#not me being like i got too deep on this last set of answers. and immediately doing it again

[lonelyroommp3]

25, 26, 28!

25. name a song that makes you think about someone you love

i got FAR too deep on that last set of answers so i feel like if i continue by bringing out a proper earnest serious lovey dovey answer about very nice love songs i actually associate with my beautiful wonderful girlfriend i will magically explode into a pile of goo or something. so i will keep those secrets for myself and instead say that when we were in ireland together we spent half the time crafting an increasingly incomprehensible parody of guess by charli xcx based entirely on our various (already inscrutable to anybody but us) injokes & the assortment of tumblr posts we were obsessed with quoting that week until the entire song was reduced to pure nonsensical gibberish. now we can easily drive each other to instant insanity by just texting each other the words "you wanna THIS"

26. name a song that makes you think about someone you don't like

picture this, it's the final project of my masters degree, i'm paired with one other musical direction student to assist on the MA musical theatre showcases (format: everybody picks two songs - either 2 musical theatre songs or one MT and one pop song - and a monologue and gets those taped; the accompaniment was split between us and the professional MD leading the project). the professional MD in question is a guy i already have beef with because i found him really hard to read and i also found his teaching & mentorship style deeply patronising. i had a panic attack halfway through the process and went and cried to the course leader about how much i hated this guy & he literally emailed him telling him to be nicer to me. it didn't work because literally the day we were due to film he randomly reassigned two of my pop songs to the other student MD, with no explanation other than the implication that i wasn't playing them well enough for whatever reason. and now to this day i cannot listen to "since u been gone" or "havana" without flying off the fucking handle thinking about this injustice

28. name a song (or a few songs) that would need to be included in a movie about your life

following on from the previous ask's chat about me and my veritable fetish for Big Starting Over Moments, i think practically every era of my life has had at least one Big Starting Over Moment Song that i've taken on as my personal theme tune. of course, the combination of massive ambition and even more massive insecurity just means a lot of this is going to be family jewels era marina and the diamonds, and hand on heart, i think it's probably been about 10 years on the trot that i have viewed are you satisfied? as the overarching theme song of my life. you can really tell how much i'm going through it based on where this falls in my spotify wrapped each year (the higher the better, bc that means i'm at least daydreaming in earnest about getting out of a rut. it uh, did not feature last year.)

during my masters degree i discovered another song that fits this brief, and which i still absolutely adore, new mood by LPX. those opening guitars get me so instantly hyped every time

and FINALLY, a new entry, and a particularly brutal callout from the spotify algorithm - as mentioned i was listening to fires by nerina pallot for the first time the other day, and it was just slightly too short to cover my entire commute to work. which meant that as i was walking the final three minutes between the station and the church, the album radio threw this little gem at me, and i really felt right there and then like maddy euphoria realising this fucking play is about us

[slut4megantheestallion]

The Boob Curse || ryomen sukuna x f! reader

Summary: You're just watching tv, but sukuna is too busy being obsessed with your boobs.

Warnings ⚠️: fluff, crackfic, sukuna being a menace, boob obsession, groping, squeezing, staring,(consensual but annoying)

A/N: bored asf, and this was randomly in my head, so I just had to do it, I feel like sukuna would probably do this 😭)

It was supposed to be a normal night. You were curled up on the couch, watching TV, minding your business like a responsible adult. The soft glow of the screen cast a warm light over the dimly lit living room, and everything was peaceful.

Or at least, it should have been, but no.

Because Sukuna was staring, not at the TV, not at your face, but your boobs.

You could feel it - his intense, burning gaze boring into your chest like he was trying to set your cleavage on fire through sheer willpower.

At first, you ignored it. Because, whatever. Sukuna was a menace- staring was just part of his personality, but then it got worse.

His arm, which had previously been resting along the back of the couch, inched lower.

And lower.

And-

A large, calloused hand suddenly grabbed a handful of your chest.

You froze.

Sukuna didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. If anything, he looked fascinated- thumb lazily tracing over the exposed lace of your bra, fingers sinking into your soft flesh like he was testing something.

"...Sukuna."

He didn't answer. Just gave your boob a slow squeeze.

"SUKUNA."

"Yeah?" He hummed.

You turned your head to glare at him, boob still in his grasp. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sukuna blinked like the answer was obvious. "Holding them."

"WHY?!"

A pause. Then, completely deadpan:

"Because they're there."

You smacked his arm, but the bastard did not let go.

Instead, he gave them another experimental squeeze, tilting his head like he was analyzing their weight, like some kind of perverted scientist.

"Huh," he muttered.

You narrowed your eyes. "What do you mean, 'huh'?"

"They're... nice."

You gasped. "EXCUSE ME?!"

Sukuna had the audacity to chuckle. "Soft. Bouncy. Good shape. Yeah, I approve."

"Oh, wow, thank you, Your Highness," you deadpanned. "So honored to have the King of Curses boob approval."

"You should be."

You were about to lose it.

"Okay, you've had your fun. Let go."

Sukuna did not let go.

In fact, he gave them another squeeze. Like a damn stress ball.

"Hmm."

You snapped.

"STOP ANALYZING THEM LIKE YOU'RE WRITING A DAMN RESEARCH PAPER!"

Sukuna snickered but still didn't let go. His other hand came up and cupped the other one, like he was trying to compare.

THIS. WAS. INSANE.

"Sukuna, I swear to GOD-"

"What?" He said lazily, finally looking at your face. "You wear that tiny ass top, boobs practically spilling out, and expect me to do nothing?"

You gawked. "Yes?? Like s normal, civilized person??"

Sukuna gave you a long, slow blink.

Then, with absolute confidence, he said:

"Yeah, see, I'm not a civilized person."

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. "You're a literal curse, a walking massacre, The King of Destruction, and yet -" You motioned aggressively to his hands, still attached to your chest. "-THIS is what you're obsessed with?!"

Sukuna shrugged. "I'm a man of culture."

You wanted to die.

"Sukuna."

"Hm?"

"Let. Go."

Another long squeeze.

"No."

You grabbed his wrist, trying to pry his hands off. He didn't budge. The bastard just watches you struggle, looking amused, like you were some cute little weakling fighting for survival.

Finally, he sighed dramatically and leaned in, voice low, deep, amused.

"Alright, fine," he murmured, smirking. "I'll let go."

Relief flooded you until he gave one last squeeze.

A long, deliberate, slow one.

"For now."

You gasped in betrayal. "YOU-"

Sukuna leaned back, arms now resting behind his head, looking relaxed as if he hadn't just spent the last five minutes groping you like some horny teenage boy.

You, on the other hand, sat there stunned. Offended. VIOLATED.

"I hate you," you grumbled, crossing your arms - only to immediately uncross them when you realized that pushed your boobs up even more.

Sukuna snickered. "No, you don't."

"YES, I DO."

He glanced at you again - eyes dropping immediately to your cleavage.

You caught him.

"SUKUNA."

"What?"

"STOP LOOKING."

He smirked. "Not my fault they're out."

Your eyes twitched. "You are the WORST."

"Mm." He stretched, looking completely unbothered. "You say that, but you haven't moved away."

You opened your mouth- then closed it. Because damn it, he was right, and he knew it.

Smug Bastard.

Sukuna chuckled again, pulling you into his lap like you weighed nothing. He rested his chin on your shoulder, arms looping around your waist, his warm breath ghosting against your ear.

"You're lucky you're cute," he muttered.

Your face heated. "I- WHAT?"

He just grinned against your skin, voice dripping with amusement.

"Relax, brat. You're my favorite."

You huffed, still pouting, but let yourself sink into his arms anyway.

But you were still mad.

[sai-int]

[ pt 1 ] fwb!simon pt 2

--

you blink at him. once, twice, four times over, trying to make sense of the words he just said.

i’m in love with ya.

the words hang heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on.

“oh,” is all you manage at first. then, when the silence stretches too long and he’s still looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something, hoping for something—you force yourself to shake your head.

“simon, i’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, careful. “but i don’t feel the same way.”

you think saying it plainly will be best, will make it hurt less. but you watch his face, watch as the flicker of something in his eyes dims, and you realize there’s no easy way to crush a man like him.

he merely shrugs. nods. like you just told him it’s going to rain later.

so you nod, too, because what else can you do? you reach for your shirt, slipping it back over your head, shimmying into your shorts with hands that shake just a little. the silence is unbearable now, a thick, suffocating thing, and it only gets worse when you clear your throat and ask, barely above a whisper—

“do you want me to leave?”

his answer comes immediately. “yeah.”

you freeze for a second, embarrassment creeping up your spine, then you nod again (you’ve seriously got to stop just nodding) and scurry out of his room and to his front door, yanking it open and slipping out into the hallway. your heart is in your throat, your face burning as you rush across the hall to your own apartment, slamming the door shut behind you before pressing your back against it.

fuck.

fuck, that was so embarrassing.

you spend the night drowning in self-pity, staring at the ceiling as everything replays over and over in your head like a bad movie you can’t turn off.

why didn’t you stop it sooner? why didn’t you shut it down the second he started calling you baby instead of slut? why didn’t you flinch when he pressed his forehead to yours, when his hands stopped gripping and Çstarted holding?

you didn’t just let it happen—you basked in it. soaked it up like a sponge, let it fill you—let him fill you—and now you can’t tell if that was just muscle memory, a latent yet insatiable reaction to being wanted, or if it actually meant something.

fuck, if you weren’t already embarrassed, that would do it.

meanwhile, across the hall, simon doesn’t sprial. doesn’t even wallow in the face of rejection.

he pours himself two fingers of his finest bourbon, sits back on his couch, and sparks up a cig. inhales deep, lets the smoke curl through his lungs before exhaling slow.

he's got a plan.

the next evening, your phone buzzes.

simon: come over. door’s open.

you stare at the message for a long minute, heart thudding, stomach twisting itself into knots. this is it. this is where he tells you it’s over, where he curses you out for being a selfish cunt, for leading him on, for taking all he gave without giving anything back.

and you deserve it.

so you brace yourself, tugging on a light sweater, slipping into your shoes. every step across the hall feels heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing outside his apartment, you have to take a deep breath before pressing your palm to the door.

you push it open.

instead of anger, instead of harsh words or something hauled at your head, you’re met with the warm, rich scent of something cooking.

what the fuck?

your brows pinch together as you step in deeper, looking around cautiously. “simon?”

no answer, but then you see him—standing at the small table in the center of his apartment, just finishing setting it. two plates, two glasses, candles flickering dimly in the low light.

what the actual fuck?

your stomach drops. maybe he poisoned the food. maybe this is how you’ll die.

“what’s going on?” you ask, wary, eyeing the plates like they might explode.

simon pulls out a chair. just looks at you, waiting.

you hesitate, then slowly pad over and sit. your hands fold in your lap, your throat feels tight.

he lowers himself into the chair across from you, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

he watches you.

you both eat in silence.

the only sounds are the soft clinks of silverware against plates, the occasional scrape of a chair as one of you shifts. you force out a weak, “this is good,” because it is—really, it is—but also because the silence is suffocating.

simon just grunts. keeps eating.

so you do too. fork to plate, bite after bite. the food is great, but you barely taste it past the tight knot in your throat.

when you're both done, he wordlessly stands, gathering the plates and taking them to the sink. you watch him move—watch the way his muscles ripple under his fitted t-shirt, the way his blond hair is perpetually tousled, the way his face, bare of any mask, is set in quiet concentration as he rinses the dishes.

you don't even realize you're staring until—

thwap.

you flinch as he flicks your forehead, his thumb and middle finger snapping against your skin just hard enough to jolt you back to reality. you blink up at him, startled, as he stands in front of you, hand extended.

you hesitate, then slip your fingers into his.

he pulls you up, and before you can register it, he's on you—his hands firm on your waist, his lips swallowing yours entirely

you squeal at first, but his lips are so soft, so sweet and full of something heavy, something deep.

you melt into him.

and that's just stage one of simon's plan, to woo you.

that night he fucks you so good you can’t even think about leaving his bed, let alone moving. He splits you open on his cock, ravishing you to the nines. he takes his time, makes you feel it, makes sure you can feel every ounce of his devotion each time he makes you cum (6 times in one night, a new record)

by the time he's done, you're ruined. wrecked in the best way possible

when morning comes, you're knocked, body heavy and sore, limbs tangled in his sheets. you don’t even stir when he rolls out of bed, grabs your phone from where you dropped it the night before.

he types out a quick message to your boss

you: sorry, got covid. can’t come in for two weeks.

sent—delivered—read—probably fired, too (you won’t be needing a job with him around, silly)

you shift slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but you don’t wake.

simon smirks to himself, tossing your phone onto the nightstand.

(don’t ask how he knows your passcode)

stage two is integration.

the next time beckons you over to his place, you notice something’s… off.

your favorite coffee beans are sitting next to his cheap instant shit. your shampoo, your conditioner, your body wash—all neatly lined up in his shower. there’s a hoodie you thought the building’s dryer must’ve gobbled up weeks ago, just neatly folded on his dresser. The chapstick he’s tasted on your lips countless times now sits atop his bedside table.

you blink at the sight of it all, brows furrowed. you pick up the chapstick, turning to him with a questioning look.

he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“figured you’d be 'round more often,” he says, completely casual, completely simon about it.

like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you’ve already signed a lease and are moving in next month (you are, you just don’t know it yet, doll).

you should argue. you should tell him ‘no, we’re not doing this’, but you don’t. instead, you swipe the chapstick over your lips, put it back where you found it, and pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you the whole time.

he smirks to himself, taking your silence for what it is. acceptance.

stage three of his plan? move out!

oh, but not him. 

you wake in your bed (for once) to find simon standing in front of your dresser.

your dresser.

he’s holding one of your shirts—some thin, worn-out thing you only sleep in—twisting the fabric between his fingers.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy when you ask, “what the hell are you doing?”

he doesn’t even turn around. “doin’ you a favor.”

“a favor,” you repeat, voice flat.

he glances at you over his shoulder. “yeah. consolidating.”

and that’s when you notice—your drawers are open, half-empty, your closet missing key pieces. your things are gone.

panic flares in your chest. you throw the blankets off, stomp over to him, grab the shirt from his hands. "simon. where the fuck is my stuff?"

he shrugs, completely unbothered. "my place."

“your—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath, hands clenched into fists.

“figured it’d be easier this way,” he continues, like he’s explaining something obvious. “y'know, since y’spend all your time there anyway.”

you gape at him, dumbfounded. “you stole my shit?”

he tilts his head, considering. “nah,” he says finally. “just moved it.”

“without asking me.”

he steps closer, towering over you, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing.

