might shatter the quiet between us. Three grilled cheeses, sliced on the diagonal — the only correct way, according to Maddie — and set alongside three small bowls of tomato soup.

The smell filled the kitchen. Warm, nostalgic. Familiar in a way that felt foreign to me.

Spencer helped without asking, lifting two of the plates and carrying them to the table like he’d done it before. Like he’d done it here before. He didn’t ask where the napkins were. Didn’t need to. He just moved like someone who wanted to help, like someone who paid attention.

I watched him for a second, standing there in the soft yellow kitchen light, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, eyes scanning for where to set things down.

It made something in my chest pull tight.

Once everything was set, we paused — both of us hovering just slightly, neither sitting yet.

All that was left to do was wait for Maddie.

And then, softly, he spoke.

“You were crying.”

I turned toward him slowly.

It wasn’t an accusation. There was no edge to it. Just a quiet observation, spoken carefully, like he didn’t want to scare the truth back into hiding.

I let the words settle. Didn’t rush to explain. Then I gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was.”

He didn’t press. He just looked at me like he was listening, even in his silence.

“I’m sorry I made you cry…”

“It wasn’t you, Spence,” I chuckled. How could he possibly think that he made me cry? I mean he did, but not in the way he made it sound.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over my chest. “It caught me off guard, I guess. What you did for her.”

He tilted his head slightly, not quite understanding.

I paused. Swallowed.

“I’ve spent so long trying to protect her from disappointment. From people who come close but don’t stay. I didn’t expect you to make space for her so easily. I didn’t expect it to matter this much.”

The room was still. The kind of still that only happens when something important has been said out loud.

He didn’t respond, not right away. But he didn’t look away, either.

I let out a soft breath. “I think I cried because I wasn’t ready for how good it felt.”

There was more I could’ve said. About how scared I was. About how easy it was becoming to picture him in this kitchen, at this table, beside us. About how I didn’t know what to do with that kind of softness.

But before I could say anything else, the sound of the bathroom door creaked open. Light footsteps padded into the hall.

Then, in a singsong voice, “I smell grilled cheeeeese!”

Maddie’s curls were damp and a little frizzy from the towel wrap. Her pajama shirt was slightly crooked, one sleeve tugged higher than the other. She made a beeline for the touch to get her new book. She held it under one arm like it was her most prized possession. 

She didn’t notice the way Spencer straightened when she entered. Or the way I quickly wiped my thumb under my eye even though no tears had fallen.

She just smiled.

And just like that, the moment folded itself away — quiet, unspoken, unfinished, but not forgotten.

“Just for you, Birthday Girl.”

Dinner passed in the soft way things sometimes do after big emotions — like the air had shifted just enough to slow us all down.

Maddie swung her feet under the table, one hand gripping her spoon while the other cradled the edge of her book, which sat beside her like a fourth guest. She insisted on placing it there — open to her favorite page, The final page where Fairy Princess Maddie, Wizard Spencer, and Queen Y/N, lived happily ever after in the magic star castle. She kept glancing down at it like she needed to remind herself it was real.

Spencer didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His presence alone did more than words ever could. Every time Maddie laughed, he smiled like it caught him off guard. Like joy still surprised him. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to sit at this table, next to this little girl who adored him, across from me.

I barely ate. I pushed soup around in the bowl, took a few bites of sandwich, nodded along to Maddie’s monologue about her next birthday party even though this one wasn’t over yet. My body was here, but my head… my head was somewhere else entirely.

I kept stealing glances at him — not on purpose, not at first. But every time he laughed under his breath, or offered Maddie the last triangle of sandwich without being asked, I felt that ache come back. The one I thought I had under control.

It wasn’t even the grand gestures that did it. It wasn’t the book, though that nearly broke me. It was the small things. The way he listened like everything Maddie said mattered. The way he helped clean up with barely a word, quietly rinsing her cup in the sink like it was just second nature. The way he didn’t just make space for her in his world — he stepped into ours without rearranging a single thing.

I watched him from across the table and thought, not for the first time, I don’t know how I got here. Not in the sad way. In the way that felt a little like wonder, and a little like falling.

I’d been so careful with us. So slow. So guarded.

And yet tonight, despite having recognized these feelings already, everything inside me felt loosened. Warm. Lit up in places I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

When dinner ended, Maddie leaned her head against my arm and yawned — big and dramatic and half-fake, her version of a bedtime alarm.

“Come on,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go get cozy.”

“I get to sleep with you tonight,” she reminded me, already sliding off her chair. “You promised.”

“I remember,” I said, brushing a crumb from her cheek. “Go pick a movie. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall, dragging her book behind her — the corner of it catching softly against the carpet, a rhythm I’d come to know as hers. The sound faded, replaced by the quiet hum of my apartment and the slight creak of Spencer shifting his weight behind me.