“would you ‘ave said no?”

you want to say yes. you should say yes.

but the truth is, you don’t know. because when you think about it, when you really think about it—you never liked sleeping alone. never liked waking up to an empty bed.

and simon—your simon—he knows that. knows you better than you know yourself.

so instead of arguing, instead of pushing him away, you let him tip your chin up with two fingers.

“mine. got that, pet?,” he murmurs.

you nod.

{ people that expressed interest/taglist }

@pyxrin @xxrsi @skeletonsucker @spaceinvadernelly @coeurbrule @forgotmypasswordagain

[callieisto]

This is Kali’s fault. @killakalx

Minors Dni- includes. Slight dirty talk? But? Loving?, marking, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, cumming inside, kind of sappy pillow talk, dom!Clark, fem!reader

Clark Kent is strong enough to pick you up and use you like a fleshlight. He doesn’t, usually, because that’s mean and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you or anything.

But there are rare occasions, when he’s had enough of being Superman, when he’s had enough of being Clark Kent, where he lets himself tap into those desires to just… use you.

He’s got you pinned to the wall of his apartment, feet not even scraping the floor, his tongue so deep in your mouth you swear he’s trying to make you choke on it. (Doesn’t help that his is a little bit longer than a normal person’s, and his sharp little fangs don’t help much either.) He’s holding you up by your waist, his grip bruising, and when he pulls back he’s out of breath.

“I need you,” he whispers, and it’s the last semblance of a boyfriend who’s gentle or careful with you that you’re going to get for a few hours. His glasses are askew, his hair is ruffled, his shirt has already been halfway unbuttoned thanks to your wandering hands. “Please.”

When you say “okay”, he’s on you faster than he’s ever been on anything in his life. Ripping your shirt down the middle- your bra, too- he’s setting you down on unsteady feet before basically attacking your chest, biting and sucking his way down your body, coming to where the hem of your pants hugs your waist before he stops. He looks up at you, blue eyes nearly eclipsed by his pupil, blown wide with arousal.

They flash gold when they catch the light.

Clark looks like a proper predator, and suddenly you understand why villains get all prickly when they’re dealing with Superman. He’s scary. Your sweet, loving boyfriend, who has never once even raised his voice at you, is downright terrifying.

“I can smell you,” he chokes out, and his voice is dark. Your pants are gone before you can even register his movements, and your underwear are also the unfortunate victims of his super strength. “Can hear your heart beating,” he breathes, a little laugh escaping him as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your stomach. “Your blood, I can… fuck…”

Aaaaand you’re suddenly on the couch, Clark is between your legs, and he’s eating you out like he’s never had a meal before in his life. Usually he’s careful, controlled, wants to make you feel good before anything else. But right now, he’s just hungry, and he’s getting more enjoyment out of your desperate attempts to squirm away from him and the noises you’re making more than anything else. He makes you cum three times while he mutters about how you’re ‘such a good girl’, and then he’s cradling your face in his hands, cooing at you while you come back down to earth.

“You prepped? Y’ready to take my dick, sweet girl?”

(His southern accent is thick; he looks and sounds drunk on you, chin covered in your slick, big blue eyes meeting yours.)

He doesn’t let you answer, mostly because he knows you can’t. And he knows his dick is huge- he goes slow, usually, but tonight he just needs to feel you cum on his cock otherwise he’ll go insane, he’ll go crazy.

Clark feels properly awful about how you’re already squirming and whining when he presses his tip at your entrance. He wants to do something, but then the tip slips in, and he’s gone.

He pushes in the rest of the way with a wet shlck, curling his body over yours so he can see the way your pussy looks speared on his cock. “Fuck.” He rumbles. “Look at you, taking me so deep. God, it’s like you’re made for it, made for me…”

He thrusts into you, keeping his forearm above your head to brace himself- when your hands curl around his bicep and squeeze all desperate, he blacks out for a second. When he wakes up again, you’re squealing, and he’s rubbing circles against your clit with his free hand, and you have some bite marks that are stark against your skin.

“Cum for me.” He begs, and his voice doesn’t even sound like his own. “Cum for me right now, I know y’can do it, I want you t’do it, you’ve been so good f’me, so fucking good, the best, taking me so deep and hard like it’s what you were made for- please give it t’me, darlin, please.”

When you sob all high and pretty and spasm on his dick, he feels like he’s seeing stars. Actually, it’s better than stars, because he’s just looking at you, at the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, at the red marks you leave when you dig your nails into his skin. Clark sees everything.

And then he cums, pushing deep inside, a choked gasp of your name dropping from his lips. He screws his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling in that cute way it does when he’s thinking. He moans low and just for you.

… when he comes back to his senses, you’re softly squirming under his weight, grumbling about how heavy he is. He pulls back- and out- watching with amazement as a bit of cum starts to trickle out. He barely resists the urge to follow it with his tongue, because he thinks you’d kill him.

“My sweet girl.” He croons instead, pressing soft kisses to your face. “So good, so pretty. Took me so amazingly.”

“You almost killed me,” you complain, pouting at him. “Women on this planet are not built to handle seven orgasms, Clark.”

He tilts his head. “I only remember four.” He says, raising an eyebrow. “… but I can make it seven, if you want. Really test the limits of the human body, y’know-”

You hit him in the side of the head with a throw pillow. He relents.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

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[monstersholygrail]

oh to be a mouse hybrid toyed with by a cat hybrid who just wants to see you squirm in every way

Ooh when the Cat Hybrid’s owners told him they were getting him a new little friend, you, a Mouse Hybrid were by far the last thing he was expecting.

He wanted another cat to mess with, to play with… to mate with. But he couldn’t stop himself from noticing your plump round form scurrying about the house or the constant skittish look in your eye as you surveyed your new home. Perhaps you would do.

From that day on he would terrorize you mercilessly. Chasing you around the around the house when your owners were gone, saying he was gonna devour you when he finally got his claws into you. Backing you into corners just to see the delicious terror in your eyes. Plopping his large form right on top of you so that you couldn’t escape him even as you scrambled desperately to get away.

It was never ending and as much as you wanted to say you hated it, it felt far too good. The Cat hybrid severely underestimated you, forgetting you too were a hybrid with all the same perks. You could smell his desire in the air every time he chased you. And you had grown addicted to the scent. To feel so wanted and yearned for, especially during the chase, nothing else could compare.

He would only ever mess with you when he felt like it so you figured you might need to give him a little push. Using yourself as bait you use your owners creaky stairs to your advantage. As soon as the first step creaks, the Cat hybrid’s head snaps up from where he’s perched. His eyes meet your wide ones for only a moment before you’re bolting down the stairs.

As soon as you hear the pounding of paws behind you, you smirk wickedly knowing your plan had worked. Cute little squeaks leave your mouth as you run throughout the house, narrowly trying to avoid being caught. He should’ve realized how much you like this. You’re much faster than him after all.

After rounding the next corner you wait a moment for him to catch up. Seeing a flash of fur and then you’re off. The Cat Hybrid pauses for a moment as he realizes what you had just done. What you’ve actually been doing this entire time.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he chases you at lightning speed. He’s catching up to you in no time and by the look of genuine alarm in your eye he knows this wasn’t a trick. Instead of his usual antics he pounces on you, sending you both tumbling to the floor.

“You messin’ with me, little mouse?” He growls in your ear, his body pinning you to the hard wood floor. You don’t even bother to squirm, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare up at him.

Before you can even blink he’s shoving his hand down your pants and swiping his fingers through your folds, your slick drenching them with how aroused you are. He chuckles lowly, rumbling purrs vibrating into your chest and straight to your core.

“So this has been a game to you, huh? A bit of foreplay before I inevitably snap and fuck you dumb.”

You find you can’t even answer, panting breaths escaping you as you rock with his hand that’s slowly rubbing against all the right places. He devilishly smiles and pushes two fingers deep inside you, causing your hips to jolt as you cry out.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve done it. I’ve snapped,” he says with a menacing snarl as he pumps his fingers roughly against your walls, his claws just barely scraping them and setting your nerves on fire.

You try and be as good as you can, staying perfectly still for him as he fucks you with his fingers, but your small reaction only seems to infuriate him further. He picks up pace, licking and nipping at your throat until you too break and your moans echo throughout the empty house. A secret smirk plays on lips.

That is until the Cat Hybrid plays a trick of his own. Pumping his fingers inside you, drawing you closer and closer till you’re just about to fall off that edge when he suddenly stops and withdraws. You whine, squirming now as you begin to beg for more.

“I see through you now, sweet prey. You won’t be winning this one.”

You only start to realize your mistake as he starts fucking you with his cock, the large length stretching you so good. The natural curve hitting the soft spot inside you perfectly. Then he starts doing to you exactly what he did with his fingers. Bringing you up to the edge and then pulling you right back.

He’s as merciless as he is when terrorizing you and in a way he’s doing just that but in a whole new way that drives you more insane than the chasing ever did. Eventually you’re a sobbing mess, your tears and your arousal forming two separate puddles on the floor with how in need you are right now as he starts up again.

You jump as the sudden sensation of his wet nose nuzzling into your neck, his purrs even louder now. You immediately cling to him, meeting his thrusts and trying to chase your growing orgasm before it’s taken away again.

“Do you think you’ve earned the right to cum for me now?” The Cat Hybrid asks and you whine, nodding rapidly.

You feel his grin against your skin before he pulls out and starts slamming his cock deep inside your cunt. His intent clear before he even says a word. But when he does it’s like music to your ears.

“I agree. Cum for me, mate.”

This time as you get closer and closer to the finish, he doesn’t stop. Instead, his hands slips down and rubs tight circles into your clit. Your orgasm breaks through almost instantly and you scream as you milk his cock for all it’s worth, sending him right into ecstasy with you.

But the sound of the car door doesn’t leave either of you much time to bask in pleasure coursing through you. Luckily the Cat hybrid takes the lead, maneuvering you both as he curls around you, keeping you stuffed full of his cock but hiding any of the evidence. You’re too weak to do anything but shift into how he molds you. Making it appear as if you two are asleep and cuddling in the hall.

“Aw, look at them. Finally getting along,” you hear your owners say who are none the wiser to what’s really going on.

Cat Hybrid bf rocks his hips, snapping them back inside you quietly and forcing a squeak from your throat. He chuckles under his breath and nuzzles into you, not planning on moving away from you for hours. Wondering how many more orgasms he can rip from your tight pussy.

[thebarneschronicles]

The Edge of Patience

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: You’re no stranger to the overprotective nature of your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes. After a heated argument about wanting to join him and Sam on their missions, you knowingly push his buttons until his patience snaps. What starts as a battle of wills turns into a raw, unrestrained encounter—punishing, heated, and entirely irresistible.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s note: This is my first Bucky Barnes fanfic, so bear with me. If you have any requests or ideas, please send them my way - I’d be happy to get my Bucky obsession out into more fics! B xx

The argument was still fresh, the tension lingering in the room like static electricity. I could feel it in the way Bucky was moving—too stiff, too deliberate—as he paced back and forth. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set, and his hands, one flesh and one metal, flexed and curled at his sides.

“You’re not doing this, doll,” he said, voice low and clipped.

“Why not?” I crossed my arms and met his glare head-on. “I’m not fragile, Bucky. I can handle myself.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” he snapped, stopping mid-stride to pin me with his icy stare. “You think this is some kind of game? You want to be in the middle of a firefight with me? With Sam? You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think you’re underestimating me.” I knew I was pushing him, testing the limits of his patience. But part of me wanted this, craved this. The way he tensed, the way his control slipped just a little when I got under his skin—it was intoxicating.

His nostrils flared, his teeth grinding audibly as he stepped closer. “You don’t listen. You never fucking listen.”

“Maybe if you actually talked to me like a partner instead of some porcelain doll, I’d have a reason to.”

His glare sharpened, and for a moment, I thought he might lose it completely. But instead, he took a deep breath, his jaw working furiously as he fought to reel himself back in.

“I’m done arguing about this,” he said finally, his voice dangerously calm. “Drop it.”

But I didn’t. Not until I saw that last thread of his control snap.

It happened fast after that.

We didn’t even make it to the bed. Bucky had me against the wall, one hand curled around my neck, the other tearing at the waistband of my pants. His grip was firm, just shy of too tight, and his metal fingers pressed cool and unyielding against my skin.

“This what you wanted, doll?” His voice was a low growl, and his breath was hot against my ear. “Is this why you were being a little brat?”

I gasped as he pushed my legs apart, his knee driving between my thighs to hold me steady.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he bit out, his hand tightening around my neck just enough to make my words falter. “You don’t get to play innocent now.”

He thrust into me hard and fast, no warning, no hesitation. My head fell back against the wall, a cry spilling from my lips as he set a punishing rhythm.

“This what you wanted?” he snarled, his metal hand sliding down to grip my hip, holding me in place as he drove into me again and again. “Wanted me to lose my patience, huh? Wanted to see how far you could push me?”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Every thrust knocked the air from my lungs, the sheer force of him overwhelming in the best, most torturous way.

“Look at you,” he growled, his hand leaving my hip to grip the back of my thigh, pulling my leg higher to angle me even closer. “You’re so fucking needy. You piss me off, and now you’re begging for it.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His grip on my throat tightened just enough to cut me off, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he watched my eyes flutter shut. “You like this. Don’t you, doll?”

I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as I struggled to find any sort of control. But he wasn’t giving me an inch.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word barely audible.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I like it.”

He rewarded me with a particularly brutal thrust, a sharp cry tearing from my throat. “That’s my girl,” he muttered darkly, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

The edge of his control was razor-thin, and I could feel it in every rough touch, every growled word. He wasn’t holding back, wasn’t pretending to be gentle. And God, it was perfect.

He fucked me like he was trying to prove a point, like he needed me to understand the consequences of pushing him too far. And maybe I did. But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat.

“Next time,” he said, his voice tight and low as he buried himself deep inside me, “think twice before you try to test me.”

I could only nod, my body trembling as he finally slowed, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

But I knew better than to make promises I couldn’t keep.

[itzpookiepooh]

I didnt know you did requestss, I love your writing so much! if it's not too much trouble, I'd love to see you write the guys' reaction to an mc who's just comically clueless? doesn't catch hints, and flirting goes over the head. even when they've already stablished a relationship, they still doesn't see it coming when the guys want a kiss or more and it always makes mc freeze for a sec like "ooh" and it's just funny. the lis have to very direct, its like mc is on loading screen 99% of the time lmao sorry if its complicated or too specific

Oh, Me!

Thank you so much! I got you don’t worry!

Caleb loves you he swears he does but you were just so clueless. Any advance he try you would not understand at all. He tried to kiss you you’d coincidentally move out of the way. If he tried to flirt you would laugh it off as if he was cracking a joke. Today he was planning on asking you out and everything had to be perfect…for his sake.

He set out a perfect dinner and wondered how to come about everything. You were ready to eat, you had been hungry all day especially since Caleb insisted that you don’t fill up on anything. You tapped your finger on the table waiting for the food to get here. Caleb was nervous practically sweating bullets.

“Hey pipsqueak…” He trails off placing a hand on the table. You turn to him fluttering your lashes with big clueless eyes.

“What’s up?” You ask, he gulps before answering, “I like you. I mean really like you.” His voice shaky with nerves.

“Well I’d hope so we grew up together.” You laugh and tap his hand playfully. He sighs, there you go again.

“No like I really like you like I want to be with you.” He explains both elbows now on the table as he does so. You blink at him still not getting it. Are you not together right now?

A dramatic sigh leaves Caleb as he leans back dramatically in his seat. He throws himself forward and grabs your hands.

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” He says bluntly. You chuckle before answering, “Oh I get it. You’re practicing!” She taps the said of her head and makes a duh motion with her mouth.

Caleb wanted to pull his hair out. You were so…special. So clueless and yet so smart at the same time. He could only blame himself for this because he asked you last week but the way he asked made it seem like he was practicing on you. He grabbed your cheeks making you look at him.

“I like you, love you. I want you to be my girlfriend. I’m real life right now.” He emphasizes making your eyes go wide as if you just figured out a worldwide mystery.

“Oh! Yes of course.” You answered making him sigh in relief. Finally!

Zayne is use to you being mildly confused. It was what ultimately drew him to you other than your caring nature. Him telling you he wanted to be with you was one thing but now he had to go through the process again. He sighed at the thought but it was worth it in the end.

So on a walk, hand in hand, he took a deep breath. This was it. You were enjoying the scenery around you as the quiet evening sky fell over you. The sunset painting the sky beautifully. He admired you as he holds your hand tighter.

“I want to tell you something.” His usual low tone flows through your ears. You look up at him with hopeful eyes.

“I want to take a step toward our future.” He tells you as you glance at him occasionally.

“Like getting a dog! I’ve always wanted a dog!” You excitedly bounce holding his hand to your chest. He blinks before shaking his head at how you threw him off.

“No I want us to be closer.” He tells you as you continue to walk. You think to yourself before snapping.

“Like getting a smaller bed!” You chuckle as if you were the brightest crayon in the box. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I want us to move in together.” He tells you bluntly. You squeal in excitement, “Like roommates!”

“Why would we be roommates?” He pauses to question you. Why wouldn’t you be roommates? That’s literally what two people moving in are like!

“Because we live together….” You both just stare at each other.

“I’m your boyfriend.” He states the obvious. You nod firmly. “Exactly like roommates version.” You agree.

“Oh my gosh.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

Rafayel was on the verge of pulling his hair out. He had been flirting with you all day and you were just not catching on. If he could pull his eyeballs out he would. He called you cute and you said thank you and complimented him back. Fine, whatever. He wrapped his arm around you during the movie and you scooted over thinking you were in his way. He kissed the icing off your face and you told him he could’ve just used a napkin so he wouldn’t get dirty. He couldn’t win.

“How clueless are you?” He asks you on the cusp of irritation. You tilt your head confused on why he asked.

“I’m not.” You tell him. He huffs narrowing his eyes at you.

“I’ve been flirting with you all day and you haven’t noticed me ONCE!” He complains slamming his hands on the bed.

“Really? When?” You ask him as he names off every instance today. “That was you flirting?” He felt a pang in his chest.

“Are you playing with me or something?” He deadpans but you were so very serious.

“Nope sorry.” You tell him as he pouts. He gets up and kisses you putting you in a daze.

“I’ve wanted a kiss this whole time.” He pouts holding your cheeks.

You blink slowly at him before nodding, “Noted.”

Sylus is such a sweetheart. A patient, loving, sweetheart. You were so clueless to his advances and it was kind of funny to him he won’t lie. He flirts with you and you take it literally. It made him and the twins laugh so hard to the point of tears.

You walked by him as he was reading and he decided to test you. He knew how you’d react and that was the fun in it. You were going out for the afternoon and were fixing your jeans.

“Do you have any room in your jeans for me, sweetie?” He smirks at you putting down his book. You raise an eyebrow at him. Of course you didn’t these were already tight as is.

“No? Why would you want to wear these with me in them?” You replied genuinely confused what his problem was.

The twins were wheezing from the doorway. You were always like this. They didn’t know if you were joking at first but now they know you’re dead serious. You look at them with your hands on your hips, concerned. What was so funny?

“What?” You didn’t appreciate being laughed at. You wanted to get the joke.

“Sweetie I’m flirting.” Sylus tells you through his laughter. A lightbulb goes off as your mouth makes an ‘O’.

“Oh…sorry.” You sheepishly replied. Sylus didn’t mind he thought you were hilarious.

You and Xavier are the same amount of aloof and everyone knows it. Xavier was subtly trying to flirt and you were not getting it. He thought he was pretty smooth though even if you didn’t get it. You were dressed up nice already for your date. Xavier couldn’t take his eyes off of you, he wanted to ravish you.

“You look beautiful.” He complimented you making you get shy. You wave him off, “Thanks.” His eyes grow dark as he thought of what to say next.

“It would look even better on the bedroom floor.” He smirks at you making you freeze and stare at him.

“What?” You raise your eyebrow. He smiles softly at you as if he didn’t say anything.

“I said it would look even better on the bedroom floor.” He repeated making you stare at him blankly.

“I don’t get it. Why would I do that? That’s making a mess.” You tell him crossing your arms. He chuckles before walking up to you and whispering in your ear.

“Oh! Xavier don’t be nasty!” You smack his arm making him fall out laughing. You were flustered the rest of the night because he kept flirting with you.

This took a minute but aye I hope I got it right 😅

[girlfromflor]

part 6 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

cw: +18 sexual content - ageless blogs and minors DNI

john is a patient man, he never minded waiting for things. maybe it was the age or the experience he gathered whilst sharing a life with his men – and now you –, but only a few things manage to actually piss him off. that's why, when notices you taking too long to come back downstairs, he doesn’t mind.

he finished setting the table for dinner and is about to sit down – thinking you'd be back with the others soon enough – when a wave of arousal knocks the air out of his lungs, so hard he has to grip the edge of the table to ground himself. his mind goes overdrive trying to think of what you were up to upstairs, but he stops himself before he feeds into it – that was the last thing he wanted right now. he has half a mind to pull his cock out of his pants and rub one off right there in the kitchen, give the four of you a taste of your medicine, but he settles for something different – something more entertaining.

taking a deep breath to steady the sensations inside of him, he makes his way upstairs in steady steps. he walks straight to johnny’s room and when he stops by the door frame he takes in the scene in front of him – your figure almost entirely covered by simon's body who's kneeling between your thighs, kyle sitting by your side and johnny behind you on the bed. someone must have said something because he can hear you say “we're supposed to be downstairs, having dinner.”

he takes it as an opportunity to make his presence known, voice way too authoritative for a domestic setting when he speaks, “i thought ya had forgotten what i told ya to do. ya jus’ ignored it, then? dunno which one is worse.”

the four of you turn towards him slowly, like if you do it too fast you might get hurt. he eyes each one of you and at the silence you all seem so attached now, he turns to kyle and asks, “what happened?”

“simon wanted a kiss,” the sargeant rushes to answer, like a kid who is too willing to frame their siblings if that meant they would get rid of punishment from their parents. “she wasn't collaborating, so… yeah,” he trails off, not knowing what else to say.

“ah,” john’s voice is filled with mock realization and takes a step further in the bed's direction, “why is that, sweetheart?” he's talking to you.

“you told me to call them for dinner,” you mumble, not wanting to make the situation build up but still making a point of saying, “i told simon and kyle you wouldn't like it.”

actually, he couldn’t fucking care less, but it was fun. made a rush of lust and something darker rush in his blood knowing he had such control over you, he never really had that with the boys, never got to nurture something quite like this – military men, y’know.

“oh, you did?” john echoes your words, thinking you're such a good girl for wanting to keep things in order. his eyes find simon's, who's curiously avoiding eye contact – well, it was him who wanted the kiss after all –, and inquires, “what did you say then, simon?”

simon raises his eyes, taking a bit too long to answer, “said she'd like your punishment,” but it sounds so fucking conceited that john fails to hold the chuckle that comes upon hearing simon's tone.

“tha’ so?” he nods in mock contemplation, before addressing the lot of you, “we're going downstairs and we're going to have dinner,” and then he's looking at simon, only simon, “i'll deal with you later.” simon is a troublemaker, he knows he has control over you – being lieutenant and also just naturally intimidating – and uses it for his own pleasure, but john has no problem in reminding him of his place – that being under john’s control, just like the rest of you. 

dinner is filled with silent, thin tension and the sound of the cutlery knocking on your plates. you catch the boys sneaking a few glances between each other calmly, like they know what to expect – this must have happened before. once you're all done eating, you do the dishes while kyle dries them and johnny puts them back in their respectful place on the shelves. john is sitting on the kitchen island, the smell of his cigar taking over the air around you, but none of you mind it too much. simon is nowhere to be seen, he disappeared after price whispered something in his ear – maybe he went to sleep, maybe he's waiting to talk to john, you wouldn't know. your doubts are quickly wiped off your head when, after the three of you have finished your designated chore, john tells you to go to his room. walking slowly, you make your way to his room with kyle and johnny walking in front of you. when they walk in you can hear a sigh coming from johnny and you can see kyle’s hand closing into a fist – well, let's get ready then.

simon is kneeling on the bed, sitting back on his heels, looking too docile for his own good – a man that size should never look this tamed, it did things to your mind. john enters the room after you, ordering “the three of you, sit down.”

he's pointing towards the desk chairs settled around the room side by side, facing the bed – so that's what simon was doing. there's three of them, so you wait for the boys to sit first, moving to the one left – kyle is sitting in the middle chair, johnny to his left and you to his right side. you watch as they make themselves comfortable and wait for the next command.

john moves to sit behind simon, his back against the headboard and legs spread wide in the mattress. he pats the space in front of him and you watch amused as simon moves to sit between them with his back against john's chest, the captain spreading the lieutenant’s legs apart with his hands. they're so big and their frames look so good together, especially with the way they’re acting so intimately. john presses a kiss to simon's neck right below his earlobe and the younger man tilts his head to the side, closing his eyes and then john rests his chin on his shoulder, eyes locking on the three of you facing the bed. 

your legs twitch to clamp themselves together, you can hear the sound of fabric shifting on your side and by your peripheral you can make out kyle bucking his hips where he's sitting, you bite your lip – fuck, this is going to be hard. arousal is building in your lower belly, dampening your panties and probably is not going to be long before it starts soaking through the fabric of your pants. you wonder what john is going to do, but don't question.

john starts trailing kisses along simon's neck and shoulders, slowly urging him to take his shirt and shorts off, and you have to take a deep breath to calm your heart. it's the first time you've seen any of them with so little clothing but it's also simon – the same one who kept his face masked until a few hours ago. after simon settling back down – half-naked now –, john settle his right hand on the blond’s lower belly by the waistband of his boxers, the very tip of his fingers peeking inside the fabric. he turns to look in your direction, chin resting once again on simon’s shoulder as he glances over johnny, kyle and you before finally speaking, “i'm going to touch simon and you're gonna watch.” his tone is soft but he says it quite matter-of-factly and you can tell he's being very serious with his next words. “you cannot touch yourselves or each other, got it?” 

johnny and kyle are quick to answer with “yes, sir,” probably too used to the environment that has been built. you add your soft, whispered “yes, sir,” right after them, receiving  a sultry look from simon – his half lidded eyes and slightly parting lips forming a sinful sight.

john nods at you before slipping his hands inside simon’s boxers and the blond raises his hips a bit to help the man get rid of the underwear. price's hand wraps itself around simon's cock who muffles a moan, the captain's other hand placed on simon’s thighs to keep them parted. and just like that, a strong wave of pleasure knocks your senses away from you. you hold back a sound of pleasure yourself, eyes glued to simon’s girthy cock being stimulated by your captain. john jerks simon off in a steady, slow pace – it's torture, but at least it's something. simon’s hips buck up and john bites his shoulders earning a strangled “sorry,” from the man. john hums in response, picking up the pace of his movements, his other hand leaving simon’s thigh to play with his nipple, his fingers pinching and rubbing the skin. simon moans, head falling back on john's shoulder, hand finding the older man's forearm to keep himself grounded, and you can hear a whimper from one of the boys on your side.

price's hands glide slowly to simon’s tip, thumb spreading the pre around the head before moving it back down again. “you like it, simon? like being watched while you get lost in pleasure?” the captain says, and simon nods rapidly whispering out a small answer.

john’s hand that was on simon’s nipple moves down to touch his balls, giving them a small squeeze and simon’s hips stutter. “fuck–” he mutters, eyes rolling behind his eyelids.

you can feel just how good he's feeling and it's overwhelming, it adds to your own arousal and leaves you breathless. you can also feel just how much kyle and johnny are enjoying the show and it makes your head dizzy with want, john's own pleasure ripping through your mind. it's too much for you, and maybe that's why simon looks like he's about to lose his mind – if it's bad for you, you can't imagine being the one to whom such desire and lust are directed.

john seems to catch your line of thinking – or maybe he just knows his lieutenant’s body too well – because without missing a beat he says, “ya wan’ t’cum, love? make a mess on my hand in front of them?”

simon’s hips buck again and he moans a bit more uncontrolled, his voice breathy as he answers, “fuck– fuck, cap. yes, please…”

john hums and halts his movements entirely and you can feel simon’s frustration deep in your heart as he whines at the loss. you know john feels it too because he’s speaking loud and clear, “hm, thought you said she'd like her punishment, simon. let's see if you like yours…” 

simon groans, eyebrows furrowed in both annoyance and pleasure as john restarts his movements, realizing just how dumb he was to think he was going to orgasm so easily like that. john was going to make him an example of what happens when his words are disregarded.

john settles for a faster speed now, his tongue licking up simon’s neck, sucking harshly and leaving hickeys in its wake. the scene repeats itself once again, simon moaning with his head thrown back as he pleads, “sir, please, let me cum...”

“that's cute, baby,” john kisses his cheek, teeth prodding the skin a little and simon gasps. “are you close?” he coos and simon nods, john pumps his cock faster. 