I didn’t move at first.

Neither did he.

There was something fragile about the stillness. Something holy. Like if we spoke too loudly, we might wake whatever spell had settled between us. So I just stood there, watching the empty hallway, feeling the pulse of everything I hadn’t said buzzing just beneath my skin.

Eventually, I turned.

He was already looking at me.

Not in a casual way — not like someone politely waiting to be excused. It was the kind of look you give when you’re trying to memorize a room you know you have to leave. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but his shoulders were tense, like he couldn’t decide whether to stay grounded or float away.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said, my voice too quiet, too careful.

He nodded once. Said nothing. And we walked, slowly, side by side.

The apartment felt different with him in it, even in silence. Or maybe it was me that felt different — like the gravity had shifted, like I was carrying too much of something unnamed in my chest. I could still hear Maddie singing softly to herself in the background, flipping through the movie drawer like it was her life’s purpose. It should’ve anchored me.

It didn’t.

At the front door, we both hesitated.

He didn’t reach for the knob. I didn’t move to open it. We just stood there, two people orbiting something neither of us had named yet. The light from the kitchen spilled out behind him, catching in the soft gold of his hair, turning it warm. And for the first time all evening, I let myself really look at him.

His profile was lit in this quiet, reverent glow — like a portrait half-painted in shadow. His lashes cast soft arches under his eyes, his mouth slightly parted, like he’d started to say something and forgotten how. His tie was loose now, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from the long day, and I knew he probably hated that. But I loved it. I loved that he wasn’t perfect here. That he let himself be here.

And God, he looked tired.

Not in a way that made me feel sorry for him — in a way that made me ache.

Because I knew that kind of tired. The kind you wear in your bones. The kind you don’t speak about. And still, there he was — here, with us, helping clean up after a four-year-old’s birthday party and smiling like it was the most important thing he’d done all day.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes finding mine again. “For what?”

“For showing up.”

He looked like he wanted to respond. Like there were a dozen things he might say, and none of them were coming out right. But he didn’t look away.

I stepped closer without meaning to.

It was small — just a shift in the natural pull of something soft and magnetic — but it was enough. I felt the air change. Felt it thicken between us.

He didn’t move back.

And now that I was closer, I could see more.

The faint stubble under his jaw. The small scar at the side of his neck. The way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides like he was holding something in, or holding something back.

I thought of everything he was. His quiet. His gentleness. His wild, unfocused thoughts and how hard he worked to harness them. The way he made space for Maddie, not like it was a duty, but like it was joy. The way he listened to me. The way he saw me.

His heart was the kind that didn’t ask to be held — but you held it anyway, just by being near it.

I couldn’t stop myself.

Another step. Closer.

I was close enough now to feel his breath, to see the way his chest rose and fell, steady but slow. His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second. Just one. And then back to my eyes.

Neither of us said a word.

And then I reached up — gentle, hesitant, like I was afraid to break him — and pressed my lips to his.

It was soft.

Not desperate. Not rushed.

Just a quiet, trembling kind of reverence.

The kind of kiss you give someone who doesn’t know how much you already love them.

It probably lasted about a second, maybe less, but to me it felt like a lifetime.

Unfortunately, things like this — moments this good — never stay too long for me.

I had once again gotten too close to the light, and I got burnt.

He pulled away.

Not with care. Not with hesitation. It was sharp — immediate. Like his body had acted before his mind caught up, like the panic shot through him faster than reason could. He stumbled back a step, breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with something that looked far too much like fear.

“Y/N…” he said, and just the sound of it — my name on his lips, weighted with hesitation — made my heart twist. The tone wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t reassuring or curious or kind. It was startled. Shaken. Like the ground had moved under him and he couldn’t quite find his balance again.

And that was all it took.

The warmth that had been building between us, slow and sacred, crumbled in an instant. It fell away like something I had made up, something that only lived in my head. One second I had been standing in it — in the glow of what felt like a real thing — and the next, I was outside of it. Locked out.

My throat went dry. My body filled with that awful, sinking heat that always followed embarrassment — not anger, not even sadness yet, just humiliation. My voice barely made it through the wall that suddenly existed between us.

“Sorry,” I said, so quietly I wasn’t sure if it was sound or breath.

I felt it leave me. A word so small it hurt. My apology, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong — but what else was there to offer? There was no way to undo the kiss. No way to forget what I had just felt. And no way to unsee the way he’d pulled back from it like it had burned him.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t explain. He didn’t soften the blow. He just stood there, frozen in that moment, eyes wide, mouth parted, saying nothing. And the longer the silence stretched between us, the more that nothing turned into something. It turned into rejection. It turned into confirmation. It turned into of course.

I blinked a few times, trying to ground myself, to push the heat out of my eyes before it turned into tears. I stepped back because it was the only direction I could go. The only way to give him space that he clearly needed. I tried to think of something to say that would make it okay, something light or dismissive or forgiving, but I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t also break me.