“fuck, fuck—” simon arches his back, but then john is taking his hand out of his dick entirely. 

johnny moans from where he's sitting and you tilt your head to get a glimpse of him – he's manspreading in all his glory, a damp spot on his sweatpants and knuckles white from his grip on the chair's seat. kyle doesn't look better, hands beneath his thighs to keep himself from touching his own hard dick beneath his shorts, lips parting and eyebrows creased like he's the one who keeps being denied.

simon whimpers loudly, the following moan being muffled by john's lips on his in a searing kiss, hips bucking up on nothing. their kiss is a mess, all tongue and wet noises. john's takes his cock once again, jerking him off on the settled pace, a bit faster each time he has to restart his movements and it wrecks simon from the inside. to be denied so abruptly and then given such stimulation makes it easier for simon to get close to the edge, and before he realizes there's tears streaming down his cheeks.

it's too much, of course, being stimulated to the max then being harshly pulled from it and then abruptly receiving such pleasure again. but it’s the way he can feel kyle's desperation and johnny’s need and your arousal that makes it so fucking hard for him. john's soothes him, cooing “oh baby, no need to cry,” even though he's still fisting his cock. the wet squelching from the amount of pre simon is leaking makes it so much more sinful. “i've got you.”

“please! john…” simon’s deep voice sounds pathetic with all the begging and you feel your pussy clench at the notion. “please, please, let me cum.”

john chuckles, biting simon’s earlobe before giving him a peck on the cheek. “you'll behave from now on? or do you still think punishments are enjoyable like that?”

“i will, p–promise, i promise. nngh—” simon is way gone, cheeks flushed and wet with his tears, mouth gaping and most likely drooling as he grips john's forearm.

“good boy, love. go on, cum for us,” and he does it on command.

simon is a moaning mess, legs trembling as his dick spurts white ropes of cum onto john's hand and his own stomach. the feeling is outstanding, you've never experienced such a thing. it's like you're having your own orgasm, only it's shallower. it catches you completely off guard, making your own legs tremble and john seemed to be looking forward to exactly that. he's working simon through his orgasm, talking praises and reassuring words as he looks at you, and soon enough simon's eyes are on you too.

you heard johnny’s moan while you were hit with the mind-blowing shared orgasm, and you turn to look at him – a bigger, darker spot on his pants now. the only one who still seemed composed is kyle, which doesn't last long before john is calling him to the bed. it takes one firm, deliberate squeeze on his cock through his shorts before he's gasping as well, and having a second wave washing over you feels like you’re nothing but pleasure.

you all take a moment to take in your breaths. you manage to recompose faster than johnny and move to the bathroom to wet a hand towel. you come back, noticing kyle isn’t in the room – probably went to change his underwear –, and sit sideways on the bed, cleaning john's hand and simon’s body. you kiss simon’s tears away and he gives you a shy smile, whispering a small “thank you, luvie”. johnny steps in with simon's clothes on his hand for him to put back on and you leave the room to put the cloth in the laundry bin.

johnny must have left quickly too, because he’s coming back with kyle as you re-enter the room, watching as they lay down on the mattress. simon, now dressed, moves to lay between them. his back is facing kyle’s chest and his chest pressed on johnny’s back, being snuggly sandwiched between the two men. and john uses the opportunity to leave the bed as well. you watch as he takes a pair of shorts and goes to the bathroom.

you lay down by kyle's side, hugging him by the waist – your hand resting on simon's arm across the sargeant’s body – and once john is back he lays with you, kissing your temple before whispering,

“goodnight, sweetheart.”

series masterlist a/n: fisrt cod smut, hope you guys liked it! also, just wanted to thank all the love you've been giving to this series, it seriously means the world to me! 💘 | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3 @aldis-nuts

[straows]

“Why are you so clingy?”

—In which Gojo gets mad at you for being 'clingy' so you make him eat his words.

A/n: Somebody buy me a new cart mine is emptier than my tear ducts after crying so fucking hard writing this.

<<part two, part three, final part>>

“Hi baby!!” Smiling, you set your things down on the counter before coming over to him.

“Hi,” Gojo gave you a dry response, his eyes glued to the tv. He had a day off and honestly just spent it lying around.

Your brows furrowed at his dry tone, usually he’d be all over you. Maybe he was just having an off day. “How was your day?” You smiled at him anyway and plopped down on the couch beside him, “haven’t seen you all day.”

Gojo side eyed you for a second before looking away back to the tv. “It was fine.” Another dry response.

“Ummm… right, so do you wanna go and cuddle in bed? I literally missed you so m—“

“Can you not? Like you’re actually so clingy.” Gojo’s voice was sharp, and honestly really rude.

“…what do you mean…?” Sitting up a little more, you looked at him with a confused and hurt expression.

Gojo rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his face, “oh my fucking god- you always want to be around me and we’re always touching and god forbid I’m not around you for a fucking day. And when I’m on missions you’re always fucking texting me! Like I don’t get it, please just fuck off!”

The more he spoke the more he worked himself up, his voice raising as he snapped at you.

Your throat burned as tears threatened to spill, your hurt in your stomach as you listened to every word. “…oh.” Slowly, you nodded, “you’re right… that’s my bad.”

Getting up, you just left him in the living room and went into the bedroom. You sat on the bed and just stared at the wall. His words had been absorbed into your brain way too deep and suddenly you felt self conscious.

Were you really too clingy? Too loving and touching? Were you too much?

Swallowing thickly, you let out a shaky breath before getting dressed into one of your hoodies— which was weird in its own right because you always wore his clothes. Sliding on the hoodie, followed by a pair of leggings, fuzzy socks and shoes.

By the time Gojo was coming in, you had taken off your make up and tied your laces.

He eyed you weirdly before rolling his eyes, “don’t be pissed off. I just said the truth.”

Taking another shaky breath, you nodded, “Not upset. Just gonna head out, Nanami and his wife invited me over for a little get together.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll get dres—“

“No don’t worry about it. You stay home and relax.” You quickly replied for leaving without another word— no kiss, no hug or anything.

Gojo nodded to himself and smiled, “alright, now I get more alone time.”

Gojo hadn’t seen you in a week, and he was craving your touch, your scent and everything. He just wanted to hold you and sink his face into your neck. Walking into your shared home, he paused when he saw you packing a suitcase.

“Oh hey, welcome home.” You said, albeit a little dryly.

“…yeah… where are you going? I just got home.” Gojo frowned, brows furrowed.

“I have a mission that’ll last me a week or so. You’ll be fine without me.” You numbly replied, before grabbing your suitcase and moving to eat.

“You don’t even wanna eat dinner with me?” Gojo felt his chest ache and his breath halt. Why were you being so cold?

“Don’t have time. See you later.” You merely waved at him, before heading out. Leaving Gojo standing there in shock, confusion and a growing sense of sadness.

“Okay..?” He mumbled before walking to the couch. Sitting down in the same spot he’d sat in that week prior when he’d snapped at you.

During your mission, he’d texted you maybe 40 times. He hardly got a reply, and when he did it was dry. You never answered his calls.

And what’s worse? By the time you got home he had to go off again. He didn’t even get to see you in between. He felt touch starved, pent up and hurt.

But finally, finally when his mission was over and he came home, he saw you relaxing on the couch on your phone.

He sighed in relief, “hey baby, I’m home.” His voice hopeful for the reaction you used to give him.

“Welcome home.” You didn’t even look up from your phone. Too busy doom scrolling on Instagram.

Gojo felt his nerves tick, why weren’t you giving him the same affection you used too? God damnit he missed you.

“What’s going on with you?” He glared at you now, and set his things down before walking closer and taking your phone out of your hands.

“What are you talking about?” You just stared up at him, as if your own heart wasn’t aching.

“You don’t talk to me— ever! You don’t text me, call me, hell I hardly ever see you!” His hands lifted in the air just before falling back at his sides.

“What the hell are you on about? I’m just doing what you told me to.” You rolled your eyes before getting up. But Gojo pulled you right back.

“What do you mean? I never told you to just act like a stranger!” Gojo had your wrist in a tight grip.

“Yes you did? Remember? ‘You’re so fucking clingy’ and ‘why can’t you just fuck off’.” You poorly mimicked him, giving him an unimpressed look.

Your words had his mouth immediately closing. His heart clenching once-a-fucking-gain. “I- I didn’t mean that… I just… needed some space for a few days.”

“No you don’t talk to me like that and expect me not react this way. You were a fucking asshole to me for no goddamn reason, so I’m just giving you what you asked for.” You yanked your wrist from his grip. “God just pick a fucking lane. What do you want?”

“I-I—“

“I-I- shut the fuck up. I’m tired of this shit. You’re always away on missions, and whenever I try to love you or talk to you you’d just shut me down.” She snapped at him. “I’m making you eat your own fucking words. Just so I can do this,” pushing your finger into his chest, “I’m breaking up with you. My shits already packed up.”

“Wait— now wait a fucking minute! You can’t just drop me like that! I made one mistake!” Gojo was quickly trying to back peddle. No way you were trying to break up with him. No fucking way. You were the one he was supposed to marry, grow old with and have kids with. This is not supposed to happen.

“Yeah? Should’ve thought about that before being a shitty boyfriend. Now get the hell out of my way.” You pushed past him and grabbed your keys. “Now you can finally be all alone. Just like you wanted.” You spat before slamming the door behind you.

Gojo was just left standing there, mouth agape as he stared at the place you just stood.

He couldn’t comprehend what the hell just happened. He had just lost you, in what felt like 60 fucking seconds.

Slowly, he sat down, the house deathly silent. He’d been with you for only five months. No way he had fucked up this early? He’d been trying to get with you for so long and he’d finally had you— and just like that?

Fuck.

The tears started flowing before he could stop them.

Before the acceptance could settle in, first there was denial. “She’ll be running back to me when she realizes how good she had it with me.” He huffed to himself and turned on some random show to distract himself.

But that pain in his chest didn’t go away. And if you never came back? That pain would never go away.

[sebscore]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: angst. angst. angst. swearing. like a lot of swearing. i cannot write crashes/contact for the life of me. argument. lando and reader are assholes in this. 

author's note: dont even ask me why i wrote this, i got inspired and needed it out of my system. lol. 

masterlist

''Retire the car. Too much damage. Sorry, Y/N.'' Marco informed her over the radio, sounding frustrated and apologetic over her already finished race. 

The driver took a deep breath before answering. ''Too bad, it was going well. Thanks, guys.'' 

Her race had in fact been going well. She'd made a great start going from P4 to P2, and had managed to keep up with the Red Bull of Max. They weren't even halfway in the race or Lando tried overtaking her, causing contact, causing her to run off in the gravel with too much trouble on the car to continue. 

In her opinion, it had been reckless. The McLaren driver knew exactly she would end up being forced off the track by the overtake, and that her race would most likely be over because of it. 

As she trudged back to the garage, helmet in hand, she could barely contain her frustration. The team greeted her with sympathetic looks, but she didn't stop to talk to anyone. She headed straight for her driver's room, needing a moment to cool off before she could face the media. 

Her hands trembled with anger as she peeled off her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. The season hadn't been going how she had hoped or even expected it to go. Last year she had been the vice World Champion, the undisputed second-best driver on the grid, the only one to essentially have been able to challenge Max's dominance. Now, she got lucky to even end up in the top five of a race. Her team's design of the car hadn't been meeting the expectations the engineers had set, and upgrades weren't helping in the way they had hoped. 

That is why this race weekend had been a great boost for the team's morale and confidence. Qualifying had gone really well, and for a moment they were able to fight for the win even. But the papaya car of No. 4 had shoved their hopes down the drain. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. She turned to see Marco standing there, looking concerned. ''You okay?'' 

''Have I ever been okay,'' she remarked, a sarcastic chuckle leaving her lips. ''I'm just pissed, that's all. I had high hopes for today.'' 

''We all did,'' he smiled sadly. ''The stewards reviewed the incident, but he, uh, didn't get a penalty.'' He said softly, almost as if he was afraid of her reaction.

The young woman let out a bitter laugh. ''Of course he didn't, why would he?'' Her hands covered her face, briefly wiping off the sweat that had formed. 

Marco took a step closer, his expression a mix of empathy and disappointment. ''You drove brilliantly out there. Everyone saw it. The team saw it. It's just... racing politics sometimes.'' 

She dropped her hands, meeting his eyes with a mixture of anger and resignation. ''It's always like that, though. It's always the same drivers suffering the consequences of others, and they don't get shit for it. It is fucking annoying.'' 

Her engineer nodded, understanding everything she was saying. ''I know, we all know. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing. This season isn't over yet.'' 

''Yeah, true.'' She sighed. 

Marco gave her a reassuring smile. ''We'll be ready for the next race. We're all in this together, okay? We're all behind you.'' 

She nodded, feeling a small measure of comfort in his words. ''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' They shared a quick embrace, before he left to join the team again. Meanwhile she got herself ready to go to the media pen. As much as she wanted to hide away, she knew it was part of the job. 

Since she had an early exit, there wasn't much activity inside the area, though there were a bunch of reporters waiting for her. 

''Y/N, tough race today. Can you tell us what happened from your perspective?'' The reporter asked after briefly greeting her. 

''Yeah, it was, uh, challenging, I guess,'' she plastered a smile on her face. ''We had a great start, moving up to P2 and keeping pace with Max. Then, yeah, the contact with Lando. The car had a bunch of damage, and we decided to just retire the car.'' 

''Do you think it was a fair move by him?'' He followed up. 

She paused, weighing her response. ''Racing is always intense, especially at this level. I don't think it was the right move to make, but the stewards saw it as a racing incident.  I'll respect their decision, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating.'' 

''You and Lando are good friends, and have been racing against each other since your karting days. Will you talk to him afterwards or just forget about it?'' 

They had expected a question like this, so the media-trained answer came out very quickly. ''It was deemed a racing incident, so there is not much to say further about it.'' 

''How do you and your team plan to bounce back from this setback?'' The reporter for Sky Sports changed the topic. 

''We'll regroup and come back stronger,'' she answered, injecting as much determination into her voice as she could muster. ''This season has been tough, but my team and I are committed to pushing forward. We learn from every race, and today is no different.'' 

''That's great, thank you, Y/N.'' They wrapped up the interview, and she moved onto a new one. 

Once she had spoken to everyone she needed to speak to, she finally had a moment to herself. She knew the words she had just spoken were the right ones, but they did little to soothe the turmoil inside her. 

It didn't help that Lando managed to take the lead, and eventually get his first win. As she watched the remainder of the race from the sidelines, her emotions were all over the place. On the one hand, she was proud of her friend for finally making his dream come true. However, it had come at the expense of her race. She had pushed so hard this season, and to see her friend and rival celebrate his triumph while she stood there with nothing but frustration was almost unbearable. 

The cheers from the McLaren garage echoed in her ears. They celebrated wildly, the joy of his long-awaited victory palpable even from a distance. He was swarmed by his team as they shouted his name. 

The podium ceremony was even worse. As Lando stood on the top step, the British national anthem playing in the background, she couldn't help but replay the moment that had ended her race. She could see the excitement in his eyes, the genuine happiness that came with achieving a lifelong dream. But all she could think about was the contact, the gravel trap, and the wrecked potential of what could have been her race. 

Under any other circumstance, she would have been there for him. She would have run to the ceremony herself, just like he had done for her when she got her first win in F1 and made history as the first woman to do so. But it just stung too deep. 

''Lando, there was an incident with Y/N that resulted in her retiring from the race. Can you tell us what happened there?'' The Dutch reporter asked the race winner. 

Lando's expression shifted slightly, the euphoria dimming just a bit. ''Uh, yeah. I saw a gap and went for it. It was a tight move, and unfortunately, it led to some contact. But that's racing, you know.'' 

''Have you spoken to her yet?'' 

''Not yet,'' he admitted. ''But I don't think there is much to talk about.'' He chuckled, quickly glancing sideways, but his laugh seemed forced.

''She told Sky Sports that she didn't think you made the right move there.'' The journalist said, instigating a headline for them to be able to use. 

Lando frowned at his words, but recovered. ''Well, that's her opinion. It was just racing for me.'' 

''So you don't regret making the move?'' The reporter pressed on. 

The Brit took a deep breath before answering. ''I regret that it ended her race. But as a racer, you have to take chances. It's a fine line, you know.''

The older man in front of him nodded at his response, knowing they had gotten a glimpse of the tension that was present between the fan-favorite duo. ''Thank you, Lando. Congratulations again.'' 

''Thank you.'' 

With that, the interview wrapped up, and Lando moved onto the next reporter. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, so why was everyone talking to him as if he had done something wrong? 

Y/N was struggling to unwind. The events of the day played over and over in her mind, each replay more frustrating than the last. She tried to distract herself by either watching some TikToks or TV, but nothing could drown out her thoughts. The texts from her friends, family and team certainly didn't help. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't want to think about the race anymore and the messages weren't helping. Finally, she decided to call it a night and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would offer some respite. 

Just as she was starting to drift off, another knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was unusual for someone to bother her this late, especially when she was winding down in her hotel room.

She frowned and got out of bed, opening the door to find Lando standing there, wearing his signature grin, acting nonchalant as ever. ''You wanna come celebrate with us? We rented a club.'' 

Y/N frowned at him, confused over his casual behavior. ''No.'' She scoffed, offended by the mere thought. 

It was now Lando's turn to frown at his friend. ''Why?'' 

She crossed her arms, incredulous at his obliviousness. ''Why? Are you taking the fucking piss out of me or something.'' 

His grin faltered slightly, but he tried to maintain his composure. ''If this is about the racing incident then you're being ridiculous.'' 

Her eyes widened in disbelief, her frustration boiling over. ''I am being ridiculous? You were ridiculous with that move you pulled!'' She retorted, raising her voice. ''You ran me off the track knowing how hard this season has fucking been for me. You know how much I needed a good result today and you ruined it for me!'' 

''Y/N, I get that you're upset, but it's racing. These things are bound to happen. I saw a gap and I went for it. The stewards didn't even penalize me, so clearly, it wasn't as bad as you're making it out to be.'' He was restraining from rolling his eyes, she could tell. 

She scoffed, shaking her head. ''Oh, so now you're agreeing with the stewards? Now that it is benefitting you? And there was no fucking gap, you were just being selfish. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't care how it would affect me.'' 

Lando's face hardened, his patience wearing thin. ''I didn't do it on purpose to screw you over, where the fuck are you getting that from? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's what we do out there. You know that better than anyone." 

''If that opportunity was ruining my fucking race, then yeah, you really took the opportunity, Norris.'' She rolled her eyes, voice tinged with sarcasm. 

He took a step closer, his frustration now matching hers. ''I'm sorry that you didn't get the result you wanted today, I really am. But I am not going to apologize for racing and doing my job, Y/N.'' 

She simply glared at him, disappointed in how he was acting towards her. They'd never really had an argument before, at least not one where they couldn't see each other's point. They'd been frustrated with each other before, but it was always in reason. 

''If anything, I should be angry with you- not the other way.'' Lando suddenly said. 

''Why's that?'' She sneered, almost in disbelief that he would have a valid reason. 

''Because you didn't even have the fucking guts to congratulate me,'' he snapped back, ''when you won Silverstone, I was literally one of the first people to hug you and congratulate you for your win. I stood next to your fucking parents, Y/N! And today you didn't even bother doing anything.'' 

Her mouth fell open, a mix of shock and anger flooding her veins. ''You are unbelievable… You ruined my fucking race, Lando! How am I supposed to stand there and cheer for you when you cost me everything today?'' 

He rolled his eyes while throwing up his hands. ''This isn't just about today. You're just jealous because my season has been going so much better than yours. You can't fucking stand that for one time I'm doing actually better than you.'' 

''Jealous… of you?'' The words came out like laughter, slightly hurting the McLaren driver's ego. ''You think I can't be happy for you because I'm not doing as well? That's so low, Lando.'' 

''Ever since the start of the season you've been so moody and distant, and now you can't even say or even fucking text me a congratulations for my first win. You're so pissed that I got a win before you this season, you can't even hide it.'' He shot back. 

''Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn't act the same if you were getting all these shit results. Maybe I didn't congratulate you because I was too busy trying to scrape gravel out of my fucking tires.'' She remarked, throwing in the sarcastic comment. 

Lando looked unimpressed by her remark. ''You're just mad cause I'm outshining you. You can't fucking stand that I'm getting all the attention.'' 

''Outshining me? Are you hearing yourself?'' She mocked him, laughing bitterly. ''You get one win and you're acting like you're a fucking World Champion already. You've been riding Max's dick these last years hoping some of his success will rub off on you. Newsflash Norris, everyone is just fucking laughing at you.'' 

His face turned red, either embarrassment or anger. ''At least I'm not constantly whining about my car and blaming everyone else for my problems. Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your driving and less on complaining, you'd have more to celebrate.'' 

''You're a fucking spoiled brat who can't stand some competition. You think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.'' She retorted. 

''And you're a fucking baby who throws a temper tantrum everytime you don't get what you want. It's time to fucking grow up, Y/N!'' He shouted, his voice rising with each word. 

She took a step closer to him. ''You should spend less time trying to prove yourself to people who don't give a shit about you, and more time trying to be a decent fucking human being. I'm ashamed to call you one of my best friends.'' 

That last sentence had clearly hit a nerve or several nerves. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. ''Fuck you, Y/N. Enjoy your pity party.'' Lando turned and walked away, joining his friends who were waiting in the lobby. 

She watched him go, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and heartbreak. She could feel the pulse of her racing heart, the adrenaline from their argument making her feel jittery and unsteady. 

A lump formed in her throat as she replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She cringed internally at the words she had fired at Lando, while also trying to ignore the sting from his own harsh words. She wondered how they would be able to come back from this. They had never been in a situation like this before, and she knew that she would never want to be in this situation again. 

The young woman knew that she had let her emotions get the best of her. She had always prided herself on being fair and understanding, but now she felt ashamed of herself. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another door opening. George peeked out, concern etched on his face. ''Y/N, you okay?'' 

She shook her head, not wanting to deal with anyone else. ''Mind your business, Russell.'' She retreated back into her room, not before slamming the door behind her. 

As she leaned against the closed door, the weight of the evening pressed down on her. The room felt too small, her emotions too big. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, and let the tears she had been holding back finally fall.

Even when she finally got up, even when she tucked herself in again for the final time, and even when she tossed and turned the entire night, the same question lingered in her mind. 

Are they still friends? 

The question haunted her, gnawing at her thoughts every time she closed her eyes. She replayed the argument over and over, dissecting every word, every expression. The hurt in his eyes, the anger in his voice- it all felt so raw and irreversible. 

As the hours dragged on, sleep remained elusive. The darkness of the room mirrored the uncertainty in her heart. She knew they both needed time to cool off, to reflect, but the thought of facing Lando again filled her with dread.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, and she felt no more at ease than she had the night before. 

Are they still friends? 

story ideas are always welcome, but remember that it can take a while for me to get to it! :)

[zevrra]

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: the last thing you had expected in your years of peace was to see a ghost from your past; joel miller. a man you had known years ago, who had left you years ago, and one you had tried your hardest to avoid since you ended up in jackson. but none of that mattered now when he shows up on your doorstep with a pale face and a wounded leg.

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐟𝐭: jackson!joel x ex-gf!reader

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, one shot, angst, hurt/comfort, tw blood, tw injuries, tw needles, ex established relationship, slight age gap, medic!reader, eventual fluff, mentions of joel being a smuggler, joel is on the verge of tears in this, he’s a lil insecure if you squint.

𝐚/𝐧: this probably isn’t any good but i couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head AAA

“H-hey, uh, can I come in?” Joel half ass chuckles before sucking in a breath from the pain, leaning against your door to support himself. 

You quickly glance over the pale man, immediately catching the scarlet staining his pants from what you assume is a pretty deep wound. And in your heart you know you’ll never turn him away but dammit if you don’t consider closing the door, stepping away, and leaving him this time. But you couldn’t. No matter what, he was still Joel, and you couldn’t leave him to die. 

“This way. Just try not to get blood…everywhere.” You say with a roll of your eyes before moving to his side, taking up one of his arms and laying it across your shoulder and guiding him into your home. You carry him off towards the bathroom, the cleanest place you can think of, settling him down on the edge of the tub. “Take off your stuff.” 

“Not gonna help?” Joel teases but the look you give him shuts him up, for the moment. He begins to strip to the best of his ability while you rummage under the sink for your damn first aid kit. Finding it right about the same time he’s attempting to shed his durable jacket. 

You set the first aid kit on the closest ledge to the bathtub before begrudgingly helping Joel out of his clothes. You toss his brown durable jacket onto the floor behind you before your fingers head straight for the buckle on his belt. You twist and turn it, like you’ve done…far too many times, before discarding it along with his coat. Your nimble fingers quickly work on his jeans next; using your own knee for support as you strip him of his stained jeans, finally allowing you a decent look at what he’s gotten himself into.

“Shit…” You swear under your breath, slightly turning his badly wounded leg to the side, just to see how far the knife wound goes. 

Joel laughs though, despite the circumstances. “That bad, huh?” He groans at the first press of your fingers, sucking in another sharp painful breath.

You don’t answer him, ignoring him for the moment as you continue to look at the wound. Blood bubbles under your examination and you needed something to stop the bleeding an hour ago. You move back to the bathroom sink, grabbing a towel and drenching it in the warmest water you can manage before moving back to the battered man. You press the soaked towel into his wound as hard as you can, fishing for another towel at your feet and handing it to him. “You know what to do with that.” 

Joel takes the towel you offer him, wrapping it around the thicker part of his thigh, right above the wound, and ties it tight around his leg; a late attempt to stop the bleeding while you work your magic. “Damn hunter,” Joel grunts through the pain, tightening the towel with every word. “Didn’t see him. Caught me on my way back to town.” 

You weren’t that interested in how he got to this point. Knowing what happened would just make your fingers tremble and your heart hurt. So you try your best not to indulge him. “You’re just getting old.” You mutter back before you press hard into the wound, your other hand rummaging with the lid of the first aid kit beside you. You retrieve a thin needle and the sutures needed for stitching the wound, nodding your head for Joel to replace your hand with his as you attempt to thread the needle as quickly as you can.

Joel starts to chuckle but the pain spreading across his thigh has him trailing off into a groan. Once successfully threading the needle, you return to your work, peeling off your now ruined towel from Joel’s wound. 

“You know I was, uh, never…good with words,” Joel frets, picking at something invisible under his nails. Dull and dim from years of working with his hands. “But uh…thank you. For this.” 

“Yeah, you made that a little too obvious, Joel.” You hum back, hoping to hurt him as much as his knife wound did, before continuing to work on the task at hand. Your fingers trail along his inner thigh, smoothing over the edge of his wound, sizing it up once more. “Now, no more moving. Or talking.” You add before placing the needle on some clean gauze, reaching for alcohol to sterilize the wound and the needle. 

Silence falls between the two of you, allowing you to focus entirely on fixing him up. With a deep breath, you steady your hands before pressing the tip of the needle directly into his skin. You move skillfully, having also done this a time or two, pushing the needle in, stitching it across, threading it back down to tightly seal the wound. You keep your gaze locked on the work you do. Watching every press of the needle and the sutures that follows suit. You may be upset about some other old wounds of your own opening up— but at least Joel wouldn’t die to this one; not this time. 

“Just like…old times, huh?” He says through gritted teeth, tossing his head back when you press the needle through his skin.

You exhale an annoyed huff through your nose at his statement. Trying your damned best to quickly do the rest of the stitching needed to keep him from bleeding out everywhere. You didn’t want to linger too long anyway.  “Heh, yeah, before you left me in the middle of the night, right?” You say, biting your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. No, you couldn't break down crying…not right now, not in front of him.

After what feels like maybe forever, with just a few more twists of your needle, you’ve managed to completely sew up his knife wound. Quickly, you knot the edge of the thread as tight as you can, clipping the suture with a pair of metal scissors before tossing the entire kit back into its box. With a slam of the lid, you forcibly close it, turning to put the first aid kit back where it rightfully belongs— for next time. Why you would ever hope there was a next time…you didn’t know. Didn’t really need to get your hopes up. 

What you needed was a fucking drink. 

“You’re still angry at me.” Joel weakly says, clearing his throat in an attempt to try and not make everything so damn awkward…it obviously wasn’t working. 

In that moment, everything comes back to you in a rush. The feelings, the sleepless nights, the tears you shed…everything rushes up like a punch to the gut; knocking the air from your very lungs. “Dammit Joel!” You yell, turning on your heel to stare him down, unable to stop the tears from forming this time. “Of course I’m still angry! I spent months waiting on…fucking anything from you! You left me in a world full of shit!” You choke out, picking up his coat and throwing it at him with as much force as you can manage. It almost pisses you off more that he easily catches it without so much as a flinch. Your next target is the bloodied towel as you pick it up with a tight grip.

And you think the silence that stretches for mere seconds right then and there was going to be the end of it…but your thoughts just keep spilling out. 

“You would rather throw your life away than tell me goodbye! You didn’t care if you died tomorrow while I sat waiting, hoping, praying for your god forsaken safe return.” You cry out, pointing an accusing finger his way. “But what hurts the most, damn you, is that I could never stay angry at you! I knew you had your reasons! Knew in my heart I…I would always forgive you!” You finally snap, slamming down the blood soaked rag into your sink. You turn away from him once more, tension lining every inch of the muscles in your shoulders as you grip the edge of your bathroom sink for any semblance of balance. You wished you could keep going, to yell at him some more to make up for all the lost time the two of you had but your words are quickly replaced with broken sobs and hot tears streaming down your face. 