“I should check on Maddie,” I said, and I didn’t mean it as an escape. I meant it as a shield. As the only thing I could offer to excuse myself from standing there and watching the distance grow wider and wider with every breath he didn’t take toward me.

But I couldn’t just walk away. I had to wait. I had to be sure he left.

He finally moved toward the door, and I followed — not closely, but enough to make it clear I was seeing him out. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t touch me. He just reached for the knob and stepped out into the hallway like he was leaving the scene of a mistake.

The door shut behind him with a finality that made my skin prickle. I stood still for a moment, blinking at it, trying to breathe through the way my body felt like it had been hollowed out.

Then I reached for the lock.

My hand stayed on it longer than it should have. The bolt slid into place with a click, and I stared at the door like maybe it would open again. Like maybe he’d come back. But nothing moved. Nothing changed. He was gone.

I leaned forward, forehead against the cool wood, and exhaled.

It was the kind of exhale that felt like a surrender — a quiet release of something I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto all day. Hope, maybe. Or just the belief that I wasn’t alone in this. That he’d felt it, too.

Apparently not.

Apparently, I’d misread everything.

Maybe I was wrong at the planetarium. He did mean the clean cut of we’re not a family.

No matter what was actually going on in his brain, the result was the same.

He was gone.

And I was standing here, my lips still tingling, my chest aching, trying not to fall apart before I made it back to my daughter.

I didn’t even let myself wipe my eyes. I just turned away from the door, every step down the hall slow and heavy. The sound of cartoons echoed faintly from my bedroom. Maddie was waiting. She had no idea anything had happened. And she didn’t need to.

So I straightened my spine. I walked.

Because if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s pretend I’m okay when someone walks away.

Previous Chapter |

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[patchwork-crow-writes]

Hello, certified ralsei-niac! What a title, lol.

Ralsei's hat has always felt like a representation of his isolation. He wore it all through chapter 1, and at the end when he tried to tell Kris and Susie how he felt, ended up hiding in it and making himself hard to hear- he's used to being all on his own, and that made it hard for him to be open with his friends. That is, until Susie called him out on it.

He doesn't wear the hat in subsequent chapters, but it is still brought up- first, the hat rack tells him it will be there when he needs it again, but when we return to castle town in chapter 4, it's missing. It's like the part of Ralsei that was bracing itself for the time when he's inevitably abandoned again, is no longer in the forefront of his mind.

Of course, I'm sure there will come a point where he has to confront his insecurities and whatever the prophecy entails. When that happens I wonder if the hat will make another appearance. What do you think?

Well, given my terminal Ralsei fixation, you can't say it's not accurate XD

Ralsei's hat is so interesting to me, anon. It serves so many character and story functions - it's a way to disguise his appearance from Kris and Susie, it's a visual shorthand for his social anxiety... and I also believe it was designed to promote debate amongst fans. Debate about which Ralsei is "better", or perhaps even which is "truer" to his character - as if they are two entirely separate beings. That's so interesting, isn't it?

Before Chapter 3 and 4, the case could be made that Ralsei's "Boss Monster" appearance was just another layer to his disguise, a way to ingratiate himself with Kris and Susie better, while his hatted form, being more visually unique and distinct, was actually closer to his "true" form as a being of darkness. This was a really interesting line on inquiry to go down, and I do think there's still some merit to it... but the revelation that Ralsei actually likes and prefers his current appearance, going so far as to identify it as "his" face, completely turns it all on its head.

Because who should get to decide what Ralsei's "true" form is, except for Ralsei himself?

The coat-rack darkner losing Ralsei's hat in Chapter 4 feels significant, particularly as Ralsei comes to question and assert his nascent identity more and more. Like a maladaptive coping mechanism, his hat once served a function, allowing him to interact with Kris and Susie while keeping himself somewhat "protected" in case things went awry. But that same protection was also a barrier, preventing him from being fully known by them - as you point out, he mumbles into it, making him hard to hear. And it isn't until Susie prompts him that he eventually takes it all the way off.

That isn't to say, of course, that the hat may not make a comeback in a future chapter. But people's joy at seeing his behatted sprites again might be short-lived as they realise it symbolises a regression of character and confidence, more than it does a simple palette swap. Which, when considered in this light, makes the case for a "toggle" between hatted and unhatted Ralsei somewhat cruel and counter to his development as his own person.

My opinion is now that Ralsei's appearance is tied to how he himself wishes to look, and that fact alone imparts truth to it. It will be the face he chooses to wear when it comes time to take a proper stand against the forces trying to control him and his friends. That doesn't make Hatsei less valid as an aspect of his identity - as I mentioned, that hat served an important purpose for him when he needed it to, and may yet serve it again. But that's his decision to make - not ours.