The silence, once welcomed, is now suffocating. The only sound echoing inside the room was that of your pathetic sobs. You think for a split second that maybe he’s going to just gather his things and leave you, to flee into the night, never to be seen again…but instead of listening to him run away, you feel a shaky hand press into the small of your back. 

Joel stands beside you, hazel gaze full of sadness and worry as he looks down at you. He leans heavily against the vanity, trying his best to keep up off his hurt leg for the moment. 

“I’m…an idiot. And sorry.” Joel whispers as he retrieves his hand from your back, moving it to caress the side of your face— and like a fool, you let him. “I can’t apologize enough. I just…dammit, I was scared. I’m not a good man, darlin’. I was a smuggler back then and was…terrified you might end up hurt because of it. I’ve lost too fuckin’ much. I couldn’t…lose you too.” He admits with a weak tone. 

If anything, at least you knew he was genuine about the entire thing; you truly had never seen such a vulnerable state out of Joel before. It was evident that the years had changed him; and you. 

“So you just left?” You ask with that wobble to your lip, tears still streaming down your face. 

Joel frowns, swallowing a lump in his throat, as his thumb moves to brush along the trails of tears left behind on your pretty face. “Yeah, I left. It was wrong. And I’m…a fuckin’ coward for it but I was fallin’ for ya, too hard and too fast and it scared me.” 

You want to say something, to stop him from speaking, but all you can manage is a whine followed by a sniffle. With the back of your free hand, you wipe across one of your tear filled eyes, trying to return to your previous cold-like state. 

But before you can, Joel with his other hand, catches your own in a firm grasp. His fingers press gently into the cup of your palm, smoothing along your soft skin while butterflies dance in your stomach. He brings the back of your hand up to the curl of his lips, placing a gentle but forgiving kiss against your skin. You watch his eyes fall close for just a split second, as if he’s gathering the strength to continue. “You may never be able to forgive me for that and…and…I’m so sorry.” He mumbles apologetically. He was never able to find the right words so all he could muster was to apologize. And he would, until his very last breath. 

Now you really can’t find the words to respond to him. Cotton in your mouth, choking you, keeping you from further speaking your mind. 

He takes your silence as an answer though. 

He coughs slightly, clearing away the pain that lingers in his own chest. “I’ll leave and this time…uh, I’ll stay gone.” Joel finally says, promising to never return. Didn’t want to hurt you more than he already has. 

And yet, he lingers letting go of you. His warm hand catches one more tear from your reddening eyes before he slowly begins to slip his hand from your face. Sculpting you— as if he wanted his hands and his heart to never forget you, if this was to be the last time he ever saw you. So when his hands finally fall away, untangling entirely from you, it feels like the weight of the world slams into your chest. You watch as he stumbles back to the edge of the tub, fishing after his stained jeans. 

Time slows as your gaze follows him. You watch him move sluggishly towards his clothes littering your bathroom floor. You imagine him leaving, for good, this time, limping his way back to his little corner of Jackson, leaving you, avoiding you for the rest of your numbered days, never to see each other again…and that thought hurts more than anything.

You were not losing him a second time. 

You reach out for him. A firm hand stretches out quickly and you grip around the thick of his bicep; stopping him in his quest for his clothes. Tears spring free once more before you can stop them, and now it’s your turn to caress his confused face. You shake your head and thankfully, without any words, Joel seems to know exactly what you mean. His hand slips over your own, tangling his fingers into yours once more, while his other hand returns to press flush into your back. He moves like a man not wounded as he sweeps you up into him; closer and closer, he needs your body against his far more than he needs anything else. Pain, to be forgotten, as his lips crash into yours. He kisses you, full of longing and passion and need and all sorts of want. As if he had been waiting for ages to get the chance to kiss you once more. 

A sob slips from your lips and into his own but you kiss him back nonetheless. He gently squeezes your hand as you reciprocate his yearning, kissing you deeper and you accept it all. Falling into a perfect rhythm, as if you two had never parted in the first place. Twisting and turning, stitched together, made to fit perfectly for each other. 

You’d never admit how many nights you had lied awake, hoping for another moment like this with him. Never once had you sought out someone to fill the hole he had left. There was never going to be anyone else— it was always going to be him, and deep down you knew that from the moment you two had met. 

You’re the first to break from the kiss. Sucking in a sharp breath, tilting your head down and away from him for the moment. A laugh bubbles in your throat but it never comes out, so Joel oddly laughs for the both of you. 

“I don’t deserve this.” He admits, shaking his head in disbelief. As if he truly cannot grasp that whatever this was, that it was happening. 

“Maybe so,” You respond, finally clearing your throat of every obstacle from before. “You’ll just have to do a really damn good job of making it up to me.”

“I’d…like that. To make it up to ya.” He echoes your request, brushing his thumb once more across the high of your cheekbone, collecting any tears that he possibly could. His gaze is softer than you had ever seen it before; even when it had just been the two of you, surviving in Boston. Regret, sorrow, and love in those damned hazel eyes of his as he looks so sweetly at you. “I wrote…letters. Tried to, anyway, was just never good at words.” Joel chuckles, restating at how bad he truly was with words…and his feelings. That much was obvious, again.

This time, you finally manage to laugh along with him. “Mhm, tomorrow, I’d really like to read them.”

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Friendly Neighbourhood

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 3.5 K summary: Befriending his neighbour gets out of hand. warnings: fluff, no y/n used, injuries from Gotham activities a/n: got this idea while doing my groceries. also decided to change up my theme a bit! enjoy! divider: @kodaswrld

You barely manage to lift out the two heavy grocery bags out of the back of your car, setting them down at your feet. With a heavy sigh, you fish out your keys and struggle to pick the bags up again, cursing under your breath.

»Need help with that?« You jump up at the deep voice behind you, looking to your right before you spot a similar man, close to your age.

»Uh...«

Jason can see the way your wheels are turning in your head, trying to figure out who he is while also thinking over his suggestion. Finally, he decides to help you out. »Jason… Todd. I live next door to you, if you noticed.«

He shrugs and fidgets with his hands inside his jacket pockets, already regretting it. But luckily, you simply light up and nod, glancing down at your bags again.

»Oh, right! No, I know, just needed a moment. Also, I‘d greatly appreciate your help.« Finally a normal person. No, finally a person that isn‘t actively trying to make your life worse. Without another word, the taller man picks the bags up and gets going to the front door of the apartment complex. You unlock the door and let him walk in first, taking notice of his broad back, still mesmerised, even when he‘s wearing a dark leather jacket. At the front of your door, you catch your breath after walking up four stories worth of stairs, needing a moment to compose yourself fully. Jason, however, doesn‘t seem to too exhausted and simply waits for you to open the door.

»Should I put them inside or just leave it here?« He feels rather awkward in this situation but refuses to show it or let himself cringe at his words, wanting to come off as friendly and nice.

»You can put it here, it‘s fine. Thanks, again.« Jason smiles lightly in return and steps back to his apartment door the opposite of yours, stepping in after unlocking it.

Inside, you stash away your groceries and take a small break, eventually slapping yourself for being so awkward with him. How did you not recognise him earlier, by your car? He is your neighbour! As a form of an apology, you settle into your kitchen and start making some baked goods, focusing on making the best cookies and bread you can muster.

After some hours, perfecting your cookies with sprinkles, and carefully wrapping the fresh loaf of bread into a pretty paper, his gift is ready. You put the sweet cookies into a tupperware, wrapping a light lace around it with a bow. Finally satisfied, you take your last wits and step out into the hallway, ringing his doorbell. To say that you‘re nervous puts it pretty well, your palms sweating lightly as you hold the baked good in yours arms. Jason answers his door, not having expected to see you again so soon again. Immediately, he straightens his posture and clears his throat, hoping he doesn‘t look like a mess right now.

»Hey, I just wanted to drop by some sweets after you helped me earlier… thanks again.«

You smile sweetly at him and hold out the loaf of bread with the box of cookies, overwhelming him. Although he doesn‘t see, surprised or shocked, he feels like his legs might give out under him.

»Oh— thanks. You didn‘t need to do all that, though.«

Jason takes the small box and craddles the lkoaf of bread into his arms, noticing how warm it is. You simply smile back, standing there for a moment longer before you awkardly say goodbye. From that moment on, Jason made sure to see you more often during the week and hopefully help you more with mundane stuff like getting your groceries into your apartment.

◐

In general, you didn‘t see Jason often. There were a few occasions you can remember seeing him, and it was extremly underwhelming. Once, you entered the basement with the on laundry day at the same time as him and he left immediately after you entered. You didn‘t think much of it, glad about the fact that you didn‘t have to worry about someone seeing your underwear. Another time was when you parked your car near the building and saw him getting off his bike before walking into the apartment complex before you. Thinking of it, that was approximately a week ago, if not less. Wait, he rides a bike? Maybe you should definitely try to see him more during the day, maybe he isn‘t that bad of a neighbour.

Even though you normally went into the laundry room in the mornnig to avoid people, you just couldn‘t bring it over yourself to get up a few minutes earlier than normally for that. But considering that it‘s rather late in the night, there‘s probably no one in there. Picking out the dirty clothes that need a wash, you walk downstairs into the shared basement and open the heavy door with your back, since your hands are busy with the heavy basket. Walking in, you didn‘t expect to see the same person you were thinking about earlier in the day. With an awkward smile, you pick a free mashine machine and mind your own business. Jason seems to be almost finished with his laundry, throwing in the last piece urgently. He nodded back at your smile, turning his broad back to you as he messes with the settings of the machine.

In the meantime, you throw in your clothes into the free machine, being composed, although you hope that he doesn‘t notice the light tremors in your hands. Why are you so nervous? It‘s not like you two talked more than three words together. Before you could overthink the situation, he leaves the room with a final glance over his shoulder until the room falls into yet another silence. The sounds of his washine machine going off is the only thing that keeps your mind in this reality. Finishing up your task, you can‘t help but be curious. With careful steps, you peer a little into the machine that washes his clothes, only noticing some flashes of red in between the black clothes. Without trying to be creepy, you casually make your way back into your apartment, forgetting about the previous interaction.

◐

Another week, another grocery haul. Exiting out of your car, you manage to put the two heavy bags onto the concrete before you fish out for your keys. This will probably take two trips, silently wishing that you magically grew a pair of biceps like your friendly neighbour has. Sadly, it doesn‘t happen, even after staring at the two grocery bags. With a final sigh, you pick up one of them and don‘t notice the man beside you until you lift your head up. From the surprise, you jump up and let go of your bag, a small gasp leaving you.

»Oh— so sorry, didn‘t mean it! You need help with that?« The black haired man seems just as surprised as you, seemingly guilty for scaring you.

But once again, your brain needs a second to catch up on the situation. Luckily, you nod and smile, rather amused. Either amused at the scare or his guilty expression.

»I was actually waiting for you to appear, so yes. Thanks.«

With a faint smile, Jason picks both bags into his hands and lets you lead the way to your apartment, as if he didn‘t know better. On the way up, he does his best to cover up the light sweat as he carries those groceries for you.

»Jeez, what do you have in there? A ton of bricks for a house?« He blurts out, his voice lightly out of breath. You can‘t help but chuckle at his comment, although you start to feel bad for him. »Stuff someone needs to survive during a week.«

You shrug in response and unlocks your door, not as exhausted as him. He sets the bags down by the door of your apartment, before he slips back into his own home, giving you a smile and a polite goodbye. After sorting through your ingredients, you can‘t help but think about the interaction for the rest of the day, hoping this will happen more often… without the scare.

Unlike last week, you simply bring him an easy recipe for cookies that he gladly takes and studies for the rest of the evening.

◐

Would it be weird for a neighbour to bring over cookies randomly? It was out of your recipe anyways, so you must like it, right? Judging from the last two times, it should be socially accepted to gift your neighbour something to show gratefulness.

Finally, Jason knocks at your door and tries not to fidget with the plastic bag in his hands, filled with cookies that he couldn‘t finish up. Unfortunately for him, the he made too many sweets, but now he has a good excuse to see you. The door opens after a few moments, revealing you in a fuzzy robe, draping over your body like a comfy blanket. Jason almost chokes on his spit and looks down, feeling like he just disturbed your privacy. You on the other hand, chuckle softly before greeting him.

»Good evening. Sorry about my outfit, got comfy.« You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms, ignoring the embarassment. At the same time, Jason composes himself and holds out the bag of cookies and your tupperware from the earlier cookies.

»It‘s fine, I tried your recipe and made too much. Hope you like them.« You take the gift with a grateful smile and look back up at him. You nod, trying to say something to keep the short interaction going.

»Thanks. So, you also like baking? I was hoping I didn‘t make you confused with it.«

Jason shakes his head with a faint smile, fidgeting with his hands briefly, before stuffing them into his pockets. »No, I like baking. Used to make cupcakes when I was younger, it‘s the time that keeps getting lesser these days.«

You get the struggle of having not enough time for yourself. Now that you think of it, you realise that he probably sacrficised time for these cookies. You smile back at him, keeping the cookies in your hands.

◐

It was like any other night shift for you, returning back inside your apartment complex early in the morning, with an aching body. The keys jingle in your hands as you go up the last few stairs into your story. As another yawn escapes you, you don‘t notice the other person in the hallway at the door opposite of yours.

Jason pauses and glances to his side of the sound of footsteps, staying frozen on his spot for another moment. Finally, your eyes focus on him and you give him a brief nod. He nods back, albeit slightly confused.

»Nightshift?« Judging by your rather formal clothes that remind him of work uniform, that‘s the only conclusion he comes up with. You nod in response, standing by your door. His leather jacket is in his arm, seemingly hiding something underneath it, or maybe your brain just makes things look weird after staying up for so long.

»You too?« Jason nods after a brief pause, glancing back down at his hand with his house key.

»Yeah… gonna rest up now.«

After saying goodbye, you return to your flat and pass out on your bed in a matter of seconds.

Moments like these happened more often where you both came back home at the same time or did your laundry in each other‘s company. Your conversations consisted of some small talk, sharing recipes together, and Jason made sure to bring your groceries up every week. It was fun and refreshing to have a helpful and nice neighbour like that. Especially if he has a few extra muscles that seem totally unecessary on him. Either way, you admire his workout routine, whatever it is, that he does.

Another night shift, another exhausted mind and insane craving for your bed. What you didn‘t expect to see was a vigilante by your door. Well, opposite of your door.

You both pause, a light gasp of shock escaping you as you stand there, frozen. Red Hood doesn‘t move as well, staring back at you silently until he finally clears his throat.

»Uh… do you know where Jason Todd is?«

His voice is rough and more raspy due to the modulator of the helmet, making you tense further. You process his words and shake you head quickly, glancing at Jason‘s door briefly.

»What? I- no, I didn‘t see him lately at all. Don‘t know where he went last month.«

A silence follows in the corridor, hoping that he believes you. Unexpectetly, he nods and makes his way past you, although with some distance.

»Good night, miss.« He mumbles, although the voice changer makes it sounds rather sinister. It seems like he doesn‘t notice, leaving you be and walks down the stairs in a hurry. You release a heavy sigh and watch his back until you hurry inside your apartment and lock your door, just in case.

You manage to fall asleep after pacing in your room, overthinking the situation. Is Jason in danger? Should you check up on him now? Considering that it‘s past four in the morning, that‘s a bad idea. Exhaling, you take a shower and eventually fall asleep afterwards.

You don‘t see Jason the next day in the laundry room, making you even more concerned. Luckily, you catch him next week as you walk out of your place to leave for the store.

»Jason! I need to talk to you for a moment.« You urge him lightly, stepping closer to him in the hallway. He stops and stares down at you, already tense. He doesn‘t know what to expect, ready to pull you inside his apartment and blackmailing you, so you won‘t reveal his identity to someone else… or worse, the media. But to his surprise, you feel concerned and look concerned.

»Listen, I get it if it‘s uncomfortable for you, but are you in danger? Because...« you hesitate, trying not to scare him, »Because I saw Red Hood at your door a week ago and he— he asked for you. Obviously I lied and told him you were gone since last month, but… do you need help?«

He listens to your small rant, seeing the worry on your face as clear as day. After thinking and contemplating in his mind, he pretends to be two people.

»I… you know, no one can know about this, but… he‘s actually a nice guy, just seems intimidating. He checks up on me a few times a year, but trust me, he isn‘t bad.«

He explains calmly, hoping to reassure you. The elder lady that lives above you comes down the stairs, seemingly noisy about the whispering in the stairwell. Jason notices and gently guides you inside, hand on your shoulder. Finally, inside and without any prying eyes, he goes on.

»Did he scare you?« This time, he seems worried as his eyes meet yours again. You shake your head, then nod, wanting to be honest.

»A bit… his voice just scared me.« He nods in understanding and lets go of your shoulder, glancing around his flat briefly.

»Want tea? It‘s the least I can do.«

That‘s how you settle onto his couch and drink tea together, taking your mind off the worrying topic with more mundane things.

◐

After getting to know more about Jason and why he knows Red Hoood, you feel calmer but also slightly more alert. Whenever you walk back home, you make sure to watch the rooftops, wanting to catch a glimpse of Red Hood, in case he patrols or goes to visit Jason again. Sadly, you don‘t see him, and find yourself wishing that he would appear someday again. Preferably at Jason‘s door, so you can escape into your apartment in case of an emergency.

Luckily, you catch him as you come back home after another long nightshift. You narrow your eyes at him, stopping in front of him as you take him in. The red guy seemingly stares back at you, exhaling lightly.

»Not scared this time, miss?« He sees you shake your head before untensing. He hums lightly under his breath, leaning up against the wall by Jason‘s door.

»Nightshift? Jason told me about your hard work.« He tries his best to pretend being another person as he stays casually leaned against the wall, arms crossed. You seemingly perk up shortly as he mentions your neighbour, eventually composing yourself afterwards.

»Did he? Well...you better take good care of him, I need him to carry my groceries.« Little did you know that Jason feels way more confident under his helmet, taking a few steps closer.

»Yeah? Such a big girl and you still need help with such things?«

You watch as he steps closer to you, but you don‘t get easily swoon over with his confident cockiness.

»Well, some girls like getting help with that. You should know that yourself, aren‘t you a vigilante?«

Jason explained the duties of Red Hood to you on the same evening when you had tea together. Now you‘re using his words against him, in a way he didn‘t expect. Red Hood pauses and blinks, coming off as stunned with his blank helmet. Finally, he steps back, raising his hands up in the air.

»Don‘t need to get cheeky there. Just wanted to tease ya.« He tries to save it, but once again, it falls on deaf ears as you walk past him to your door.

»Just do your job.« Is the last thing you say before you walk into your place, leaving him specheless in the hallway. Seems like you actually buy his act of being two seperate people. With a final nod, he enters his own apartment and wonders how long he can keep the act going.

◐

You visit Jason the day after, sitting on his couch as you talk his ears off about anything.

»Yeah— and then he stepped closer and just straight up insulted me. He thinks I‘m weak!« You complain to him as he prepares two cups of tea in his kitchen, smiling to himself as you talk.

»I‘m sure he didn‘t mean it like that.« He shrugs as he carefully walks over and hands you the sweet tea you seem to love.

»Still… he‘s a bit weird.« You mumble against the rim of the mug, making Jason grin more amused to himself. He leans further back against the couch, warming his hands up against his own cup of tea. A comfortable silence stretches between you as you simply sit beside each other, occaisonally sipping on your hot tea.

You sit up straighter, focusing on the flash of bright red underneath a pile of clothes at the armchair. Without trying to assume much, you glance subtly at Jason before you speak up.

»Is that his helmet?« He perks up beside you and looks up to where your eyes are focused on. Instead of immediately agreeing and covering it up, he watches you and stays calm, trying to predict how you‘ll react.

»Huh… yeah.«

You quirk an eyebrow at his response, finally looking back at him beside you. Your eyes narrow and you lean back into the couch, trying to say something to find out more.

»And.. he just left? Without his mask?«

»Mhmm.« Jason hums back in agreement, although he doesn‘t seem too convinced of himself. In reality, he feels extremly bad for lying right into your face the entire time. So, he stopped trying. It feels like you won‘t react too dramatic anyway, he hacked your phone and find out that you didn‘t tell anyone about any of this in the first place. In short, he thinks you are trustworthy, after doing his usual researching. Besides, it‘s hard to get rid of you anyway, considering you live right next door to him.

»Right...« You sigh out, finally putting two and two together, but won‘t voice it yet, being too nervous. Until he finally speaks up, leaning up this time.

»You know, I‘m surprised you believed me for this long.«

The tension finally snapped, making you relax but also grow excited.

»I knew you were the same guy all along! You both speak the same way.« You exclaim with a relieved smile, making him tilt his head in light disagreement.

»If you only saw me talking to muggers...« Jason mutters before he takes a sip of his tea.

It feels refreshing to trust someone with his identity outside of the whole vigilante and work area. Especially with someone so pretty.

←MASTERLIST

[ovrgrwnivy]

bejewelled ; spencer reid

what’s a girl gonna do? a diamonds gotta shine!

a/n: very mildly self indulgent, i imagine this set around season one or two-ish just ‘cause the vibe of early criminal minds season will never be matched.

warnings: spencer reid x afab!bau!reader, established, secret romantic relationship, body piercings ( bellybutton ), teasing ( derek and spencer being, well, derek and spencer )

recently these late nights in the office had become more and more frequent. the team all sat in the bullpen in comfortable silence, only broken periodically when someone offered coffee from the kitchenettes unreliable coffee machine.

you rose to your feet slowly, body aching from being sat at your desk for so long. you tilt your head side to side, humming softly at the relief in your neck and shoulders before clasping your hands together and stretching them above your head.

a grave mistake.

“what is this!” elle squealed, all but launching herself across her desk then the hem of your shirt rises to expose the sparkling jewel dangling from your navel “a piercing? how edgy.”

elle’s tone is teasing as one hand shifts the hem of your shirt up just enough for her to examine the star shaped diamond with the other.

you’re too tired to swat her away, and in all honesty you welcome the distraction from the heavy workload, even if it’s drawing unwanted attention from the rest of your team.

a low wolf whistle is sent in your direction from the one derek morgan as he peers over elle’s shoulder to get a look at the jewellery, as does jj, and, naturally, penelope.

“hey, pretty boy, you know about this?” derek taunts, glancing over his shoulder at spencer, still knee deep in paperwork and ignoring the commotion surrounding your navel.

the entire team, especially derek, loved to poke fun at spencer for his little crush on you. teasing him relentlessly for not asking you on a date, for how he occasionally stumbled over his words when you sat next to him on the jet.

a bellybutton piercing, by their assumption, should’ve sent the poor kid genius into orbit.

but spencer knew already.

the two of you had been a bit of an item for a little over six months, keeping the new relationship hidden from your team for no other reason than pettiness. it was nice having something that just belonged to you two.

“yeah, i know.”

spencers mumbled response catches even you off guard, and it doesn’t even seem to register with him what came out of his mouth as he cards his hand through his hair.

“i — excuse me, what!?” penelope squeaks, heels clicking as she shuffles her way over to spencers desk and snaps his file closed “nuh uh, open your ears mister!” she scolds, tapping his forehead with the fluffy pompom on the end of her pen.

spencers laugh, your favourite sound, reaches your ears as he finally lets you catch his gaze. his eyes quickly flick up and down your body, a speedy skill he’d been perfecting since you first got together to catch a glimpse at you without anyone else noticing.

“i knew.” spencer reinforces with a nod “she caught it in her sweater last week and took it out on me”

a half truth, it was his sweater, in his apartment, but his answer seems to be enough to satisfy elle who releases her grip on your shirt.

you watch as spencer gets to his feet and, much like you, began stretching. only, to your horror, when he craned his head to the side the collar of his button up no longer shielded the dark purple bruise on his neck.

your drunken handiwork.

“now wait a damn minute..” derek began, eyes drifting from reids neck to you “now i know y’all nasty kids aren’t doing what i’m thinking.”

“no idea what you mean,” you mumble hurriedly, burying your face back in your paperwork and ignoring the giggles and prodding coming from jj and elle at either side of you.

[itsthecline]

one conversation

maybank!reader x rafe cameron

summary rafe comes to pougelandia looking for sarah and finds you

warnings profanity , season four spoilers , use of marijuana , allusions to alcoholism , rafe being good at conflict resolution? , our girl is not standing on business at all

a/n initially , this had smut at the end , but i’m just finna two part ts for y’all<3

18+ minors dni

you were left alone to man the shop while the rest of your friends went to charleston. kie stayed behind as well , but she was driving all over the island trying to find jj. so here you were , doom scrolling behind the counter. you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking the worst when it came to what jj was up to or how the trip to charleston was going , but you could distract yourself and get high.

half of your blunt was gone when you thought you heard footsteps. you sat up straight , looking around the pillar you were leaned up against to see if anyone was there. pulling your headphones off , you took a deep breath. “no one’s here. no one’s trying to kill you. ghosts aren’t real,” you assured yourself before taking another hit of your blunt.

another puff and you heard more footsteps along with one of those eerie creeks from the wood. the scuba killer dude is so after me now. you hold your breath , not wanting him to hear you , but now your heartbeat was pounding more.

your hand fiddled around under the counter , feeling around for the knife you knew was there. it wasn’t the only one in the shop. the cool edge of the blade catches your finger and you grab it quietly , preparing yourself to fight a grown man who was dead set on killing you. the footsteps are getting closer , pausing every now and then like the man was looking around for you too.

“sarah?”

the all too familiar voice got your stomach to drop , your hand loosening around the knife entirely before you come out from around the cashier counter. “rafe?” you breathed out. the sweat that formed on the back of your neck had cooled , sending a chill down your spine.

your ex boyfriend turned at the sound of your voice , eyes softening at the sight of you clearly disheveled. “y/n , are you okay?” he instinctively asked , stepping toward you.

“i’m fine,” you answered shortly , backing up, “what’re you doing here?”

rafe chuckled , looking around the store. “what? ya can’t picture me just stopping by at my local bait shop?” he joked , fingers fumbling with one of the keychains that dangled on its hook.

“i don’t picture you at all anymore , rafe,” you simply replied , crossing your arms.

“agh! right— well , i came here looking for… my sister. i’m looking for sarah,” rafe explained , taking steps in a small circle just dicking around, “and you.” he stopped and a smile almost pulled at his lips. god , you missed his smile.

“well , sare isn’t here , so you’ll have to come back another time,” you shrugged , moving your way back behind the counter, “or not! sure you’re busy with sofia anyways. you should probably head out.”

rafe audibly groaned , bending back in frustration. “god damn it , y/n! could you— could you stop being difficult for one fucking second?” he cursed , rolling his eyes, “i’m— i’m tryna talk to you , baby.” your heart pinged at the nickname and the way rafe’s voice cracked just a little. the last time he called you that wasn’t even a part of your memory anymore. he leaned on the counter , resting his arms on the countertop and flicking at the pens in a metal tin.

and then you could smell it on his breath. to be fair , it was obvious the moment he started talking with his slurred words. “you’re drunk , rafe.”

“and? you’re high ; i can smell it,” he countered , finger coming up and booping you on the nose with a small laugh, “so what?”

you didn’t want to have to tell him to leave in the state he was in , but he could not be here when kie or jj got back. “i think you need to leave , dude,” you sighed , rubbing your forehead with your palm, “you can’t be here.”

“you used to beg me to come around the cut!” rafe whined , sniffling shortly, “now you don’t want me to?”

your eyes locked , and it was like time stood still. you thought you couldn’t read him anymore , but up close again , you know you could. he missed you. “i do,” you whispered , eyes still not leaving his, “but that doesn’t change anything.”

“one conversation,” he pleaded , grabbing your hand when you went to pull back again, “please.”

you always had trouble saying no to him. “fine,” you agreed , picking his keys up from the counter, “one conversation while i drive you home.” moving around the counter , you gently guided rafe back outside and to where his truck was parked. you helped him get in the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel and starting the truck. you heard the chime of your phone connecting to the bluetooth , and you cracked a smile. “sofia ever drive the truck?” you questioned , backing up and driving down the road.

“hell no,” rafe scoffed , reaching in the back seat for something. you eyed him , trying to figure out what he was doing. “i did something,” he announced , pulling a beer out and cracking it open.

your lips curled and you grabbed the bottle from him. “what did you do?” you asked , rolling the window down and chucking the beer out, “besides form a bad drinking habit?”

“i don’t have a bad drinking habit , y/n,” rafe groaned , letting his head hit the headrest behind him, “i made a deal. a business deal , y’know?” you looked at him , wanting him to continue. “so , you remember mrs. robinson? well , she’s not mrs. robinson anymore — whatever. so she proposed this business opportunity to me , and i’m doing it.”

“okay?”

“for us.” his voice was quieter than before , eyes flickering up to your face , gauging what you were thinking. if he even could anymore. but you didn’t say anything , so rafe continued, “i’ve been having these , i don’t know what to call ‘em , but i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. me and sarah. me and you. and i wanna have my family back,” he admitted, “i want you back.”

you were quiet for a moment , your music the only noise in the truck. “rafe…” you sighed. your heart wanted nothing more than to forgive him for everything and take him back like you always did. but things were so different now. “you have a girlfriend. i have my life here , and i— nothing has changed.”

“what do you mean ‘nothing has changed’ , y/n? come on! i have!” rafe argued back.

“no , you haven’t!” you laughed , volume matching his, “you haven’t changed at all. the last time we all saw you was when you were aiming a fucking gun at us after you kidnapped me and sarah! and then the other day at the enduro , and let’s not forget the swell day’s activities , rafe. you haven’t changed.”

you watched rafe sit up straight before adjusting to face you entirely. “i want you! i’m sorry for the shit that happened. that — that wasn’t me , and i think you know that. i’d never do anything to hurt you , baby.”

“stop calling me that , rafe,” you begged , looking at him for just a moment with tears in your eyes, “i can’t come back to you this time.”

“you don’t understand! with this deal with hollis? i’ll have enough money for us to go away and start our own life. just like we always wanted,” he explained , hand reaching your thigh, “it’s what you wanted. i’m doing it. for you.”

you could see rafe’s place come into view and let out a deep breath. “i didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled , pulling truck into park, “i’ve asked you to get your shit together. to not be a fucking mess all of the time. i’ve asked you to just be nice to me a thousand times! you’re too late.”

“no , but i’m not,” rafe rushed out , grabbing your hands in his, “this deal is perfect timing. you’re home ; i’m apologizing. this is good,” he countered , hopeful smile on his lips, “c’mon.”

it was taking everything in you to not just start bawling. about how much you missed him when you shouldn’t , about how fucked up everything is , about every single thing that has happened in the last two years.

“rafe , i love you,” you said , taking his face in your hands and looking him in the eyes, “i love you so much that i could forgive you for everything—“

“so forgive me,” he interrupted softly , slipping your hands into his again , missing the way they fit together.

“i can’t,” you shook your head, “i was legally a missing person for six weeks because you kidnapped me , and i had to jump off a fucking boat into the ocean to get away. you — you drugged me and took me , rafe. that isn’t something i can just get passed. and while i was gone fighting for my life , you started dating my coworker! do you think those things are easy to forgive you for? i have been trying to do that since i’ve been back. i have come up with every logical excuse that would help me forgive you , so i can come home. but you haven’t been doing the same , and you come to me now like you couldn’t have come earlier , rafe!” your rant was going on longer than you expected, “i love you , but right now you’re not the same person. look at yourself for a moment and really think if all of this shit you get yourself into is worth losing me ; because i’m getting to the point where i believe you think it is.”

rafe sat quiet for a moment , truly taking in every single word you spoke. you could see the gears grinding and sat patiently with his hands in yours while he thought. “i love you,” he started, “i have done a million things wrong , and i know that. i’m trying to sort those things out now. that’s why i came today! to talk to you and sarah,” he explained opening his truck door, “just come inside. we can talk everything out. i promise. just give me a chance.”

“okay,” you whispered , closing your eyes for a second before getting out of the truck with him. you heard the breath of relief come from rafe. “girlfriend not here?” you quipped.

“shut up,” rafe laughed , opening the front door for you, “welcome back.”

“been awhile,” you nodded , stepping into the house with your arms crossed over your chest. your bikini top became more notable when you stepped into the air conditioning. “uh , where do you—“

“we could go to my room,” rafe suggested , raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk before you reached over and smacked him. you tried to hide your own smile. it had been so long since you and him had talked like this— joked around. “kidding!”

“living room,” you decided , heading that way on your own. you climbed over the couch and plopped down , getting comfortable as if you had been here the day before , like nothing had changed. “get to talkin’ , big guy,” you huffed , gesturing for him to sit down as well.

rafe rolled his eyes before he came into your line of sight at the directions and that stupid nickname. he hated when you called him anything other than baby or my love or if you were mad rafe. “okay , bud. the fuck?” he mumbled quietly back as he took a seat.

you were quick to defend yourself from his tone. “why are you getting snippy with me?” you asked , eyebrows furrowing as a pout overtook your lips.

“never mind,” rafe sighed lightly, “okay— first thing’s first : sofia is not my girlfriend. she was never my girlfriend,” he started off , looking at you were more sober eyes now that the conversation you’d both been wanting to have was happening. “we met at a party , and we hooked up. it , ugh , we kept hooking up , and it’s just that. i don’t want to be with her ; i don’t have feelings for her. it’s not like that.”

“you wanna start off with this topic?” you questioned , knowing it was the most sore spot for you in the moment. yes , everything he did was monumentally worse than his thing with sofia , but this was picking at you constantly.

“yes , i want to start with this because it affects us the most. if you think i’m with sofia or whatever you won’t want to come back to me,” rafe explained like it was obvious, “and the most important thing to me right now is you. it always has been.”

you bit your lip , thinking about how you want to word what you’re going to say. “i… do not care what you think you and sofia’s label is,” you admitted with a shrug, “i think you found somebody else that doesn’t know you to fill a void that i left whenever i was stranded on an island. i think you found someone that you knew would bother me if i ever came back. and i think that it’s disgusting that you’re sleeping with the only person i got along with at the club. you know that i’ve seen her posting you all of the time.”

“i thought you were dead!” rafe argued, “i was drowning myself in liquor one night when she was working and we —“

“i don’t care to hear how you started fucking my friend , rafe,” you interrupted , holding your hand up, “why didn’t you wait for me? we have been through so much shit together. things we’ve done to each other or whatever the fuck argument we get into. shit with my brother. i just don’t know why you didn’t wait this time around.”

“i thought you were dead , y/n,” he repeated , quieter this time as though the words alone were making him think that way again, “and you came back and everything was already so different.”

“because you were fucking my friend,” you said again , trying to get your point across.

his hands came up and rubbed at his face , clearing accepting the fact that this was going to be an argument conversation not a talk this out conversation. “i fucked your friend , yeah. i was horny , and you had screamed at me that you hated me and jumped off of a ship in the middle of the ocean to get away from me. and then the next time i saw you , you let kiara fucking carrera shove me off my boat as we were getting away from singh. excuse me for wanting to let off some steam,” he shouted , standing up and pacing a few feet, “oh and then we’re all back home and you scream at me in front of everyone at the enduro and then again at the beach , so… yeah.”

“letting off so much ‘steam’ that your friends are letting a pogue hang out with you all of the time? i get sofia is nice , but rafe , you’re surrounded by jackasses twenty-four seven. they’ve gotta be under the impression you’re dating if they’re letting her come around,” you argued also standing up so he wasn’t towering over you as much, “that’s the problem!”

“would you rather me go around and fuck every girl on the island?” he scoffed , confused with the situation now.

“yeah! that would be more in rafe cameron fashion,” you answered, “you told me i was the only girl you’d ever let step foot in this house with you again!”

“and you promised me no matter what! we’ve made promises and we’ve broken them. that’s nothing new to us,” rafe countered quickly before taking a deep breath and holding your hands. he moved you both to sit down again. “i don’t want to fight , y/n,” he admitted, “i want us to talk.”

you looked into his eyes , really looked , and all you could see was rafe. you could see the sweet boy that used to take you to all the way to charleston for farmer’s markets and the boy that always made you laugh. you didn’t want to argue either ; it wasn’t fun for you. you were just so mad.

“i don’t know how to talk with you when i’m this angry , rafe!” you huffed , dropping your face into your hands, “i am so fucking angry all of the time.”

“how about we talk about what you want to then?” he suggested , hand reaching your thigh and rubbing it soothingly, “i want to talk , so if it’s hard for you , we’ll do what you want. all i want is you back. i’m willing to make this work.”

you eventually looked up again , a soft smile at the feeling of his warm hand forming. “i don’t want to talk , ray,” you confessed , covering his hand with yours, “i just wish things were the same as they were before all of this happened.”

“it can be,” he responded , a smile lighting his face, “we can be.” rafe scooted closer to you on the couch , gently pulling you into him. “i’m on your side. whatever you want to do.”

and you didn’t even realize that you had moved your head to kiss him. you were already kissing rafe deeply when you came to the realization that this was the dumbest thing you could’ve been doing at the moment , but he was there and you loved him as much as you shouldn’t. “i don’t want to talk,” you echoed , shifting to straddle rafe’s lap. and he let you.

“i don’t deserve you,” he mumbled in between kisses , letting his hands feel you for the first time in so long.

you pulled back for a moment , taking his hand in your face again to make him look at you. “don’t say that ; it hurts my feelings,” you smiled , pressing a kiss into his cheek, “i love you. let’s drop everything that’s happened. if you say you’ve changed , i’ll believe you.”

taglist @maybankslover @annatartastic @maroonz @ravenmedows @yootvi @icaqttt @inlovewithmorales

[supernotnatural2005]

Lovin' You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: It’s that time of the month and Dean is there to save the day.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: FLUFF! Dean is a hero! Menstruating, mentions of blood (nothing graphic) Dean is an actual sweetheart! I want one 😭

AN: Just a little wishful thinking for those doom and gloom moments us ladies get once a month 🫠 i hope this can be a pick me up for those times 💕 Gif not mine (found on google)

Dolly was the inspo behind this one 😉

Main Masterlist

You groaned as another sharp pain twinges in your lower abdomen, curling further into yourself as if that would somehow lessen the relentless ache. The hot water bottle pressed against your lower belly was practically scalding your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Anything was better than the pain currently wreaking havoc inside you.

Menstruating sucked.

Nestled in a fortress of blankets and pillows, you had tried to make yourself as comfortable as possible, but comfort was a foreign concept right now. Even the TV, which Dean had so thoughtfully set up in the room to distract you, barely held your attention.

Your phone buzzed in your weak grasp, drawing your attention. The screen lighting up with a picture you’d taken of Dean crossing his eyes goofily the last time you pointed a camera at him. The sight alone brought a tiny smile to your face as you answered, lifting the phone to your ear while suppressing another pained whimper.

It honestly felt like someone had taken up a chisel inside your uterus and was attempting to recreate the damn Sistine Chapel.

“Okay, I got light flow, heavy flow, extra wing support, night support—” Dean’s voice came through the speaker, listing off the brands as well. His voice was too serious for the matter, like if he was reeling off a list of supplies for a damn spell, and you had to bite your lip to keep from giggling despite the pain.

You’d run out of everything—tampons, pads, even your emergency stash. Between constant hunts and general chaos, your usual monthly toiletry restock had completely slipped your mind. But this particular cycle was hitting you like a freight train, leaving you barely able to move.

So, Dean—without hesitation, without complaint—had gotten dressed, laced up his boots, and headed to the store. No questions asked.

Sure, most guys knew about periods. Some were even cool about it. But not all of them wanted to hear the details without making a face or pretending they were about to pass out.

Dean Winchester, however, was a rare breed.

He never cringed or acted grossed out. If you needed something, he got it. If you were in pain, he listened. And, as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart swell, in the especially bad months—when you woke in the middle of the night to find you’d bled through your pyjamas and onto the sheets—Dean never got mad. He never looked at you with anything other than concern.

Instead, he’d scoop you up in his arms, carry you to the bathroom, and help you clean up while murmuring reassurances in that deep, gravelly voice of his. Then, without hesitation, he’d strip the bed, toss the sheets in the wash, and settle you back in a freshly changed bed like it was nothing.

Whether it was the years of hunting and being desensitised to blood or just the way he loved you—completely, without hesitation—it only made you fall harder for him.

“—or what about these? Super Soakers?” Dean drawled, snapping you back to the present. You could practically see him squinting at the box, brows furrowed like he was trying to crack some ancient hunter lore.

“I mean… I’m pretty sure they do the opposite of what you need, but hey, they claim to absorb up ten times more than the last version.” He let out a low whistle. “Damn. If these things were around when I was a kid, Sammy could’ve used ’em as flotation devices.” He sounded genuinely impressed, and that time, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just my usual, please.”

“Alright, alright, no Super Soakers,” he muttered, still sounding way too fascinated. More rustling followed, then—“Aha! Got ’em.” The sheer triumph in his voice was like he’d just bagged the biggest salt-and-burn of his life.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Congrats, champ. You wanna do a victory lap?”

“Tempting, sweetheart,” he quipped. “But I think the ladies in the aisle might start throwing coupons at me in appreciation.”

You shook your head at his ridiculousness, but you adored him for it.

You were still in the exact same curled-up position when Dean returned, two stuffed grocery bags in hand and a bag of your favourite chips clenched between his teeth. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the bags onto the foot of the bed.

Slowly, wincing, you sat up. “Did you buy the whole damn store?” you asked amused, rifling through the bags.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the pain, but the sheer volume of products he’d brought back almost made you cry. He hadn’t just grabbed your usual brand—he’d picked up damn near every similar product on the shelf, as if he was preparing for the apocalypse of all periods.

And the second bag? Overflowing with your favourite snacks, along with his, because of course he wasn’t suffering with you without the proper provisions.

Dean shrugged, flashing you a wink as he kicked off his boots and shed his jacket. “Maybe. But now you ain’t gotta worry about running out for a while. And this—” he lifted the snack bag with a proud smirk “—is so we don’t have to leave the bed.”

Your eyes welled up, and you tried to blink the tears away before he could notice.

But he always noticed.

“Hey, hey, no.” His face softened immediately as he rounded the bed, settling next to you, hands warm as they cupped your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles against your skin, his touch grounding you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I get the wrong ones? I swear that’s what you said, but maybe you were cutting out, and I—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss, cradling his scruffy cheeks between your hands. He let out a small, surprised sound before melting into it, his arms instinctively winding around you, pulling you in. When you pulled back, his green eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I love you, Dean.”

His entire body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and that rare, completely unguarded expression softened his face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world—and you were.

One hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear with infinite tenderness. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before easing back against the pillows and pulling you into his arms. His warmth immediately engulfed you, his scent—leather, soap, a hint of motor oil—comforting you more than anything ever could.

His hand slid over your abdomen, his palm pressing softly against the ache there, radiating the kind of warmth that soothed more than any hot water bottle ever could. He was your rock, your safety, your home.

“You good?” he murmured after a beat of comfortable silence.

You nodded, burrowing into his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

“Good,” he sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Now c’mon, let’s eat enough junk food to make both of us sick, and then pass out watching that show you like about Friends or something.”

You let out a watery chuckle, “You mean Friends?” You corrected him. It was your ultimate comfort show, one Dean’d had to endure many times. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he’d gotten hooked on it himself.

“That’s the one.” He hummed, stroking your side with the tips of his fingers. You closed your eyes and melted against him. Even through the pain, wrapped up in Dean’s arms, you’d never felt luckier.

AN: So this was a short one, but what I'd give to have my own Dean in these God awful times 😭😍. It’s giving Priestly vibes in Ten Inch Hero (if you’ve seen the movie) but i went with Dean on this one. Hope you enjoyed 😘

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas