#without normal map -> with normal map (left to right)

[luvly-writer]

Bliss: Stressful situations

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The war room was colder than usual, the fire in the hearth crackling low. Maps littered the table. Reports. Threat assessments. Requests from outposts. Royal eyes watching their every move. And silence hung sharp between the Duke and Duchess of Tyrrendor.

“I told you we shouldn’t have promised the supplies yet,” Xaden snapped, pacing. “We don’t have the numbers. We can’t protect everyone.”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. “And what do you want me to do, Xaden? Let them starve?”

“I want you to think, not act on emotions. You’re not just a rider anymore.”

Her eyes flared. “And you’re not just a commander. You’re a leader, my husband—maybe try not treating me like one of your lieutenants.”

Xaden stopped, turning to face her. His voice was low, hard. “You act like your heart is more important than the people depending on us.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stung, like he’d sliced straight through it.

“And you act like your logic is the only thing keeping this duchy alive.” Her voice cracked. “Like you have to carry the world on your own and anyone who cares too loudly is a liability.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “You did. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I do feel too much. But at least I still feel. At least I still remember why we fought, why we bled, and why we lead.”

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

A long, painful silence filled the space between them. Two hearts still aching for each other, but bristling with everything left unsaid.

Y/n swallowed hard and looked away, blinking quickly. “I’m gonna sleep in Ridoc’s quarters tonight.”

Xaden didn’t stop her. His jaw locked, eyes heavy with regret, but he nodded once, barely.

She turned, hand resting on the doorframe. “I love you,” she said softly, without looking back.

“I love you too,” he whispered, but she was already gone.

And the war room fell silent again—colder than ever.

The hallway outside Ridoc’s quarters was dim, lit only by the low hum of lanterns along the stone walls. Xaden stood there, silent for a long moment, knuckles hovering just short of the door.

He hated this. The tension. The space between them. The weight of the fight still clinging to his chest like ash.

They had promised—no matter what, they wouldn’t go to sleep angry.

So he knocked.

The door creaked open a few seconds later, revealing Ridoc shirtless, hair a mess, blinking like he’d just been dragged out of the deepest sleep imaginable.

“What,” Ridoc said flatly, narrowing his eyes, “do you want, Riorson?”

Xaden didn’t hesitate. “I need to see her.”

Ridoc sighed, scratching the back of his head. “She’s asleep. Or trying to be.”

“I just... We never go to bed mad. That’s always been our rule.”

Ridoc leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed now, brows drawn together. “And normally, I’d tell you to get in there and fix it.” A pause. “But not tonight.”

Xaden stiffened. “Ridoc—”

“She’s hurting. You’re hurting. You both said things you regret, but if you go in there right now, raw and exhausted, it might make it worse.” His tone wasn’t cruel, just… protective. Steady. “Let her breathe, Xaden. Let her rest.”

Xaden looked down, jaw clenching. “I hate this.”

Ridoc sighed. “Yeah. Me too.” He stepped forward just a bit. “But she’s my sister, and you’re my friend. So trust me when I say—give her the night. Talk to her tomorrow when your head isn’t still clouded with war maps and guilt.”

The weight of it all settled over Xaden’s shoulders, but he finally nodded.

“Tell her…” His voice cracked slightly. “Tell her I still love her.”

Ridoc’s expression softened just a touch. “She knows.”

And then the door closed gently.

Xaden stood there for a long while, staring at the wood. Then he turned back toward their quarters, empty and cold without her—counting down the hours until morning.

Y/n sat on the edge of Ridoc’s bed, legs drawn up to her chest, hair messily braided over one shoulder. She hadn’t slept much. Not with the argument still echoing in her mind, not with the hollow ache of regret lodged deep in her chest.

She heard Ridoc move about quietly in the adjoining room, giving her space. Always giving her space when she needed it most.

But then came the soft knock at the door.

Her heart stilled.

Ridoc’s voice drifted in, quiet and almost amused. “It’s for you.”

She blinked. Stood. Walked toward the door like her body moved on instinct, not entirely ready—but still needing to see him.

Xaden was there, in the hallway. Dark circles under his eyes. Hands tucked in the pockets of his coat like he didn’t know what else to do with them. And when his eyes lifted to meet hers—

Gods.

There was so much in that look.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough with sleep and guilt. “For everything I said. For the way I snapped. For forgetting I’m not doing this alone.”

She blinked, throat tightening. “I said things I didn’t mean either.”

He took a slow step closer. “You were right about the pressure. About how I shut you out sometimes. But I need you. Not just beside me in court. I need you.”

A pause.

“I hate waking up without you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. Her walls crumbled.

And before she could think twice, she stepped into his arms, burying her face into his chest as his arms wrapped around her tightly, like he’d never let go again.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s like the air goes still when you’re not near me.”

She laughed softly against his chest, then pulled back just enough to cup his face.

“We’re both learning,” she said, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “And we’ll keep learning. Together.”

He leaned down, forehead pressed to hers. “Together.”

And when their lips met, it was slow. Healing. The kind of kiss that sealed the cracks they’d caused in the night.

Later that morning, when they returned to their own quarters hand in hand—Ridoc took one look at them, grumbled something about “soft idiots,” and walked away with a smirk.

But the way Xaden kept his hand tightly clasped in hers?

Y/n knew they’d be just fine.

They sat together in their quarters, curled on the couch beneath a shared blanket. The first light of morning filtered through the windows, golden and soft, casting a glow over the room. The fire in the hearth crackled low, comforting. Xaden had made tea—well, burnt it slightly—but Y/n still sipped it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

They hadn’t said much since returning, just stayed close. Reassuring. Steadying.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence.

“I hate that we let them get to us,” she said softly, staring into her mug. “The advisors, the court, the expectations. I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove that I belong here… and sometimes I wonder if I’m failing.”

Xaden looked over at her, something dark and fierce softening in his expression. “You’re not failing. You never were. They don’t know the woman who’s won battles and built bridges with her bare hands. They don’t see what I see.”

She looked up at him. “And what do you see?”

His voice lowered, steady and sure. “A force of nature in pearls and gold. The strongest person in any room—and the kindest. The reason I can even breathe through any of this.”

Y/n blinked fast. “I just… I want to do this right. For Tyrrendor. For us.”

“You are,” he said, gently taking her tea and setting it aside. His hand came to rest on her knee, thumb brushing in circles. “But we can’t forget us in all this. I think I got so wrapped up in the title—trying to be who my father never could be—that I stopped listening.”

“And I stopped giving you the benefit of the doubt,” she admitted. “I forgot that it’s always been us against the world.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her temple. “Then let’s remember it now.”

She leaned into him, her voice muffled against his neck. “We promised to always talk before bed. No more silence. Even when it’s messy.”

“No more silence,” he echoed, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “And maybe fewer meetings at sunrise.”

Y/n laughed softly. “Agreed.”

They stayed there for a long time. No thrones, no court, no titles—just Y/n and Xaden, reminding each other that their love had always been the strongest thing they carried.

Author's note: IM CRYING?! I can't believe this is over. This story meant so much to me! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing and reading it. I have a small surprise for you guys and it is that I made a Of Light and Shadow incorrect post cause I wanted something cute. It will be linked to the masterlist. As for updates, I currently have a post with all my drafts so be sure to check it out to know more of my next project from The Empyrean Universe. Thank you so much for reading!

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[secretarysong]

finally figured out what i'm supposed to do with normal maps... three blender crashes later... zuke always ends up as my test subject

[endofthelinegang]

muscle man

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  frank castle x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  frank castle would love nothing more than to just sit and maybe even relax a little, but you just can’t stand looking at him like that.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  biting. 

The quiet in the safehouse wasn’t just peaceful—it was intimate. A stillness born from exhaustion, trust, and the kind of love that didn’t need constant tending to be felt. It lingered in the soft hum of a box fan propped in the window, the distant creak of old floorboards settling, the faint scent of gun oil and laundry detergent that clung to Frank like a second skin. You were both sunk deep into the battered couch, close enough to share body heat, which Frank provided in generous, furnace-like quantities. His thigh pressed against yours, his hand lazily resting on your leg like it had forgotten anywhere else to go. The kind of casual, unconscious affection that made your chest ache a little. You were scrolling mindlessly on your phone watching a video of people you barely knew going on vacation, when Frank grunted low in his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt making both of you shake just a little. You were already mostly naked in just a half shirt and shorts, and the fan was working well enough that you were unbothered by Frank being so close to you. 

“Hot as hell in here,” he muttered, taking in a big deep breath and tapping his fingers on your leg some more with more vigor than he had been. 

You barely looked up. “It’s the fan or nothing. The AC unit’s busted.” You rolled your eyes thinking about how it was probably going to be down all summer because keeping Frank not only inside but home anywhere was difficult. 

He shifted beside you, large fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t think anything of it—until the shirt came up. And then time stopped. His hand came up off your leg for just a moment.  You caught the first flash of skin out of the corner of your eye—just a hint of his stomach, the sharp dip of muscle under a soft trail of dark hair. But it kept going. He peeled the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it somewhere behind him without ceremony. His hand landed in exactly the same spot it had just been, to him nothing happened at all. 

And you forgot how to function.

Frank Castle shirtless wasn’t rare. You’d seen him like this. Touched him, kissed him, left nail marks on that skin more than once. But it still hits like a truck every damn time from the pit of your stomach, down your legs, and back up to your neck.

He was ridiculous.

Broad, thick through the chest and shoulders, every inch of him packed with strength that didn’t ask for attention—it commanded it. His torso was a brutal map of scars: faded bullet wounds, slash marks, burns. But somehow, they just made him hotter. Right now every single piece of skin he had was wet with a sheen of sweat that the fan was not fixing. The man ran hot and he was clearly making it his mission to make you the same way. 

His biceps were what really broke your brain—veined, solid, the kind of thick that made your hands itch with the urge to grab. He settled back against the couch with a low exhale, his arm stretching across the backrest like a casual invitation. The muscle shifted with the motion, slow and deliberate. You swore he knew what he was doing.  You weren’t breathing. Your phone was sitting in your left hand just sitting ready to fall at any second, you were looking at his arm and his hand that was just resting. The calloused pads of his fingers were now rubbing at the skin as he was hyper-focused on the tv he had decided to turn on. You were trying—trying—to be normal. Be chill. You were in a relationship, for God’s sake. You lived together. This shouldn’t be such a big deal. But it was. Because Frank Castle was sitting there shirtless, looking like he belonged in some kind of R-rated firefighter calendar, and it was a lot.  And then he flexed his arm. Just a little. Just enough to adjust. But the bicep bulged, and you lost all control. 

“Jesus,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. You couldn’t even bring yourself to touch him back, he was making you feel like you could puke, like this was the first time you had ever seen him like this. Your mistake was turning to look at him entirely. The way he was just so comfortable flexing his abs on and off by just breathing, the way no matter how relaxed into the couch he was his muscles sat perfectly. 

Frank turned his head slightly, brow raised. “What?” 

Before your better judgment could talk you down and before Frank could examine you to see what any of this could possibly be about, you leaned over and bit him.

Not hard—just a firm, deliberate nip at the swollen curve of his bicep, right above the vein. Your teeth sank into warm skin, and the taste of him, salty and sun-warmed, was unfairly good. Your hands moved to touch his shoulder and his leg to steady yourself. The mark you left was so small in comparison to the size of his arm, the two little canine marks being the most pronounced.

Frank jolted like he’d been electrocuted, but he didn’t shove you off or even really move anything other than his head,  “The hell?”

You pulled back, grinning, chin still resting lightly on his arm, the hand you used to his shoulder moved down to touch the little mark,  “Couldn’t help it.”

He looked at you like you’d just declared war, his deep brown eyes looked black with the way his pupils were dilating. “You just bit me.”

“This was entrapment and partial delirium from the heat.” You defended yourself just a bit letting your hair fall to the front of your face, biting your lip just enough to make him look. Frank stared at you in dead silence. His expression was a perfect blend of exasperation and disbelief. 

“Entrapment,” he repeated flatly using two slow blinks as his way of telling you that was the dumbest excuse he had ever heard for something that had no reason to happen. 

You nodded, completely unapologetic, you slid off of one side to sit completely on his laps, your thighs outside of his, your skin sticking together as the heat of him immediately trapped you. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me. Sitting there all...big.”

He blinked and didn’t even more as you slipped your hands behind his head and started running your fingers slowly from the back of his head down his neck.  “Thick.”

“Like a tree,” you said lazily letting your upper body fall back a bit so you could look at him even more, the shirt you wore was now riding up just a bit on your side and Frank stuck a hand there to keep you from putting it back down. “A warm, angry tree I wanna sink my teeth into.”

Frank’s jaw twitched, but his lips threatened a smile. You could see the war happening in his head—stoicism versus the fact that he was hopelessly in love with a total fucking moron. What did not help him think was the fact that you were now using your hands to expand to the back of his shoulders running your hands back and forth over the skin. 

“You’re insane,” he said, voice rough but amused, you took the back of his head in your hands as well as you could and pushed his forehead into yours.

“And you’re comfy,” you sighed, practically whining as he now placed his other hand parallel to the other.

There was a pause. A warning in the quiet. Before you could lean in any further, your lips practically touching, you could feel the warmth of his breath and the smell of coffee, he held himself back with the tensing of his neck. 

“Next time,” he said, voice low and steady, “I bite back.”

[jo-com]

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. ➛ Right Person, Wrong Time

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: The story of how they fell apart, found themselves, and came back together stronger than ever—this time, for good.

୨ৎ Genre: Little Angsty but with a happy ending!

୨ৎ Note: Some grammatical errors, this also not proofread. Hope y’all enjoyyy!!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Oscar and Y/n have been inseparable since the very beginning—their moms were best friends long before they were even born, laying the foundation for a bond that felt written in the stars.

Their lives grew tangled in all the right ways, shaping each other in quiet, everyday moments. Oscar wouldn't be who he is without his Y/n, and the same goes for her. What they had felt like it was lifted straight from a fairytale—but not the perfect, polished kind. It was the kind with scraped knees, shared secrets, and laughter over nothing. Two innocent kids who didn’t realize that all those little moments were slowly leading them to something bigger. To love. The kind that felt inevitable.

It was like they were fated to be each others company.

...

When Oscar started racing, Y/n was alongside him— cheering him on in the sidelines. Always proud to see him reach for the sky and landing the dream he longed for.

You were beyond happy when his talents were discovered— his reputation sky rocketed in an instant. With each milestones that Oscar gained you were always there— giving him nothing but endless love and support.

But they say the good cannot coexist without the bad.

Like every story touched by magic, there’s always a storm that follows the calm. You just never expect it to hit as hard as it does. One moment, everything feels untouched, golden—and then suddenly, it doesn’t. The silence gets louder. The distance creeps in. And before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage, wondering how something so good could break so quietly. Wondering if you ever really mattered in the way you thought you did. Questioning your place in his world, like maybe you were just passing through—while he was your entire map.

It broke you in ways you didn’t know were possible—to watch something so carefully built fall apart without warning. Years of shared memories, inside jokes, and quiet trust, all crumbling under the weight of unspoken words and arguments that never really had a point. It wasn’t one big moment, just a slow unraveling. And that’s what hurt the most. Not the shouting, not the silence—but the way it ended like it meant nothing, when to you, it meant everything.

...

Years have gone by, You were living… but were you really? Or were you just existing, moving through the days with a version of yourself that never fully came back after him? Because some goodbyes don’t echo right away—they linger, quietly, in the spaces where love used to live.

You were there present times but your mind just wonders back to the past. A past you swore you moved on from.

Whenever you scroll through your phone— headlines of him passes by... just like the memories you locked up. Clouding your mind with endless possibilities of what should have been and shouldn't have.

Seeing him happy and fine without you was tearing you apart.

...

Days later, your friend begged you to come with her to a Formula 1 event. You said no at first—too many memories, too much risk of running into him. The thought alone made your chest tighten. But she insisted, said you needed a change of scenery, something to pull you out of your head.

So there you were, standing beside her in a dress that hugged you just right, the kind you wouldn’t normally wear. The wind danced through your hair, engines roared in the distance, and for a moment, you almost forgot why your heart felt so heavy. Almost. Because even in a crowd that big, part of you was still scanning for the one face you weren’t ready to see—but couldn’t stop hoping you would.

"Are you having fun y/n/n?" Your friend asked, smiling as she examined your tensed features.

You nodded lightly, contemplating whether or not to share your fleeting feelings with her.

She hummed in response as she took a sip on her drink, paying no mind at your not so obvious anxious state.

After a while, the drivers began to roll in, the announcer's voice echoing as each name was called. Cameras zoomed in on each passing figure, but your world slowed down, your heart skipping when they finally called his name. Time seemed to freeze as the crowd cheered, and for a moment, it was like everything else disappeared. All you could hear was the rush of your own heartbeat, the echo of his name ringing in your ears.

You looked away immediately as soon as you took a glance at him. The growing feeling in your heart becoming heavier as you saw a glimpse.

Oscar smiled across the room, unbeknownst to him that you were only a mere meters away from him.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, even when you didn’t want to. You saw how effortlessly happy he was, laughing and smiling with everyone around him. That smile—one you once knew so well—was the same one you had watched fade away when things between you two fell apart.

And then it came—the moment you’d been dreading all night. His eyes finally met yours, and with every passing second, his grin slowly shifted into a frown as your gaze locked.

You looked away, not wanting to feel the heavy pain that came with his eyes. The weight in your chest felt like it might suffocate you, but you fought it off, pushing back the ache. Your focus shifted to something—anything else. The crowd, the noise, the cars racing in the distance—but it was all just background noise now, like everything was happening in slow motion.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd escape the hurt, but then you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned, almost startled, to find your friend watching you closely. She knew you too well. "You good?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, like she already knew the answer.

You nodded almost instantly. The beat on your heart not resting. "I uhm i am just.. tired yeah tired." You quipped back.

She looked at you knowingly, her eyes catching the tension in your face—your brows knitted together, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and the slight crack in your voice. It was a habit you had whenever stress hit, and she’d seen it enough times to recognize it instantly.

"Want to go home now?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

You didn’t even hesitate. The weight of the night, the memories, and the sudden rush of emotions all became too much to bear. You nodded, your throat tight as you forced a small, thankful smile.

"Yeah," you whispered, "I think I do."

She didn’t ask anything more, just nodded in understanding, guiding you away from the noise and toward the exit. As you walked, it felt like you were shedding a part of yourself with every step—walking away from a past that had once meant everything to you.

His gaze followed you until you were swallowed by the crowd, the space between you growing wider with each step. He stood there, frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do with the flood of emotions that suddenly hit him. There was a tightness in his chest, an ache he couldn’t shake. He had always been able to read you—knew when something was wrong, even before you said a word—but now, seeing you walk away like that, he felt a sense of helplessness.

He wanted to run after you, to apologize, to fix whatever had broken between you, but the thought of reaching out only felt like a step too late. The moment passed, and all he could do was watch, his heart heavy with regret, as you disappeared into the night.

...

The next morning you woke up like normal— did your usual morning routine but with an unexpected bombarding text from none other than him.

Your hands seem to shake as you reached down to open your phone. You were scared to read what it contained— hesitantly you opened his text.

Oscar [3:43 AM]: i know im probably the last person u wanna hear from right now but i can’t stop thinking about u i saw u today. u looked beautiful. like always. and it hit me all over again i messed up. i know that i was stupid, and i let u walk away without saying what i needed to say can we meet? please just talk. just once i’m sorry y/n. for everything.

You stared at your phone, the screen glowing in the room. His name sat at the top of the message, your heart pounding harder with each word you read. A part of you wanted to cry. Another part wanted to scream. And somewhere deep down, beneath all the hurt, was a quiet voice that still missed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming in your head but never making it to the screen. You locked your phone instead, tossing it gently onto the bed like it might burn you if you held on too long.

You needed time to breathe. To think. Because the wound was still there, barely healing—and reopening it now felt like risking everything all over again.

...

It had been three days since the message. Three days of pacing, rereading, overthinking. But in the end, something in you gave in—not because you were ready, but because a part of you still needed closure. Or maybe hope.

You agreed to meet at a quiet café tucked away from the buzz of the city, the kind of place no one would recognize either of you. You sat by the window, fingers curled around a warm cup, trying to steady your nerves as the minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt it—the shift in the air, the way your heartbeat quickened without warning. And when you finally did glance up, there he was. A little tired, a little messy, like sleep hadn’t come easy. But his eyes locked onto yours like they never forgot the way back.

He walked over slowly, uncertain. “Hey,” he said, voice low.

You gave a small nod, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything could ever really fix what had been broken—but you were here. And so was he. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start with.

He slid into the seat across from you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read the time that passed between you. You sat in silence for a few seconds, the quiet louder than it should’ve been.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze steady. “Neither did I.”

He gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was drunk when I sent that. But… everything I said—I meant it.”

You looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “You always seem to mean things too late, Oscar.”

That stung. You saw it in the way he looked down, his jaw tightening. “I know. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, and I let everything fall apart like it didn’t matter. But it did. You mattered. You still do.”

Your heart twisted. God, part of you wanted to believe him. To rewind everything. But the other part? The one that carried the weight of every sleepless night, every moment you felt like a ghost in his world—that part kept you grounded.

“I’m not here because I forgot what happened,” you said softly. “I’m here because I don’t want to wonder anymore. I need to know if there’s something still worth holding onto… or if I should finally let it all go.”

He leaned forward, eyes pleading. “Then let me prove it. I don’t want to be the storm that ruined you. I want to be the calm after it.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him, really looked at him—and for the first time in a long while, he looked like he meant it.

You let his words hang in the air for a while, unsure if the ache in your chest came from hearing what you’d always wanted—or fearing it wasn’t enough anymore.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “Too much has changed. I’ve changed.”

He nodded, his expression gentle but weighed down with guilt. “I don’t want to go back. I want to start from where we are now. Even if it’s slow. Even if you’re unsure. I just… want a chance.”

You looked at him again—really looked. He wasn’t the boy you grew up with, or the one who broke your heart. He was someone in between now. Bruised by life. Regretful. Human.

You exhaled, your chest rising and falling with a strange mix of relief and sadness. “Then don’t say things you don’t plan to follow through with this time.”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, earnestly. “Not again.”

For the first time that evening, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Not out of happiness, not quite—but out of possibility.

“Okay,” you said softly. “One step at a time.”

He smiled, just a little. And this time, it didn’t feel like a distant memory—it felt like something new.

...

Six months later

It didn’t happen overnight.

There were awkward silences, hesitant conversations, and days when the past felt heavier than the present. But there was effort—real, intentional effort. Oscar showed up. Consistently. Whether it was texts just to check in, coffee left at your door, or quiet walks where no one needed to say much—he was there.

You started laughing again. The real kind. The one that filled a room without trying.

He learned how to be patient. You learned how to forgive—not just him, but yourself too.

There were no grand gestures or movie-worthy speeches. Just small, honest moments stitched together over time. A touch on your hand that lingered a little longer. A shared memory that no longer hurt to revisit. A night spent talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep on the couch.

And one morning, as sunlight spilled through the window and your head rested on his chest, you realized something.

You were happy.

Not the naïve kind of happy you once were, but the quiet, steady kind that came after the storm. The kind that knew what it was like to lose—and chose, day after day, to stay anyway.

He looked down at you, brushing your hair back gently. “You know,” he whispered, “I think we’re finally okay.”

You smiled, fingers tracing lazy shapes along his arm. “Yeah,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut. “We are.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the ending you both deserved—no longer a fairytale, but something even better.

Something real.

...

One Year Later.

The entire weekend had built up to this moment. The pressure, the anticipation, the sweat. But when the checkered flag waved and the world seemed to slow down, it didn’t matter anymore.

Oscar had done it.

P1.

The crowd was roaring, the team was shouting, and the pit crew was cheering as if the whole world had exploded in celebration. But amidst all of that, Oscar wasn’t looking at any of them.

He was looking for you.

He tore off his helmet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wasn’t interested in the reporters or the flashing cameras. His eyes were on the one person who had been there from the very beginning.

You.

The moment his gaze locked onto yours, he broke free from the chaos. Pushing past everyone, he sprinted across the track, his heart racing as fast as his car had. The cheers of the crowd faded into the background, the only sound he could hear was the pounding of his feet on the pavement, and the thudding of his heart.

When he finally reached you, there was no hesitation. His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart, even for another second.

And then, without a word, he kissed you.

It was a kiss that was years in the making—fueled by everything you’d been through, every moment of doubt, every argument, every quiet night spent holding onto each other in the aftermath of pain. But this kiss wasn’t about the past. It was about the future. About all the promises you’d made to one another in whispers and in silence.

He kissed you like he had just won everything that mattered.

“I did it,” he breathed, forehead pressed against yours as he pulled back, still holding you close. “We did it.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, still trying to process the reality of what had just happened. “You’re incredible,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “You were always here, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The crowd was still cheering, the cameras flashing, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, standing there on the track, the rest of the world waiting for the celebration.

But to Oscar, this moment—this kiss, this feeling—was the victory that mattered most.

[unhinged-bratty-boy]

Dabi - sad headcanons

This is my first time writing anything, be gentle with me 🙏🏻

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a bored glance while killing time in the a convenience store as he waited for his contact to show. But then you walked in.

At first, he didn’t think much of it - just another face in the endless sea of strangers. But something about you made him pause. The way you casually brushed hair from your face while scanning shelves, the soft hum of a song under your breath, completely unaware of the world around you. You were normal. Unshattered. Alive.

His sharp, turquoise eyes narrowed, lingering longer than they should’ve. He blamed it on curiosity. Something about you felt warm in a way he hadn’t experienced in years - like standing too close to a hearth after a lifetime of cold. It made him uncomfortable. Made him angry.

He should’ve walked away. He didn’t.

Dabi followed you out of the store without even realizing it. At first, it was instinct - silent footsteps slipping through the dark alleys like a shadow as he followed. He told himself he just wanted to see where you lived. Just a quick glance, nothing more.

This one time turned into a shady routine for him. He had to know more.

Within days, he knew your routine - when you left for work, when you returned, where you shopped. He mapped out the weakest points of your flat with practiced efficiency - windows that didn’t lock quite right, a back door that stuck if you didn’t shove it hard enough. Old habits. Necessary. Just in case.

At night, he watched the soft glow of your apartment lights from across the street, imagining what your life must be like on the inside. Warm, ordinary, safe. He hated how much he wanted it.

One day, when he saw you struggling with heavy grocery bags, the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He shoved his hands deep into his material pants pockets, masking the nervous twitch of his fingers.

"Need a hand?" His voice was rough, casual - but there was something too sharp in his gaze, too focused.

You hesitated for just a moment before offering a grateful smile that hit him like a punch to the chest.

"Thank you! These bags are killing me."

He took them without another word, pretending the weight didn’t bother him. He could feel your eyes on him, curious, a little suspicious but not wary - not yet.

As you walked together, you talked - about nothing, really. The weather, the annoying store line, small, inconsequential things. But every word out of your mouth felt like oxygen to a man used to suffocating.

When you unlocked your door and turned back to him, smiling that same soft, trusting smile, he swore he felt his ruined heart stutter.

"Thanks again... um...?" you prompted, clearly expecting a name.

For a split second, he considered giving his real name - Touya - but killed the thought immediately. Too dangerous. Too personal.

"Dabi," he said instead, voice low, almost daring you to question it.

"Weird name," you said playfully, completely unfazed. How sweet you didn't recognise his villain name. "But thanks, Dabi. I really appreciate it."

Dabi always got what he wanted. He was ruthless, cunning, relentless. He should’ve burned this weakness out of himself the moment he realized what was happening. But he couldn't. He wanted you. All of you. And he was about to make you his.

This was how you two started seeing each other.

Dabi never calls your flat a home. The word sticks in his throat like ash. Home was burned away years ago, leaving only the cold, empty shell of survival. The apartment he crushes in from time to time is just a place where he exists, not where he belongs.

He lives in your home like a visitor overstaying his welcome. His clothes stay packed in a small, battered duffel bag shoved under the bed. “It’s just easier this way,” he mutters when you ask why he never uses the closet.

No matter how much he scrubs his skin, the faint scent of burning flesh never fades. He can see you notice but pretends he doesn’t. It makes him feel disgusted with his own self. It makes him feel guilty because you deserve much better. When you light scented candles or spray room freshener, he flinches inwardly, convinced you’re trying to mask the stench of him.

Every time he touches you, it feels like a silent goodbye. His hands are scarred and trembling, his grip tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. When he holds you, it’s never soft - it’s desperate, bruising, clinging. He needs the reminder that you’re real, that he’s still here, that he hasn’t burned you away yet.

He doesn’t say “I love you” because he thinks it’s a lie. People like him can’t love - not properly. Not in ways that don’t hurt. But sometimes, late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll trace your features with the lightest touch, memorizing every line like he’s carving you into his memory - for when you’re gone.

He expects you to leave. He knows you will, eventually. Everyone does. He can’t stop his sharp tongue or bitter jabs when he feels too close - it’s his defense mechanism. If you get too close, you might see him for what he really is - broken, twisted, beyond saving. Better that you leave on your terms than pity him.

Dabi barely sleeps. On good nights, he dozes fitfully beside you, waking at every small noise like he’s still being hunted. On bad nights, he sits by the window until dawn, smoking one cigarette after another, eyes fixed on your soft, relaxed features as you're deep in your slumber.

Late at night, when the world is still, you often find him standing at the window, his eyes tired, staring into the endless dark. His cigarette burns low between scarred fingers, ash scattering unnoticed, staining your floor. "Touya, come back to bed," you ask, improving your silky nightgown around yourself. He doesn’t turn around. His voice is rough, distant, "Tsk. Don't call me Touya. He is long dead."

On his worst days, he believes he deserves the pain. He’ll disappear without a word, returning with fresh burns hidden beneath his sleeves, the acrid smell of charred skin lingering around him. You know better than to ask where he’s been - his hollow eyes tell you everything you need to know.

Dabi doesn’t believe in a future - not for himself. The idea of living a long, peaceful life feels like a cruel joke. He talks about “when” he has to leave, never “if.” He’s already made peace with the fact that whatever this is - you and him - won’t last. Nothing ever does.

He keeps insignificant things - crumbled notes you left on the fridge, your old scarf that still smells faintly of your perfume, a broken hairclip. He stashes them in a small, dented box under his bed in the LOV hideout. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he pulls the box out and runs his fingers over the keepsakes, pretending, for a few minutes, that he’s someone worth remembering.

When you fight, Dabi lashes out like a wounded animal, sharp and cruel. His words are designed to hurt because he expects you to leave anyway - better to make you hate him than to watch you drift away. But afterward, he’s consumed by guilt, curling into himself like a burned-out ember.

He can’t say sorry - not with words at least. But after a fight, you’ll find your favorite snacks mysteriously restocked, the blanket you love folded neatly on the couch, a worn apology scrawled on a crumpled scrap of paper left where you can find it. He’s trying - in the only ways he knows how.

Dabi isn’t someone meant for love - but God, how he wants it. He knows he’ll never deserve you, that this life he’s stumbled into is a borrowed dream destined to shatter. But for now - for however long this fragile, imperfect thing lasts - he’ll hold on with both hands, knowing that in the end, he’ll be the one left burning.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mama Bat 9: Dinner Out

masterpost

After her promise, the bats were a whirlwind of activity. He didn’t know where Uncle D or Alfred went, but Cass and Bruce gently bustled him across the house to plan his ecto dinner like it was an attack on an enemy base.

“I think it was around here,” Danny said uncertainly over the map in Bruce’s study. “I don’t know the names of any of these places. But there was this abandoned-looking theme park that had a lot of what I need.”

He didn’t have to be the world’s smartest ghost to recognize that there was a lot of tension in the air after he said that. That tracked. There were not many pleasant ways for a place in the human realm to accumulate a glut of deathly energy.

“That makes sense,” Bruce said. “Cass, honey, do you think we should ask Dick and Jason?” He folded the map back up along the same lines as before without even looking. Danny wondered at why he had that muscle memory. Did he fold everything in the same pattern?

“Big visible muscle,” Cass agreed. Her phone appeared out of nearly nowhere. “Danny.” 

He stood up even straighter. 

“Is Amity dangerous?” She pinned him in a look, her soft brown eyes arresting. “Dangerous to Jasmine Fenton?”

“Jazz,” he corrected automatically. Cass nodded. He rolled his ankles around, stimming below their line of sight. “Uh.” Danny faltered. “Um.” He bit his lower lip and tried to feel less like there was a painful hand around his heart. 

He hadn’t thought so. But he would never have thought that he and Vlad were in serious danger, either. Now that the GIW and Mom and Dad knew… They would know who to ask for more information.

His parents would never push his friends or Jazz too hard. But the idea of the GIW trying to intimidate his friends and family was almost too upsetting to consider.

“Batdad extracts them?” Cass cocked her head at him to make it even more of a question. It was up to him. Was it a good idea?

Danny licked his lips. His mouth was so dry. He struggled for words. “Maybe.” One shaky inhalation. “If, um.” It sounded like someone else’s voice. It couldn’t be him saying that right now. “If it wouldn’t be too obtrusive… I don’t want to extract them and then, like, they can’t go back if they wanna.”

“We can handle that.” Bruce made eye contact to promise. He looked, Danny thought, like a more responsible, boring version of Jack Fenton. His eyes burned. 

“That would be, uh. Cool.” Danny managed to get that out and avert his eyes, but he felt like everyone could see that he was about to cry.

Whatever. He leaned to the left before he consciously knew that Cass was lifting an arm to put over his shoulder. It slotted in place like they’d done it a billion times. Danny tilted his head towards the nails she gently scratched through his hair.

“Batdad, Damibat, Timbird, Stephanie,” Cass listed easily. “Amity.” She jostled Danny a little. “And we get dinner. You only need me. I’m the best. But we bring boys too, Dickbird and Jason.” She blew a raspberry.  

Bruce looked exhausted and fond. “She is the best,” he agreed. Danny watched their interplay like it was a pingpong match. “I think you ought to go tonight to get something to eat. Would you recommend that we contact Jazz and your friends in the daytime, or should we leave as soon as possible?”

…They all had school in the day. Even Jazz was still in high school. Danny eyed Bruce doubtfully. He did know about school, right? “Night is probably better.” 

“I’ll make a few calls.” Bruce sat back and seemed to flip a switch into planning mode.

“Text!” Cass said, disagreeing strongly. She rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t too mean. “Grandfather Bat.”

“Oh!” Danny startled. “Um, I should contact Sam and Tucker. So that they know to expect you.” 

Bruce balked. “We don't normally contact civilians about ongoing investigations…” He looked constipated about it.

Danny crossed his arms. He wanted to think it was stubbornness more than self comfort. “You're not going to like, creep up on my friends. If they want to go, they need some time to get ready.” 

“Preparing could give away the plan to observers.” 

“Is Amity Park Batman's domicile?” Cass asked archly. “Batdad.” She put both her hands on his desk and leaned forward to give her father an unimpressed look. “Mayor of Amity Park?”

Bruce snorted and then covered his mouth guiltily. “Point taken.” He cleared his throat, trying to retain some dignity. “Danny, do you need help to contact your friends?” 

He shrugged. “Just a computer.” Danny fiddled with the strings on his hoodie. Tucker's hoodie. “I know you gave me a phone, but we thought -”

“That communications might be intercepted,” Bruce said, nodding as if that kind of paranoia was commonplace. “It's the first thing I would do if I expected a person of interest to contact a friend. What's your workaround?”

Danny bit his lip. It sounded stupid when he said it aloud. 

Ten minutes later, Damian joined Cass in her perch on the back of the sofa and watched with morbid curiosity as Danny joined Doomed chatroom after chatroom, scanning for Sam's username. “She’ll leave it running whenever she's home in case I ping her,” Danny defended weakly. He left another chatroom. 

Damian hummed, two pitches that came off incredibly doubtful. He had a gift for that.

“No, really, this- yes!” Danny pumped a fist and sent a HEY ITS YA BOI message. 

It took seconds for Sam to get to it and add his temporary account as a friend. She sent a DM before he could and then ignored his response to start a voice chat. 

Once he'd confirmed to her satisfaction that he was himself and that he hadn't gotten any deader in Gotham, he passed on the information that the friggin Batman was going to stop by Amity and wanted to check in. “But don’t worry, he’s kinda cool,” Danny added. “I gotta go. I am starving.”

Sam said all the rude words that she knew in quick succession. Damian looked sort of impressed. “Fine,” she said, obviously annoyed about it. “I’ll meet with Batman, but only because I hate the GIW more.”

“You hate Batman?” Damian asked. It was hard to tell from his tone if he had any feelings about that.

“That’s Damian,” Danny introduced. “He’s cool.”

“Hey,” Sam said shortly. “Yeah, he’s basically a cop. You have a problem with that?” Her voice went a little too aggressive.

“Just so you know, Damian is a child,” Danny said warily. 

Sam scoffed. “You said he’s cool. I respect him enough to fight him if he’s wrong.”

“Batman may be improved by your feedback,” Damian said idly, as if he wasn’t making trouble for his father on purpose. “You should be certain to give it to him as soon as you see him. Do you have time to prepare a presentation?”

Danny sniggered into his hand.

“I can reuse the posterboard from Current Events class, yeah.” Sam mused. “Good idea. Alright, thanks for the heads up. It’s really good to hear from you. We were starting to get worried here. You missed a check in, you know.” She was trying to sound tough, but there was a hint of strain.

Danny flushed. “Yeah, I had logistical difficulties,” he said, which sounded less pathetic than “I got robbed while I was sleeping outside and had no money to  use to access a computer.”

He ignored the thoughtful look he knew he was getting from Cass and signed off. He avoided making eye contact with anyone as he stretched, hands over his head. Then Danny put his hands on his hips and kind of stretched by rotating his back around. “Well, that’s done. Have fun with Sam, Uncle D.”

Damian made a hum in the back of his throat, eyes lost in thought. “I think I will.” Then he stalked away without a proper goodbye. Just a big housecat, that kid.

“Do you think Jason and Dick will be here soon?” Don’t ask, don’t ask, Danny silently hoped.

Cass looked at him for a long moment, silently weighing options and odds behind her dark eyes. Then she nodded. She turned on her heel and left, obviously expecting him to follow.  

Danny jogged to keep up. How did she move so fast without running? She had short legs, too. He was still busy pondering when they rounded a hallway corner and heard male voices from the entryway.

“Wait.” Cass shoved him the last step with a gentle palm press to the shoulder and then flitted back down the hallway.

“Hey, buddy,” Dick said.

Danny managed a nod in return. He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket and tried not to look like he was hiding.

Jason all but oozed reassurance at him, without ever looking at him. As far as the eye could tell, the blonde was barely aware that Danny was present. But under the surface of his skin, his masses of ectoplasm were roiling with  a sort of proprietary indulgence. 

It was a kindness, probably, that the two men continued their conversation as if they were still alone. Danny didn’t really pay attention, thoughts consumed with  a mixture of nerves about his worlds colliding and sobbing relief that he might get really, genuinely full for the first time since he had to run away from Amity Park. He edged a little closer to Jason without thinking about it consciously. 

Cass arrived silently. Danny looked up as she entered the room only because he could sense her steady presence. “Time to go,” he said.

Jason startled with a very small jump. His expression instantly changed to exhausted resignation.

“Haha,” Cass said, pointing at him.

“Poor scared little guy,” Dick cooed. “You can’t sneak up on him like that.”

“Too scary,” Cass said, nowhere near as convincing as Dick at empathy.

Jason scowled. “Shut up,” he complained. He zipped up his jacket and yanked the door open. The sound of early crickets immediately cut into the house along with a fresh, cool breeze. “You both suck.”

Danny felt a faint smile pull at his face. He ducked his head and fell in, following at Jason’s heels. He didn’t look back to see who shut the door. 

Dick drove them all. They parked a few blocks away and made it across the barren, creepy fairgrounds in utter silence. Danny followed his instincts and the source that he’d sensed from kilometers away in the city center but had been too worn down to even try to trek to without at least feeding his human body.

“So, what now?”  Dick turned a cautious circle. “I didn’t exactly expect to see a physical object for you to eat, but I did sort of expect something.”

Danny made a face. “If I had the right tech I could filter and extract it out of the air, condense it into a really dense, liquid form. But, uh.” He turned a little to the side to avoid eye contact and hunched into his hoodie. “I sort of need to just hang out and…filter feed.” He grimaced. He sounded like a dumb fish.

“Inefficient,” Cass observed.

He nodded. “Yeah, but I’m really drained, so I need to be around a high concentration to get a jumpstart. If I needed less, I could probably just…” Danny made a circle gesture and sort of pointed at Jason. “Hang around him, I guess.”

Cass hummed in the back of her throat. “Perimeter.” Then she ran directly at a wall and hefted herself up onto the roof of the derelict funhouse. She was out of sight in seconds, which was impressive athleticism. Danny watched her go with raised eyebrows.

Dick huffed and shuffled even closer to Jason, clearly wary of Cass. “You can’t be the favorite uncle,” he lamented. “That should be me.” Danny choked down a laugh and pretended to be very busy filter feeding.

“You’re just crabby because you aren’t full of delicious ghost juice,” Jason muttered into Dick’s ear at a volume that he clearly thought Danny wouldn’t hear. The banter didn’t stop him from making periodic glances around the area. He caught an elbow to the gut from Dick for the comment and the inattention. Danny took a step further away from jabbing range.

“We aren’t here to hear you brag about how juicy you are,” Dick said out of the side of his mouth. 

EW. But Danny felt smug satisfaction in Jason’s aura at that answer, so apparently it wasn’t as nasty sounding to him as it was to Danny. He made a blegh face, scraping his tongue against his teeth.

‘Maybe I should tell them at some point that I have better than human hearing.’ He pointedly wandered a few steps further away and pretended to be occupied with sniffing out the highest concentration of ectoplasm.

Jason grinned unpleasantly. “No, I usually have that conversation with all of your exes- oof.” Jason bent over and tried to breathe through the hit to his diaphragm.

Danny did his best to ignore the commentary from the peanut gallery. He took deep breaths and tried to keep an eye on all the shadows. 

Amusement Mile wasn’t saturated with high quality ectoplasm like Amity Park, but nothing ever should be. Danny licked his lips and tried to stay alert. There could be any number of distressed or territorial dead around a place like this. It was eerily still. 

“This place is just plain creepy.” Danny hid a shudder. “What happened here?”

Jason huffed a laugh with absolutely no joy in it. “It’s more like what keeps happening here.” Danny glanced over at just the right angle to realize that Jason had a gun in his pocket. Holy shit. A gun. His eyes went wide.

“But nothing should happen tonight,” Dick cut in. His eyes looked tight and tense in a way that his breezy tone didn’t hint at. “The person who likes to use this area as a staging ground is currently in lockup. We double checked before we came out here.”

All three of them tensed when Cass jumped back down off the same building she’d climbed earlier. “Suspicious,” she said flatly.

Dick and Jason instantly lost their facades of ease. Danny realized, a bit late, that this place was really fucking concerning even to the living. “What’s wrong?” Dick snapped out. His posture changed and somehow his shoulders looked broader. Alarmed, Danny glanced between the adults.  

“Someone was here.” Cass held up a very familiar piece of tech. “Inside vent.”

Danny felt the blood drain out of his face. Cass zeroed in on the expression. “GIW,” he said. “Uh, that measures… that senses ghosts.” He licked his lips. “I think we should go.”

“Are you- are you going to be hungry?” Jason’s brow furrowed fiercely. “You think they might have an alert that you came out here?”

“We are more capable than we look.” Dick promised. And his serious voice was pretty reassuring, actually, all things considered. But Danny still felt like he was going to be sick. 

 Tires screeched. It was too late to get out of here.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

enemies to lovers w/ spencer reid plzz 💗

.⋆｡Whispers in the Dark｡⋆.

Spencer Reid x plus size reader

You and Spencer have been at each other’s throats for months and the team is sick of it. So while on a case in a conveniently tiny town, they do something to fix it

Warnings: usual cm warnings (kidnapping, murder, serial killer), enemies to lovers, one bed trope (i’m not sorry), confessions, little bit of partial nudity, Spencer and reader are horny for each other and neither know how to deal with it, implied smut WC: 2.4k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

If there was one thing that was a guarantee in this life, it was the DOCTOR (as he always liked to remind you) Spencer Reid would not keep his fucking mouth shut. You used to think it was endearing the way he so passionately spoke about anything and everything but after the 30th time he interrupted you (in front of every mind you), it got annoying real fast. And somehow, it was even worse today.

A series of kidnappings occurring in a small town in the middle of buttfuck nowhere that exactly replicated the town’s urban legend about a vengeful spirit killing those who tried to leave without offering sacrifice. Given your extensive knowledge on the development of folklore specifically tied to serial killers, it was an unspoken agreement that you would be taking the lead on the case.

But Reid had a very different idea.

“This is obviously someone using the story to get rid of people they have a vendetta against.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the young doctor. His lean body blocked the column of victim photos as he pointed to the map of the town beside it. He had drawn over several places with a red marker and although the abduction sites did fall into his contracted triangle of a comfort zone, something in your gut told you it was more than that.

“Look, I’m going to keep saying it. This goes way deeper. This has been happening for generations. 2002, 1985, 1968, hell even all the way back to the fucking 1820s! It’s either all 17 year olds getting killed or 17 people killed total each year it occurs, with it switching each time.” Spencer made a sound that was almost a scoff but with Hotch’s steely gaze fixed on the both of you, he covered it up by clearing his throat.

“Mark Adin was 18.”

“He turned 18 the day he died, Reid! And if you looked at his birth certificate, you’d see that his time of death was an hour before he would actually turn 18.”

“If you would just-“

“Alright!” Derek placed a firm hand onto Spencer’s shoulder, making him stumble slightly. “We get it, you’re both freakishly smart but I think it’s late and we all need some sleep.” He shot you a look as you crossed your arms over your chest, red hot anger and frustration still bubbling up inside you.

It always ended like that, one of the other members of your team stepped in before insults could be hurled (it’s happened once or twice before) and suggested a break while you and Spencer continued to glare at each other. He continuously undermined your theories and in return, you questioned his intelligence. 

“I’m sure Y/L/N will realise how ridiculous she’s being after some undeserved rest. I mean, when is she ever right.” Your stomach dropped and Derek’s smile dimmed for a second before he wound an arm around the young doctor’s shoulders and guided him out of the conference room the team had commandeered far quicker than he normally did.

You opened your mouth to shout something back at him but Emily grabbed your forearm before you could. “It’s not worth it.” You met her gaze and quickly deflated.

“Yeah okay.” She gave you a soft smile as you both left the room together, missing the weighty glance Hotch and Rossi shared.

——————

“I can’t believe that you and JJ are doing this to me,” you whined, hiking up the strap of your go-bag higher on your shoulder, “you promised last time that we had to share rooms that it would be you and me. I don’t want to get stuck with Hotch again, he snores like a fucking freight train.” Emily poked your ribs as she passed by, shooting you a mischievous grin.

“You were too busy flirting with Reid to notice us making sleeping arrangements.” You huffed and followed her out of the elevator.

“I wasn’t FlIrTinG with him and by the way, that’s disgusting you even thought of that.” The hallway was dead silent save for the faint buzz of the ice machine at the very end.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why you totally weren’t checking out his ass while he was setting up the white board.”

“Emily!” You hissed but she only laughed in response. 

“Come on, it’s so obvious that you like him! This childish rivalry you have is just sexual tension so for all of our sakes can you please just fuck him already so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Alright maybe I would like him if he wasn’t such an ass to me all the time.” You conceded, earning you a sly grin from your friend as you both came to a stop outside your hotel room door. “But! He constantly undermines me and makes me feel like shit so it’s never gonna happen.”

Emily stood by her own door, her key-card already in hand. “And you love to rile him up. So, never say never.” And with that, she slipped into her room, shutting the door before you could retort.

You rolled your eyes as you unlocked your own door and stepped in. The shower was already running but what mainly concerned you was the lack of a second bed. You sighed heavily, dropping your bag on the empty side away from the door.  You were too exhausted and frustrated to even be mad about having to share both a room and a bed with your boss. Too exhausted in fact to notice the sweater on the chair in the corner couldn’t have possibly belonged to the older man.

Quickly, you stripped down to your underwear and slipped on your sleep clothes, figuring you could wake up early and shower before heading back to the police station. You sighed as you crawled beneath the sheets, the worn mattress immediately cradling your soft body.

Your eyelids had just begun to flutter shut when the water turned off. You turned onto your other side in anticipation of the bright light from the bathroom fully waking you up but what you didn’t expect was the accompaniment of the one voice you hadn’t wanted to hear until you had at least 6 hours of sleep and a massive coffee.

“What the hell?” 

“Fuck me.” You sat up and took in the sight of a very damp Spencer Reid wearing only a towel around his waist. You refused to look down at his naked torso (no matter how badly you wanted to). 

“You’re not Morgan.” He retorted.

“And here I was thinking you were a genius. Do you usually walk around half-naked with Derek?” He didn’t dignify you with a response this time, only grabbing his bag and retreating to the bathroom once more. As soon as the door shut, you launched yourself at your phone.

<I’m going to fucking kill you

>We’ve all packed noise cancelling headphones so don’t hold back ;)

>BTW before you even ask, there’s no more rooms available. Small towns are just great aren’t they

<I’ll get you back for this

>Sweet dreams

You could scream as you shut off your phone, Emily’s texts disappearing, leaving you staring at your reflection on the black screen. You should’ve known something was up when Hotch insisted that everyone take separate SUVs to the hotel under the guise of everyone splitting up first thing in the morning. The man was a fucking menace. 

The mattress groaned as you laid back down, far closer to the edge this time. If Spencer took your hint and just left you alone for the rest of the night, you would consider it an overwhelming success. This time when the door opened, the light was already off, letting you breathe a sigh of relief.

The bed dipped and your body tensed for a moment. You waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t, you finally relaxed. In the silence and darkness of the room, you could pretend that you were anywhere else.

“Will you stop hogging the blankets?” You knew this peace couldn’t have possibly lasted.

“If you had turned on the heater I wouldn’t have to.” You grumbled but still released your hold on the covers just enough for him to take some more of it.

“Not my fault you’re always freezing for no reason.” The blanket lifted from your leg as Spencer fully wrapped himself up. You sighed but decided not to pick a fight, Emily’s words still circling your mind. Instead you wrapped your arms around your stomach as you drew your legs up, curling around yourself. You just wanted to sleep.

“What, no witty comeback?” You sighed heavily and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I get that I don’t ‘deserve to rest’ but I’m exhausted Spencer. Neither of us want to be here so can we just try to get some sleep and leave each other alone.” Thankfully, he stayed silent, for a moment at least.

“You called me Spencer.”

“Oh my god, can you please just let me sleep? Yes I called you Spencer, it’s your name isn’t it?” You snapped although you knew what he meant. You had never even referred to him by his first name in the almost 18 months since you had been on the team, just the same as he did with you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Fine.” You pressed your face into the thin pillow beneath your head, determined to finally fall asleep.

“No, Y/N I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have said to you.” The bedsprings screamed in the quiet of the room and suddenly you could feel the gentle brush of Spencer’s breath along the back of your neck. You suppressed a shiver as best you could. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Why are you bringing this up now? Are you trying to get laid or something?” Your tone held no bite but you could still feel the way he flinched. A sour taste bloomed in your mouth. “Sorry. For what it’s worth, I’ve been an asshole to you too.”

Tentatively, you rolled onto your back, your shoulder now brushing his. Soft light bled into the room from the light in the hallway, dimly letting you see his silhouette. Already, Spencer’s hair was a mess, different strands sticking up or to his face. His right hand rested on his chest while the left was by his side, barely a fraction of an inch from touching your own. He turned his head, making eye-contact with you for probably the first time since you had known him.

“Why— What did I do to make you hate me so much?” You muttered, suddenly unable to speak any louder than a whisper. You watched his chest hitch and then deflate.

“You didn’t do anything. I guess— it was easier to hate you than admit the truth.” The warmth of his skin made you breathe a sigh of relief as he pressed his hand to yours.

“And what is the truth Spencer?” Even in the limited light, you could see the way his eyes dropped to your lips. His lithe fingers curled around your wrist and gently lifted your hands so that it rested between your heads. 

“That when I’m around you, I can’t concentrate on anything besides how beautiful you are, how intelligent, how capable. You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since the moment we met and it’s angered me.” You didn’t realise how close you were to him until the tip of his nose bumped against yours. You sucked in a breath but it did nothing to ease the floating feeling in your stomach.

“Why’s that?” You were both now on your sides in the middle of the bed, on the edge of something more, if only one of you would fall first.

“Because I knew that the second I accepted it, there was nothing I could do to stop myself from falling for you, even if you would never feel the same.” 

You smirked. “And here I was thinking you were the smartest man alive, Dr Reid.” He pressed his lips to your knuckles with a smile and before you could tell him that he was wrong and quite frankly dumb for not seeing through you (like everyone else on the team did), his hand was on your jaw and his lips on yours.

You moaned into his mouth when he leaned onto you. You grabbed at his back under his shirt, your nails digging into the surprisingly well-defined muscles along his spine. Spencer’s head tilted, encouraging the kiss to become more passionate as his tongue traced your bottom lip. You tangled your fingers in his messy hair, tugging at it slightly as your mind began to go fuzzy with the lack of oxygen. 

Spencer smiled against your lips, placing two or three more soft kisses against them before rolling onto his back once more, leaving you breathless beside him. You followed him down, putting your head on his pillow. You stole another peck from him as he clutched at your wide hips.

“I can’t believe how long it’s taken us to finally talk this out. We were both being really stupid.” You giggled against his now swollen lips.

“Yeah we have.” Something tugged at your mind, breaking you away from the warm bubble of affection you were lost in.

You shot up. “What, what is it? Did I do something wrong?” Spencer practically pleaded, his hand tightly gripping at your thigh.

“You’re right, we were both being stupid! We’re both correct. What if it’s not just one unsub, but a whole family of them? 17 years between killings, Spencer!” Now it was his turn to sit up, his brown eyes wide with realisation.

“It’s a coming of age ritual. The unsub is killing people they know but under the guidance of the person that did it before them.”

“So the place where they’re keeping the victims before they kill them should be in the comfort zone and it should line up with all the past ones!” He beamed at you. “But maybe we should wait till morning to tell the others, they do need their beauty sleep.”

“And we don’t?” His hand moved higher, slipping beneath your sleep shorts, making you shudder.

“Definitely not.” You swung your leg over his hips and sat on his thighs, kissing him once more.

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Criminal Minds

@lokiandbuckysdoll

[kandlewick]

“Huh. The stars are different here too.” You really shouldn’t be surprised as you laid back against the cold roof of the Ramshackle dorm, arms outstretched towards the sky. Cassiopeia, Orion, Andromeda… not even the Big and Little Dipper were there, everything was new and foreign to you. The night sky was something you use to take comfort in as a child, knowing that no matter how far you were from home, you were still under the same sky and stars. Here you felt… lost. There was no morning star to guide you home anymore. Everything was so different and strange. You felt a little tickle in the back of your throat. gn reader x malleus (platonic or romantic)

“What was that, child of man?”

“It’s nothing really, Horton.” You turned your head slightly and met the gaze of your quiet companion. Malleus stood beside you, his eyes lowered, a quiet mix of contemplation and curiosity at the sight of you. Whether he knew it or not, his tall form kept the chilly winds away. You shake your head, offering him a small smile and shrug, “I try not to think too much about it but…” you couldn’t help but let out a sigh, a deep one from in your chest, “I really am far from home.”

“Yes, you are.” Malleus’s gaze never left yours as you turned away to look back at the sky, a forlorn expression forming on your face. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to consider his next move, as if trying to plan out the best course of action. It was almost funny how unuse to human interaction the fae prince was with his piercing stare and slow blinking eyes, almost alien. You could almost understand why some people would find the prince an intimidating figure even without the title and prestige.

You hummed, “It’s funny to think about, with how different our worlds are, how much is the same but just slightly different because of the ability to wield magic. We’ve hardly learned about our own oceans, yet we’ve mapped the stars farther than we could ever possibly go in a single lifetime. Isn’t that amazing?”

“What an odd concept. Just what do you plan to do with this information?” Malleus cocked his head to the side, eyes wide in curiosity, “If humans like you live such short lives, what do you gain by this?”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his wording but seeing Malleus’ eyes narrow and a pout forming on his face, you quickly hide your smile behind your hand, waving it off. You hadn’t meant to, he was just so honest about his curiosities. But the thought did give you pause and so you grew quiet. You sat back and pondered this before coming to the only conclusion you could think of.

“I guess we’re lonely?”

“Lonely?”

“Ah, yeah. Lonely.”

You figured Malleus could understand that. 

“We can hardly get along with ourselves but the idea of being alone on a rock surrounded by nothing but empty space for billions of miles, dead planet after another is…” You let out a breath and drew your legs close to your chest, your fingers tightly entwining. Despite not being alone here on the roof, all of a sudden you felt so lonely. You had very quickly learned how to compartmentalize the anxiety, the anger, the fear that came with being in a new world. It was easy to ignore the gnawing worry in your chest clawing at your throat every time you thought of home, about your job, about your life. Out of sight, out of mind, right? However, sometimes in the quiet of the evenings, you could feel it crawl its way back into your heart. The cold night air seemed even chillier than normal, even with your companion standing by your side.

Malleus finally lowered himself down next to you as you became quiet, a nameless expression on his face. He wasn’t used to comforting others, you could tell, by the way he seemed to fidget in his own strange ways. His gloved hands were in his lap, his eyes less narrowed, and he kept peeking at you from behind his hair. If you weren’t used to how he normally acted, you might not even have noticed but you did. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“But to make up for that loneliness, we sent out a spacecraft — two to be exact — to adventure farther out than mankind could even hope to reach. Their names were Voyager! They were thrown deep into space to learn and study and show us all the beauty our universe offered. Oh, Malleus, I wish I was able to show you.”

“Perhaps if given a description, I could attempt to recreate it for you.” His words were kind, an offer to give your memories a physical form. It was a sweet thought.

You hummed and leaned back, looking up at this world’s universe., “Sadly, the spacecraft couldn’t be powered indefinitely. Last I checked, it only had 10 years left of its life before it stopped speaking back to us… but that’s ok because on them, we left a little present.”

“A gift? Perhaps your universe isn’t so lonely after all if you’re attempting to offer something to whoever finds it.” Malleus’ hand reached up and cupped his cheek in thought, as if the idea of throwing a present into the vacuum of space wasn’t something fantastical. You wondered if Twisted Wonderland has ever wanted to explore its stars. Would they have a reason to? There didn’t seem to be any sort of arm’s race from what you’ve picked up.

“Yes! We call it the golden record! On it, we’ve stuffed it full of a bunch of stuff we thought was important to us. Music, our language, photos of us.” You slowly closed your eyes and smiled, “Everything we could have possibly have put in it, we did.”

“Then are you not something similar to that?” Malleus asked.

You turned quickly and stared up at him, his bright green eyes nearly piercing yours as he blinked down at you. His face was gentle, tender while he softly continued, his shoulder nearly bumping into your own. “A Voyager. A traveller. You are far from home but you’ve shown me plenty of things I’ve never experienced before.”

You flushed from his words, a dark blush creeping up your neck. You could feel your ears burning while you tried to break eye contact, instead choosing to stare at a particularly uninteresting loose board barely hanging on on top of your roof. Malleus paid you no mind and continued, his voice reaching you even over the winds that chill your bones.

“You are what we, — No, what I — know of your world. You are my Voyager. Thank you for traveling so far to reach me, Child of Man.”

[1x20]

hello and welcome to my tutorial on how to create gifs like this one! full explanation under the cut, but if you wanted to take a little peek at the gifset attached to this tutorial, here ya go!

for the purposes of this tutorial i am assuming you know

how to make a gif

what vhs footage looks like

STEP ONE: MAKING YOUR GIF

choose your footage and plug it into your desired software of choice! i use photoshop for this so i can only attest to the efficacy of these methods in that context

as for shot selection, you could feasibly choose anything. however, i prefer shots without too much movement in them - makes it look more like a home video.

because of the heavy amount of colors and filters, i'd recommend a gif somewhere around the 40-50 frames! but of course you can play around.

oh i also set the frame delay to 0.08 seconds. this is slower than most gifmakers tend to set theirs, but it makes it run buttery smooth imo.

STEP TWO: MAKING THE COLORING

here's where we get vhs specific. if you're unfamiliar with vhs footage, i recommend clicking through this youtube playlist! if you're not interested in the coloring, skip to step three (smart object fuckery + filters)

now while making a set i tend to choose some primary colors for my gifs. in the gifset i linked above, i chose to work with blue and orange-y yellow. in some of the other gifs i'll be using as examples (from an unfinished set) i chose green and yellow.

to create the above coloring i generally use these steps:

1) curves

i'm a maniac so i use the same curves layer to initially edit the luminosity AND colors of my gifs. the purpose of this layer is to edit brightness/contrast like i normally would and already start the process of changing the colors a little bit. this is my curves layer for the blue house gif:

to make the gif go from the left image to the right image:

as you can see i used the brightening curves to make the footage a whole lot lighter. i also increased the reds to get rid of the cyan tint a lot of blue footage has, slightly increased the blues, and once again decreased the greens to get rid of any cyan. this does make the blue hue a bit more purple, which is a nice bonus!

as for the gif of the boy, that one's a little harder to show a before and after for, but i'lls how the curves for good measure:

the original shot was already quite bright so i only edited the brightness a litttle bit. because i knew i wanted the gif to be green and yellow, i increased the greens, decreased the reds (except in the shadows), and decreased the blues (to get yellow)

2) channel mixer

now the channel mixer layer takes a little getting used to so i recommend experimenting. ALWAYS USE THIS LAYER ON THE COLOR BLENDING MODE for a more even result.

i use channel mixers to sort of... unify the colors a bit more. for the house gif, for example, i increased the blue channel to +110% blue, but decreased the blue in the red (-12%) to retain the yellow in the window.

if you want me to explain this more in depth, send an ask! it'll be kinda longwinded though

before / after of the boy gif with curves/channel mixer.

3) levels

this is where it starts looking more vhs-y! vhs footage has light shadows and dark highlights.

first, set your levels layer to luminosity blending mode to retain your beautiful colors.

then, crunch the hell out of your gif to make it very... mid.

this may feel a little wrong at first but i prommy it'll look okay at the end. a before/after for the boy:

now that's starting to look familiar right?

4) color fill/gradient map

because i want to unify my colors/make sure my gif is saturated, i usually add either a color fill or gradient map layer. in the case of the house, i chose to go with a dark blue color fill:

because the coloring of the boy gif was a little more complex, i decided to go with a brown to green gradient map.

this will make the shadows yellow, and the highlights green.

BOTH THESE LAYERS ARE SET TO OVERLAY. i usually fiddle with the opacity of them until i like it, but it's anywhere from 7% - 17% depending on what i feel like that day

5) curves (again)

this layer is probably useless but i do it anyway to make myself feel better. this is just a regular curse layer to up the brightness a tiiiiny bit and amke sure everything's clear. also it helps counteract the darkness your overlay color will add in.

6) color balance

this is my most subtle layer so i won't be able to show before and after but i fiddle with the color distribution a little until i'm satisfied. set this layer to color blending 'cause that's what you wanna affect!

i decided i wanted the house gif shadows to be a little more purple, for example, so i added in red (+3), magenta (-1) and blue (+1). etc etc. do what feels good!

STEP THREE: SMART OBJECT FUCKERY AND FILTERS

OKAY that was a lot. sorry or you're welcome. but good news: now's the fun part. convert your animation to a timeline, then select both your coloring and gif layers, right click, and select convert to smart object.

now that your gif's a smart object, i usually crop it. i tend make vhs aes gifs a 4:3 ratio (so 540 x 405 px) because that's what vhs footage was usually recorded as! crop your gif, resize, and then we can continue.

1) color bleeding

vhs footage usually bleeds its colors - this manifests as a short of... weird subtle halo around any object. the way to recreate this in photoshop is to duplicate your smart object.

set your copied smart object to color blending. now move it to the side a couple of pixels (i usually do around 5px, but you do you!)

as you can see, the tree and chimney (and everything else but less prominently) have a yellow shadow to them. this is exactly what we want!

2) filters

now's the time to add your filters and make it look like shit (but on purpose!) first, select both smart objects and convert to smart object again. this will ensure the filters apply to all layers evenly.

i use the following filters:

unsharp mask (amt 35%, radius 4px) - this will subtly add some sharpening but only on the edges of objects

add noise (amt 7.5%, distr. uniform, not monochromatic) - this will add the signature vhs grain.

box blur (2px) - i edit this to be 75% opacity with the little arrows to the right, just to make sure you can still make SOMETHING out when you're looking at the gif. MAKE SURE THIS FILTER IS ON TOP OF YOUR NOISE FILTER. tumblr will kill your gif otherwise

4) ONE LAST THING

usually at this point i'm not happy with either the saturation or levels. (usually the levels). so on top of your smart object, add another saturation or levels layer and fuck around!

in the case of the house gif, i thought it was too bright still so i set my output levels to 13 and 216. for the boy, i thought the shadows were too dark, so i set my shadow output to 11.

BEFORE & AFTER:

aaaand that's it! thanks for reading! if you have any questions, feel free to come to my askbox, i'm always happy to explain my process. happy giffing 🥰

[orcusnoir]

I think the Chain needs to be more...idk "weird". So here's some ideas on what I mean. Not all of them are are in depth as I would like sadly.

Time: Clocks stop working right around him. Either they stop all together or they start skipping seconds at random intervals, sometimes the clocks will start going backwards.

Yet no matter how messed up the clock gets, by the time Time leaves the area the clock is telling time normally again.

If Time's shadow splits it will always appear as if a silhouette of a child is to his right and a faint emaciated figure is to his left. His own shadow tells the tale of his terrible fate.

Speaking of shadows.

Twilight: His shadow, no matter what, is always darker than normal. Noticeably darker.

Predators out in the wild, such as wolves, lions, and what not, are either afraid of the Rancher and flee, or just watch him from a safe distance. As long as Twi is with the group, they don't have to worry about any random animal attack.

Four: As the wielder of the Four Sword, Four's shadow is always split in four ways. Since the Smithy helped the Minish, he will randomly find extra Rupees in his pockets and bag with no memory of how he got them.

Wind: The sailor knows exactly where he's going when out at sea. Even without a map. He just knows. The air around him carries an extremely faint scent of saltwater.

Legend: The Vet's enchantments are alien to his own Hyrule. They didn't come from Lorule either.

Strangely, Sky seems to recognize the magic that envelops the Vet's gear.

Hyrule: The treads on the Traveler's boots seem to change to whatever he needs them to be, never wearing down. His own steps are either loud enough to draw attention to him or so quiet to the point of his steps being silent, but the way he walks doesn't change. It just happens.

If the group encounters a fairy, it will always approach Hyrule first before swirling around Time.

Wild: Stal monsters will always go after Wild first. Sensing the fact that he should be dead, and feeling a sort of jealousy at his resurrection.

Non-Guardian/Zonai automatons have an extremely hard time locking onto the Champion. Their IFF (Identify Friend Foe) system constantly misidentifies him as an ally. Possible side ability of the Slate, but it's happened before without it on his person.

Warriors: The Captain knows. He knows things that no one expects him to know. He can tell when people hide secrets from him, and can tell when people have secrets to hide. Even if he's never met the person.

Sky: Due to being the first (technically second) Link, he is always identified as Link in any Hyrule they visit. This effect can even trip up other Zelda's.

The Goddess statues seem to glow with a faint golden hue whenever Sky is nearby.

(Here's even more Chain "weirdness")

https://www.tumblr.com/orcusnoir/728982134864461824/more-chain-weirdness-because-honestly-these?source=share

[miiyas]

CEREAL

satoru likes to reminisce of a tender moment when he’s far away on a mission

wc: 1.1k (1186), fluff, gn reader, slightly proofread, slight ooc, requested to be tagged: @moonchhu

on nights when away missions are rougher than usual, satoru lays in his hotel bed and stares at the ceiling, relishing in the ever growing memory you.

you and gojo aren’t dating. but satoru has grown an unshakable fondness towards you.

his head leans down while the two of you are walking to hear you better, a silly grin growing in his pretty lips as he laughs a little too hard at a joke you make. he somehow remembers the clothing brand you like but can’t afford and the texture of foods you like and dislike. he likes how your cheeks puff up slightly when you laugh and smile, his fingers twitching as the desire to pinch your soft flesh them crosses his mind.

his favorite memory, one that always seems to rock him to sleep, is when you first invited him over to your apartment to eat after a mission in the dead of night. the world seems silent and the only sound that seems to be processed is the huffs of the elevator crawling up and the soft footsteps down the hall as you jingle your keys and swing open the door.

your home is warm. it’s a little messy, you comment, a little embarrassed at your unkept home. shoes are haphazardly displayed as you kick them to make it a little neater. you map out the wall to turn on the lights, the halls brightening softly as it guides you.

your small kitchen island is occupied to the brim with mail from your parents, money yet to be deposited to your account, snack wrappers you’ve yet to throw out, and various other trinkets that are forgotten to be put away.

“sorry, i invited you over without knowing how messy this place is.” you huffs out, gathering a handful of wrappers and throwing them out in the trash can. satoru walks around the small living room, a soft smile caressing his features as he picks up a few omiyages you’ve received and collected that remained displayed mindlessly.

“nah, it’s cozy. kinda expected your place to be like this.” he teases, placing down the trinkets. he lets his eyes wander a moment longer, the soft hum of the ac filling in the quiet atmosphere. there are pictures of unfamiliar people hanging on the walls, magazines left open to the weekly shonen jump page on your couch, and a cup of day old coffee on the ground, a metal straw hanging lazily in it. if gojo didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that this place belonged to a normal person.

pale blue eyes continue to dance around the small area, his body a little unused to the small space. his gaze lands on your figure digging through your fridge for any leftovers or things to be used to make something simple.

“you craving anything ? i can try and whip up something. no promise that it’ll be good, though.” you huff out as you inspect a sealed pack of enoki mushrooms before placing it back in.

“mm … dunno ! whatever’s easier to make right now.”

now this made you lift up a brow. satoru is usually an awfully demanding eater, getting whatever he craves whenever he wants with just a simple swipe of his card. for him to say he wanted ‘whatever’s easier to make’ didn’t sit right with you.

“you sick or something ?”

gojo skips over to the couch and practically jumps on it, a content sigh exhaling out as he picks up the magazine to skim through the newly released chapters of whatever manga. he rests on his back as his long legs spill out from the arm rest and he tilts his head back to look at you, lifting up the mask that covers up his round eyes with a finger as he puckers his lips in innocent confusion.

“wha’dya mean ?”

“… nothing. never mind.” you shake your head, grabbing a carton of milk and closing the door to your fridge.

“ah, what’re we eating ? you making something yummy ?”

you take out two bowls from your dish washer and place them down on your island before taking a few steps to the small pantry.

“cereal.”

“cereal ?” gojo gawks, shifting over to lay on his stomach with his legs being raised and gently kicking back and forth. he takes off his mask fully, allowing it to rest around his neck as he watches you repeat back with a more matter-of-fact tone undertone to it, stepping out of the pantry and kicking the door closed.

he watches with a careful eye as you place down three different options of cereal, too many for a person who lives alone.

“i crave different ones now and then. they range differently in sweetness. pick and choose whatever you like.”

satoru blinks, watching you pour in your fill of cereal and milk before fishing out a spoon from your dish washer. with slow, quiet strides, gojo gets up and walks over to the island, the bulbs of hanging lights brushing over his head as he looks at the obnoxiously bright designs on the boxes. without much thought, he pours in whatever you chose and takes his first bite.

“it’s not all that good. i just have it whenever there’s nothing else.”

the white haired male hums, sucking on the end of the spoon for a moment as he stares down at his portion. the moment is too soft, too domestic, something he’s not used to. it feels like he’s been living with you since forever and it’s only the first time he’s been over.

“if you’re too tired,” you chew out, holding onto the end of your spoon and making circular motions in the air with a tired expression, “you could always take my guest room. or the couch. whatever’s fine.”

you raised your offer without looking at satorus eyes, spoon now down in your bowl and swirling the cereal bits in the milk, almost like you were embarrassed.

“sure.” gojo slips out without much thought, leaning against the edge of the island as he lifts another mouthful and chews. you blink at this, looking up at the man beside you with slightly wider eyes, shocked that he even took the offer. “i’ll take the guest room. my ass is not sleeping on that couch. did you see me trying to lay down on that thing ? half of my body wasn’t even it !” he huffs, an annoyed look piercing to the small couch.

“six three, by the way.” he comments of his height with a grin, getting a good laugh out of you and god, does he want this moment to last longer.

but before he can finish reminiscing, satoru feels his head go hazy, becoming less continuous of his body as his muscles relax.

soon. he’ll tell you everything soon. from how he loves the way you laugh and the way you decorate your home, small remnant's of him lingering. but for now, gojo will live in the gentle domestic life of a love he can’t seem to comprehend.

[firelilyfox]

Banana Pancakes

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x female reader

Summary: A massive storm is raging over the city, so you two are trapped inside. For the first time you can enjoy some alone time with Bob and the feelings are getting up to the surface ...

Words: 2k

Warnings: fluff overload. Bob and reader having a HUGE crush on each other. kissing. touching. slightly naughty thoughts (nothing too much). dancing.

Author's Note: I was inspired by this song :) if you want to listen to it:

______________________________

You stumbled out of your bedroom. There was a disturbing silence in the hallway. 

Normally the voices of Yelena and Alexei would be echoing through the whole floor of the Thunderbolts Tower by this time of the day. They would be bickering about a minor inconvenience and John would try to get as far away as possible from that, but not without loudly dropping snarly comments. Ava would sing a song she made up, just to annoy John even more, because usually the songs are full of insults about him and his big ego. 

And Bucky … well you wouldn’t hear him because he always kept his mouth shut and watching the chaos unfold right before him. With an disapproving look on his face and a mug full of hot coffee in his hand (wich was probably already his third cup). 

But today … the tower seemed abandoned. Except for a dull rattling that came from the living room. And a mumbling voice. 

As you walked around the corner, armes crossed to keep the cardigan in place, you found the source of both noises. 

The voice was the weatherman on the tv, who was showing something on his chaotic weather-map behind him. 

The rattling was a thunderstorm outside of the windows, throwing heavy raindrops on the glass. New York vanished in a dark grey cloud and even the lights got blurred by the raindrops running down the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

„I guess they forgot both of us.“ 

The voice came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of you. A high-pitched scream came out of your throat, but you instantly slap one hand over your mouth. 

It was Bob. 

He was standing there in his pajamas - a dark sweatpants and an oversized shirt with a smoking turtle on it - and messed up hair. He just got up and still looked half asleep. 

„Geez, Bob! Don’t scare me like that.“ 

Bob apologized with raised hands. He didn’t meant to. But … when he saw you, walking in the room with this adorable, smooth movements… he didn’t seem to remember how to start a conversation properly. He wrenched his hands, trying to act all collected when in reality his heart made funny things. 

„M-sorry“, he mumbled. „Uhm - the others … they are on a mission. Out of the town. They left uhm - they left a note.“ Bob listened to the words coming out of his mouth and wanted to punch himself in the gut. Why does he sound like a damn toddler whenever you were around? 

You nodded. „Alright. Well, seems like we have the whole floor to us for the day. Ain’t no way they’re coming back while this disaster is still going on.“ You pointed at the storm outside with a side eye. 

„Yeah. Looks like the final judgement out there.“ Bob stepped closer to the windows - closer to you - and watched the clouds drive by. 

„So.“ 

He turned his head to look down at you. „So?“ 

You shrug. „So what are we gonna do?“ 

Bob looked around the apartment. There was not much to do here besides a gym downstairs and a technical headquarters, that would’ve made the secret service jealous. 

„I dunno“, he put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

You turned to face him. „I have an idea!“ 

Bob mirrored your smile without knowing what you were thinking about. It was always like that with you. He couldn’t really control his body reacting to you.

When you pass by, he followed you with his eyes only. If something made you laugh so freely, he wanted to be that something. He wanted to be the one who made you laugh. And in moments like this, when your eyes light up in excitement, he felt like sunshine was filling the room. Fully consuming him, until all the bad thoughts and mean voices shut up. 

You gave him everything he need without even knowing it. 

So when you told him about your idea, he was totally into it. First you got into the shower - separated of course - but Bob couldn’t keep his mind from slipping to the though of you being right next door, in your quarters … naked. He felt his cheeks getting all flushed and turned the water ice cold. 

After you two got freshen up, it was time to make some breakfast. But the kitchen of a chaotic superhero family is not quite the most organized place to be. Or even stocked. 

„How can it be, that we live in a freakin’ tower with luxury nonsense things, but don’t have anything to eat“, you wondered loudly while Bob scanned the fridge for something usable. 

„No idea“, he chuckled. „But we have everything to make at least two pancakes!“ With a victorious smile he turned around and showed you the ingredients. You were smiling brightly, standing closer than he had expected. 

„I found bananas.“ You wiggling the fruit in front of his face and he almost dropped the eggs. Never had he been so close up to you. Bob noticed every detail of your face. The soft skin right under your cheekbones, slightly turning pink. Your hair still a little wet from the shower. Bob forgot how to breathe for a moment. 

And you? You stared into his widened puppy dog eyes, looking down at you. He licked his lips. The dark curls falling into his eyes, when his head dips a little more into your direction. He didn’t even noticed it, but his body took over and clearly wanted to be closer to you. 

A thunder rumbled outside. Bob blinked a few times, clearing his throat and quickly recovering from the sizzling tension in the air. 

You crooked a little smile. „Let’s make the best banana pancakes on this planet!“ 

Said and done. While Bob was preparing the kitchen, you stepped over to the music system. You chose a playlist full of your favorite songs for a rainy sundaymorning and walked back to Bob. Your body moved with the rhythm and it was hard for Bob to not stare again. It was almost hypnotizing for him. He wanted to rest his hands on your hips and experience the feeling of you … 

„Okay all set. Let’s make some breakfast!“ 

The pancakes turned out deliciously. And you could even get more than two out of the rare ingredients. Bob and you got comfortable to each lean at a pillar between the windows, leaving you sitting at the opposite from one another and almost touching by the knees. 

„They are really good“, you said with a full mouth and Bob had trouble to take a bite without smiling like an idiot. „I never knew you can cook.“ 

„Well, I wouldn’t count that as cooking. But thanks.“ Yeah the butterflies in his stomach are freaking out right now. 

You look at him, really look at him while he was distracted by his banana pancake. He looked so effortlessly handsome it was almost unfair. The way his brought shoulders are moving under his hoodie made your imagination doing funny things.

Your fingers twitched, in a unspoken wish to see how they would feel. Bob looked outside the window, chewing on a bite and you couldn’t hold back a silly smile. He looked so peaceful, so young and just so beautiful. 

When he looked back at you, Bob caught you red handed staring at him. Oh, if you would’ve only known what this little fact doing to him. He risked to suffocate on that last bite. 

You shivered under his intense gaze. 

„Oh are you cold?“ He asked. 

You made an effort to stand up and Bob mirrored your movements. Suddenly the two of you got really close again, standing in front of one another within a few inches. Bob wanted to reach out so badly. He wanted to take your hand in his, just feel how soft your skin would feel on his. Because he knew full well, that he would practically drop dead at how good it would be. 

„Yeah …“, you collected your thoughts again. „I think I’ll get something to cover up.“ You wanted to turn around to leave, but Bob let his instincts get the upper hand. 

He reached out and held you back by accidentally grabbing your waist. The plan was to aim for your wrist. 

Holy shit! I’m touching her …. What am I doing? 

His thoughts raced and went in circles. He forgot why he wanted to hold her back, but when he saw goosebumps on her arms, he remembered quickly. And pulled his hands back. 

„You can have my hoodie. I’m hot anyway.“ He nodded with a nervous smile. 

You blinked twice, letting his words sink in. And a little giggle escaped your mouth. For a sweet moment Bob was confused about you reaction … then he realized what he just said. 

„I-I mean .. fuck… I meant I’m warm. Not hot. No, I’m not hot. But this..“ He pulled the dark hoodie over his head, messing up his curls even more. „This is really hot - warm - I meant warm!“ 

Bob handed it over to you with an apologizing look in his puppy dog eyes. You could see his cheeks getting all flushed and you heart skipped a beat. 

„Thank you, Bob“, you said with a sweet smile and took his hoodie. The material was soft and it’s shape covered your frame like a big blanked. The waistband reaching the middle of your thighs and the sleeves swelling your hands completely. 

Bob was certain he just had a stroke. You looked so adorable in his clothes! A deep - cave man like - feeling formed inside his chest, telling him to always protect you. 

„How do I look?“ You spread your arms out and smiled. 

„You look stunning. Beautiful.“ 

Now it was your turn for heated up cheeks. Every fiber of your being wanted to get closer to him. You already knew how his hoodie feel, now you wanted to get more of him. All of him, if possible. 

Your favorite song, that just sounded from the speakers, gave you an idea how to get what you desired. 

So you straighten your shoulders and mentally diving into unknown waters. „Bob, would you dance with me?“ 

Bobs eyebrows shot up, leaving an surprised expression on his handsome face. „Uhm… Mh-kay.“ 

You reached out for his hand. Bob took one step in your direction, resting his free hand on the small of your back, gently pulling you closer. You could feel the heat of his body sinking through the thick fabric of your clothes. His hand felt strong and steady while guiding your movements, but at the same time he was holding you so soft, so careful … the butterflies in your stomach turned into a wild tornado, full of colorful wings. 

„I’m glad the others forgot about us“, Bob confessed with a cheeky smile showing off his dimples. 

„Me too. Never had a better Sunday in my life. Being with you makes me really happy, Bob.“ 

He looked at you like you just told him he’d won the lottery. (And if you would ask him, he definitely did). „Can I, uhm can I try something?“ 

You nodded. 

Bob gently brushing a lost wisp of hair out of your face, cupping it with his large hand. He leaned down, slowly, so you could back out anytime. But you didn’t. Instead you got up on your tiptoes to meet his lips halfway, as they touched yours. 

The kiss was soft, gentle like a butterfly itself. His hand on your back holding you tight, while the other one went to slowly brushing the line under your jaw. Bob kissed you like he was incapable of ever stop again. 

You let one hand rest on his heart - feel it racing under your touch, while the other hand get a hold of his neck. 

When the kiss ended you were both a little out of breath. „You know …“ A smile appeared on your swollen lips. „I wasn’t even cold.“ 

First he was confused but then he understood that the goosebumps didn’t dame because of the temperature. He gave you a shy smile. 

„But“, you kissed him again. „I do think that your hot.“ 

The two of you danced for a while. Multiple songs have passed. Bob had swung you around, catching you again and holding you close to his heart. Laughter filled the empty loft while the music, mixed with the noises of the heavy rain outside, made you feel like being in a bubble. 

A bubble were only you and Bob exist. And banana pancakes. 

____________________________

Thanks for reading!🧡 All interactions are highly appreciated (but please don't copy my work)

🖤Bob Reynolds Masterlist💛

[eclipixels]

I love seeing more ffxv content on my tl. I was wondering if you’d ever write for noctis x reader getting nasty in the regalia and trying to stay quiet so the other guys don’t hear. Maybe voyeurism

Quiet Down

Noctis Lucis Caelum x Reader

Content: Noctis trying to keep you quiet.

Wanings:🍋

[1,561 words]

      Regalia hums under you, miles of open highway stretching out into dusky green hills. The sun is soft, the windows down. In the backseat, Prompto hums along to the radio while Ignis quietly scrolls through maps, one leg crossed over the other.

      Noctis is driving. One hand on the wheel. The other… isn’t.

      You’re in the passenger seat, trying to look relaxed like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

      Like the crown prince of Lucis doesn’t have his fingers between your legs right now, hidden beneath your dress. You breathe slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon.

      He doesn’t even look at you, his profile calm, hair ruffling slightly in the breeze. His lips twitch, just barely.

      His fingers move with maddening precision, rubbing lazy circles over your clit, just light enough to make your thighs twitch. You shift slightly, pressing down into his hand, needing more. He hums in amusement.

      He gives you one slow stroke between your folds, then slides a single finger inside you. You tense, heart pounding, breath caught.

      Ignis leans forward between the seats suddenly. You freeze.

      “Noct,” he says, voice steady. “Turn left up ahead. The road forks into a dirt trail that leads to a campsite.”

      “Cool,” Noctis replies easily, giving a small nod. He doesn’t stop touching you. Doesn’t even slow down.

      You’re dying. Prompto chirps from the back, completely unaware, “Man, I could totally go for Cup Noodles tonight.”

      You almost laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled gasp. Noctis curls his finger just right, and you grip the edge of your seat so hard your knuckles ache. Sweat beads at your temple. You glance toward the back, Ignis is focused on the map again, Prompto has headphones in, Gladiolus is taking a well deserved nap.

      No one knows. You feel his breath near your ear as he leans slightly closer, voice dark with amusement.

      “Imagine if they saw what a mess you are right now. Soaking wet, squirming, trying to stay quiet. Such a good girl.”

      The praise goes straight to your core. You clench around his fingers involuntarily, and he lets out a sharp exhale. He picks up the pace, subtle and efficient, each stroke measured and cruelly quiet. You’re trembling now, legs tight, breaths shallow. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

      Your release hits without warning, rushing over you in a silent wave of heat and muscle. You squeeze your thighs together, trying not to make a sound, biting the inside of your cheek until your vision blurs.

      Noctis finally slows. His fingers slide out, soaked. He casually brings his hand to his mouth, licks one knuckle clean. You whip your head toward him, eyes wide.

      He shrugs, smirking. “Gotta keep my hands clean while I drive.”

      You try to breathe normally. From the backseat, Prompto looks up, cheerful as ever.

      “Hey, why’s your face all red?”

      You glare forward. “Sunburn.”

      Noctis just laughs under his breath and takes the next left.

      The car’s engine clicks softly as it cools, the scent of warm metal and dirt drifting through the air. You step out on unsteady legs, stretching like nothing’s wrong. Like Noctis didn’t make you come in the front seat twenty minutes ago with three of his best friends less than three feet away.

      You’re still slick between your thighs. You can still feel the ghost of his fingers when you move. And when you glance at him over the roof of the car, he’s smirking, just faintly. That same infuriating, knowing look he gave you when he licked his fingers clean without shame.

      “Come on,” Ignis calls out, already unloading the gear. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can rest.”

      Noctis stretches, cracking his neck lazily. “Mm. Yeah. Tired.”

      You roll your eyes. He is not tired.

      You help Gladiolus set up the tents, trying to stay busy. But every time you bend down, you feel his eyes on you. When you sit around the fire, you catch him across the flames, eyes half-lidded, staring like he’s still got his hand under your hoodie.

      He hasn’t touched you since the car.

      Prompto’s babbling about something, a new camera filter, but you’re only half-listening. You can’t concentrate when Noctis is sitting next to you, knees brushing yours, close enough to smell the warmth of his hoodie.

      Then his fingers brush your hand. Just once. You shoot him a look. His eyes are focused on the fire, face completely blank. He does it again. This time slower, fingers gliding along your palm like a secret. You flush, hard, but before you can snap back, Ignis stands. “I’ll clean the dishes. Don’t stay up too late.”

      Prompto yawns. “I’m crashing. Got, like, zero sleep last night.”

      Noctis raises a brow. “You snored for seven hours straight.”

      “Yeah, but it wasn’t restful,” Prom whines, disappearing into the tent. Gladiolus was already knocked out cold. Now it’s just the two of you.

      The silence is immediate. The only sounds are the distant crickets and the soft crackle of the fire. You glance at Noctis. He’s already staring.

      “You gonna keep teasing me all night?” you murmur, voice low.

      His lips twitch. “Thought I was being subtle.”

      “You were not.”

      He shifts, closer now, arm brushing yours. “You liked it.”

      “I liked it when I could actually touch you,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing.

      That does it. He leans in, slow and deliberate, his voice like smoke. “Car. Now. Or I swear to the Six, I’ll take you right here.”

      Your heart stutters. “You wouldn’t.”

      “Try me.”

      You stare at him, eyes narrowing in hard. He didn’t look like he was bluffing. “Fine.”

      Regalia creaks slightly as Noctis slides into the back seat with you, the car doors barely clicking shut. It’s past midnight. The fire’s out. The others are asleep in their tents just a few feet away. And yet, here you are, pressed against black leather, Noctis’ hand sliding under your shirt.

      “This is a bad idea,” you whisper, breath shaky.

      His mouth finds your neck. “Then stop me.”

      You don’t. In fact, you grab a fistful of his hoodie and tug him closer, kissing him like you’ve been starving for it. You kind of have. All day he’d been stealing glances at you from the driver’s seat. His hand brushing your thigh during pit stops. That smirk when you caught him checking out your legs while pretending to clean his glaive.

      Now, he’s not pretending anything. His palm cups your breast, thumb teasing over your nipple through your bra. You gasp but his hand shoots up to your mouth, muffling it instantly.

      “No sound,” he whispers, his voice all gravel and heat. “They’ll hear.”

      Your thighs clench at the command in his tone. You nod. He kisses you again slower this time, more deliberate. Like he’s savoring it. His hand dips between your legs, and you’re already wet. embarrassingly so. His smirk is smug against your lips.

      “Fuck, baby…” he breathes. “You’re soaked. Is this all from sneaking around?”

      “Maybe,” you mutter, already breathless. “You’re hot when you’re bossy.”

      He huffs a soft laugh. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

      But his fingers slip under your waistband anyway, stroking you in slow, devastating circles. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. Then he’s tugging your pants down just enough, shifting you onto your back across the seat. It’s cramped, awkward, and still the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

      He kneels between your legs, head low, breath hot against your thigh.

      “You sure about this?” he murmurs.

      You thread your fingers through his messy hair and pull. “Get over here, Prince.”

      He doesn’t need more convincing. Noctis pushes inside you slow, burying himself inch by inch, stifling his groan against your shoulder. The car creaks faintly again, but it’s drowned out by your sharp inhale and the way your nails dig into his back. He moves slow at first, trying to be careful, trying to stay quiet. But the tighter you squeeze around him, the harder it gets to behave. His lips brush your ear.

      “Don’t. Make. A. Sound,” he growls, hips snapping a little harder each time.

      You nod frantically, barely able to think, let alone speak. Your legs tremble around his waist as he fucks you slow and deep, hand covering your mouth when a particularly rough thrust makes you keen.

      “Gods, you feel so good,” he pants. “I’ve wanted this all day. All week.”

      You want to tell him you’ve wanted this since you first saw him asleep in the car, mouth parted, shirt riding up to show a sliver of skin, but you can’t form words. You can only cling to him, biting down on his shoulder as your climax builds like fire under your skin. He feels it, the way you tighten around him. He picks up the pace, rougher now, barely restrained.

      You come hard, back arching, head thrown back against the cool leather. He follows a moment later, hips grinding deep, breath caught in his throat as he pulses inside you.

      When it’s over, he collapses onto your chest, both of you heaving, slick with sweat and sin.

      Silence.

      Then—

      “Next time,” Ignis’s muffled voice calls from outside the tent, “at least try to cast a silence spell.”

      You freeze. Noctis chokes on a laugh. “Worth it.”

[nicolejones412]

Out of Sync Part 2

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You've found yourself with the 107th fighting Hydra, where you meet a handsome Sergeant. But something just isn't right.

A/N: It honestly feels so good to be back, and actually feel confident enough in being back that I can set up a bit of mystery for you...

Read Part 1 here.

FIC:

"So, what's your name?"

"My name?" You turned your drink in your hands.

"Well I'm assuming Grace is your last name and now that we're on first name basis-"

"Buchannan is your middle name."

"Touche buuuut it is what I go by, so my point still stands."

"It's Charlotte."

"Charlotte Grace?"

"Yeah I know, two first names."

"No, no I like it. Sounds like a movie star's name."

You chuckled. "It does not."

"It does, and you got the looks for it too. I mean it. You could on the silver screen."

You shook your head and took a sip of your drink.

"So, at risk of derailing this whole thing, I ask my first question again. What's a beautiful woman like you doing out here?"

You thought for a moment. You'd been asked that a lot of times, but never so sincerely. For the first time you felt the urge to give an honest answer.

"I don't know. I...I just wanted to make a difference. I impressed Dr. Erskine enough to get a seat at the table, so the SSR felt like the best option I had."

"Erskine...the guy who made the...the..."

"The serum?"

"Yeah the serum that made Steve...." He motioned with is hands as he looked over at the captain.

"A specimen?"

"Yeah a - wait." He turned back to you, and you almost spit out your drink at the look on his face. He shook his head.

"I mean am I wrong?"

"No, no you're not. It's just-" He shook his head.

"I still look for Steve. Like how he always was. It'll definitely take some getting used to that's for sure."

You nodded. "That only makes sense. Change can be...scary. Off-putting."

"He is still Steve though, that's for sure."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, only Steve Rogers would be stupid enough to run into that Hydra base alone without a true exit strategy."

"And he said you were taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky laughed. "I know right! Did he tell you that story?"

You laughed along, thinking. When had you heard that story? "He must have, I guess. The past few months have been a blur."

"Ain't that the truth."

You both paused for a moment, simultaneously reflecting on the past and thinking about the future.

"So, Charlie..."

"Charlie?"

"Charlotte is a bit of a mouthful alright?"

"It's the same number of syllables."

"Still, Charlie." He looked at you pointedly to see if you would object. You just rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile as you took a drink.

"How about we make a habit of this?"

"Of what?" Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Maybe something bad.

Or maybe something good.

He shrugged. "Of spending time together? As friends-colleagues, of course."

"Oh yes we wouldn't want to get that confused."

"Yeah, no need for anything complicated, just, I don't know I've had a great time tonight and you would've been just sitting at your desk being boring if I hadn't-hey!" He half-heartedly protested as you shoved him.

"Alright then, Bucky. Let's be friends."

What could possibly go wrong?

-

You fell into a comfortable routine. With the SSR sticking with Captain America's Howling Commandos, you saw each other more days than not. You and Steve became good friends as well.

You were still at war though, and every time they went on a mission, you worried. You tried to tell yourself it was normal, but you knew it wasn't.

But you never felt relief when they inevitably rolled back into camp. Almost like, as much as you worried, you knew they would be back. Like it had been foolish to worry.

Weeks turned to months, until one day as they left the worry was greater than normal. You just couldn't shake that something was wrong, so you poured over every briefing and map you could get your hands on. It clicked not even 3 hours after they'd left.

"It's a trap."

"Pardon?" Peggy looked up, yawning.

You looked up at her, and before you knew what you were doing, your feet carried you to your tent to gear up before finding a vehicle.

"Charlotte! What is going on?" Peggy asked as she followed you into your shared tent.

"I have to warn them. It's a trap."

"Slow down." You weren't even looking at her, just packing everything like it was muscle memory.

"How do you know it's a trap? And why does it have to be you?"

"I don't have time to explain, and...I don't know. I can move quicker and quieter on my own and hopefully catch up to them."

When she didn't reply, you finally looked up at her. She had a knowing look on her face.

"You can't stop me."

"Oh I know. And I'll try to cover for you as best as I can. Just...don't die, alright?"

You began tucking your hair up into a tight braided bun. "You're really not gonna try to talk me out of this insane plan?"

"It would be a waste of breath. Just know I expect an invitation to the wedding."

You quickly turned back to her. "Wedding? What do you-?"

"Listen I won't argue this plan with you but don't argue the clear facts with me. I see how you look at him."

The fact that you didn't even have to question who she was talking told both of you all you needed to know.

You finished getting dressed and packing before hugging Peggy.

"Stay safe," she urged.

"I'll do my best."

-

Ok, maybe safe wasn't the right word.

You tore through the woods, not able to waste any time. You knew the exact route they were supposed to be taking, and frankly it would take a miracle for you to catch up in time, but you had to try.

You were beating yourself up the whole way. You'd known something was wrong, but they all assured you this should be a simple grab and go to catch a couple Hydra scientists.

It was too good to be true.

You found their vehicle exactly where it should be, without any of them in it.

You jumped off your bike. You knew the basic plan from here, and you just hoped they hadn't had to change it much.

You took off running for where you knew Bucky was supposed to be, trying to balance speed and stealth.

You silently thanked whoever was listening that it didn't look like the trap had been sprung yet as you arrived at the site.

Before you reached anyone else, you ran into Falsworth.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"It's a trap. The scientists aren't even here. We've got to get out of here."

Thankfully, he didn't argue much. He pointed you in the direction Bucky had gone.

You crept up to Bucky's position, finally seeing the back of his head.

Just in time to watch a bullet go through it.

And as shouting and explosions rang out, your heart was pounding.

I was too late.

Too late.

You felt a tug in your chest as you shook your head and closed your eyes, and suddenly the chaos stopped. You opened your eyes.

You were standing ten feet back from where you had been, and you could see Bucky where he'd been sitting before, you watched his head move.

You froze, before looking around you wildly for the gunman.

Your eyes found him as he raised his weapon, trained on Bucky.

Too bad for him you were quicker.

This shot was much quieter than the enemy's would have been. A suppressor does tend to help with that. But Bucky knew that sound, as well as the sound of a body hitting the ground.

He shot up, turning both his eyes and weapon to you.

"Charlie?" he whispered as his eyes widened.

"It's a trap," you blurted out, face white as a sheet. "He was going to shoot you as the signal to spring it. We don't have much time."

"How did you-?"

"No time for questions. Need to signal them and find an escape route. Now."

Bucky nodded before turning back to look through his sites. You pulled out a pair of binoculars.

Your eyes found Steve.

Get out. Get out. It's a trap. Retreat.

Steve looked around like he'd heard something, then his eyes landed on something.

That's it. Come on, it's time to go.

He shook his head, then made eye contact with someone and made a signal with his hands.

"Steve must agree with you." You turned to him.

"He just signaled a retreat."

-

Read Part 3 here.

A/N: Why is your name Charlotte? Is it Charlotte? Are you lying? If your name is actually Charlotte pretend I wrote Sharon and he calls you Sherry ok I don't know what else to tell you.

[yoiurboi]

JRWI X SU: GEM PLACEMENT GUIDE

Forewarning: my handwriting is kind of ass.

A few (like two) of you have asked about this and I am happy to oblige. Apologies in advance for the shitty doodles, I did this on my laptop as opposed to on my PC like I normally do.

First and foremost, I'm going to explain how Gem Placement Theory works. Obviously, if you've no knowledge of Steven Universe, this will make little sense. But to put it simply, the location of the Rocks on these Gem Aliens can tell us a little bit about their characters!

This one's gonna be a little long, so strap in!

For general gem placements, I use a body map like this:

Different regions of the body hold different meanings. The head: brains, intelligence, mindfulness. The chest: emotions, the heart. The naval region: sentimentality and kindness. A few of these have been confirmed to be SU canon. In an interview once, Rebecca Sugar implied that Roses' gem is on her stomach because she is sentimental, or something like that.

I tend to focus on these meanings and then apply them to my gem OCs and Gem AU characters. Gillion fits into this category. However, sometimes gem meanings can be even more specific.

Two big examples of this from Steven Universe are Aquamarine and Jasper. Aquamarine's gem is placed (and shaped) to resemble a fake tear drop. It's sort of ironic because of how uncaring she seems to be. Also it looks like one of those prison murder tats but I don't think that's on purpose. And Jasper's placement was explained (I think in the SU podcast?) to be a reference to being "hard-nosed". Gem Jay and Chip sort of fit into both this and the last category.

I use both the specific meanings and the body regions when making gem designs. But, I generally gravitate towards the first one. Now onto the actual designs.

Gillion is "The Strong One". At least, that's what he wants you to think. Actually, at one point Jay had more HP then him, but that didn't stop him from tanking hits to keep his friends out of harms way. Paladins are also generally more associated with being physically strong than rogues and artificers. So that's one factor, after all, you puff out your chest to feel stronger. But also! Gillion is PASSIONATE! He loves his friends and has all sorts of big emotions that come from being new to the Oversea! And the chest is where the heart is. Finally, and don't take this too seriously, Gill is a little stupid. They all are, actually. There's a reason the Albatrio aren't know for their brains. That's what Edison Kingdom is for. But out of all of them, I think Gillion is the most "Feelings over Thoughts" kind of guy, mostly because he's the least emotionally reserved.

Now Jay and Chip are a little less about where the gem IS and more about where it ISN'T.

Did you know that the right eye is the Eye of Ra? The Egyptian SUN god? Obviously the, Ferin's have connections with Aster, with Jay's "Hot Sun Dreams" and all that. Whether or not she's some Sun chosen one like Gill is to the Moon, I'm not sure. But regardless, she's got a glaring link to the big, bright, fiery lady in the sky. Jay's got some eye stuff going on in general. As do the other Ferins. Her gem is specifically over the one that DOESN'T turn orange, though. Mostly, so it'd still be visible without affecting her gem. Also, people tend to close one eye when aiming.

Chip. Chip. Chippy Chip Boy. Did you know that the left eye is the Eye of Horus? Did you know this eye can be associated with the moon? Did you know Fish and Chi-

Okay, but seriously. His open eye is the left one, which can be associated with "protection from malevolent forces". He survived the Hole in the Sea, which one might say is a malevolent force, relatively unscathed (well, not emotionally, but at least he's not still stuck in there like Arlin is). And of course, there's the shit with Niklaus. A little ironic, as he is DEFINITELY not safe from that guy. Plus undead are often considered to be evil, and well... you know. More irony.

I also wanted all their gems to be symmetrical for when I draw their fusions (I already have technically, just not in Clip Studio).

Additionally, Jay and Chip are sort of two different kinds of traditional "smarts". With Jay being more tech-y/book smart and Chip being a cunning street smart kind of guy.

BONUS! A bunch of doodles I did for other characters in this AU. I think the Black Rose Pirates (and pirates in general) are like the Crystal Gems, and then the Diamond Authority would be the Navy. So, just know that even though I didn't draw him, Captain Rose will probably be either a Desert Rose or just straight up Rose Quartz.

[actuallybean]

Holy Virgin* | Part Thirteen

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @catsinacottage Part Fourteen Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The war room felt heavier than usual — not just in silence, but in pressure. Like the air itself had thickened, saturated with the weight of things unspoken and too sacred to name aloud. The table, normally a place for strategy and salt-lined maps, now bore witness to something far more intimate and terrifying: your future.

The cold, overhead light buzzed softly, sterile and indifferent as it cast hard shadows over every angle of the room. No warmth, no comfort — just the hum of fluorescent illumination and the faint creak of chairs as the four of you sat encircled around destiny.

You sat closest to the edge of the table, hands clasped tightly in your lap at first, then gradually rising to trace the uneven wood grain — small, nervous circles over a splintered chip where a demon blade once struck. You weren’t even sure why your fingers lingered there, except maybe to remind yourself that the danger used to be clearer. Sharper. Tangible.

This? This was a quieter doom. One that bloomed inside you with every passing week.

Dean was across from you, hunched forward slightly, arms crossed like a man trying to hold in the storm inside. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes darker than usual — not angry, but shaken. The usual flicker of sarcasm or cocky bravado was long gone.

“So, no doctors,” he said finally, voice low and flat. “No ultrasounds. No hospital. Just you and… prayer. That’s what they want?”

There was venom under the words, but not directed at you — no, never at you. Just at the situation, at the divine decree he couldn’t punch or outrun.

Sam, sitting to your right, nodded solemnly. His gaze hadn’t left the scroll since Castiel had unfurled it on the table. Its parchment still shimmered faintly with ethereal light, even now, as if the ink had been branded by Heaven itself. The words had been burned into your minds before they’d even been spoken aloud.

“Exactly,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. “They said the child’s aura is too powerful now. We can’t hide the pregnancy any longer. Heaven is watching.”

Your fingers stilled over the wood, your pulse fluttering in your throat. That was the moment it became real. Not the missed period, not the morning sickness, not even the first flutter of movement low in your belly two nights ago. It was this.

The finality.

The inescapable truth of it.

Your voice cracked through the silence like a dropped glass.

“I’m scared.”

The words were barely audible, but they were sharp in their honesty — and they cut through the silence with more force than shouting ever could. You felt them break open in your chest as tears welled in your eyes, hot and unrelenting.

You tried to gather yourself, drawing in a shaky breath.

“Not just about the prophecy or the angels or what’s supposed to happen after the baby’s born,” you continued, voice trembling. “I mean… I’m scared of carrying this baby. For the next six months or more. Without medical care. Without knowing if they’re okay. Without ultrasounds to check if their heart is beating. Without anyone trained to help if something goes wrong.”

Sam’s brow furrowed deeply. He opened his mouth, but you kept going — the dam had cracked now.

“What if I go into labor early?” Your voice climbed, shaky and raw. “What if the baby’s in distress and I don’t know? What if there’s too much bleeding or the cord’s around their neck or they’re not breathing and— and I’m alone and I can’t do anything?”

Your hand instinctively dropped to your stomach, palm cupping the small but undeniable curve beneath your sweatshirt. “What if I can’t carry them to term? What if I’m not strong enough?”

Dean’s chair scraped slightly against the floor as he stood. He rounded the table and stopped beside you, not saying anything right away. He just stood there, his shadow cast long over the table, until you looked up into his eyes.

They weren’t angry now — they were glassy, aching, his voice gravel-soft.

“You won’t be alone,” he said, crouching beside your chair so you were eye-level. “You hear me? Not for one damn second. You’re not going through this alone.”

Your lip quivered. “But if something happens, Dean—”

“We’ll be there,” he said, fiercer now, but not unkind. “Every second. Every hour. Every day until this kid is born, and long after. We’ll be there. No matter what.”

Sam reached across the table and gently wrapped his fingers around your hand. His grip was steady — grounding. “We’ll learn everything we can,” he said. “Signs of preterm labor, warning symptoms, birthing techniques. We’ll read the books, take the courses. We’ll plan for everything. You won’t even breathe without one of us watching over you.”

Castiel, still standing across the room with his hands folded before him, stepped forward then. There was something ancient in his eyes — a sorrow born of centuries, but also something infinitely gentle.

“The angels have promised divine protection,” he said carefully. “But they also warned the covenant must not be broken. No hospitals. No interventions. If we deviate from their instructions, they may revoke their protection entirely.”

You shook your head. “But what if their protection isn’t enough? What if it’s not physical — what if it’s emotional? Mental? What if I lose it halfway through this and I can’t… I can’t do this anymore?”

There was a long pause. The air was so still you could hear the quiet hum of the bunker’s old pipes above.

Then Castiel walked around the table, placing a hand gently on your shoulder.

“You are allowed to be afraid,” he said quietly. “But you are not weak. And you are not alone.”

Dean exhaled through his nose, voice rough with emotion. “We’ll make a plan,” he said, resolute now. “We get Jody down here, or we go to her. She’s helped deliver babies. She’s smart, resourceful. She won’t flinch.”

Sam nodded. “And Rowena. She knows magical childbirth better than anyone. If the angels think they can throw us into the deep end, we’ll just bring our own damn lifeboats.”

You blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the surge of fierce love and loyalty around you. The cold weight in your chest hadn’t vanished, but it was no longer crushing. Not with them here.

“I’m terrified,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But I want to try. For this baby. For us.”

Dean’s hand came to rest over yours, his palm calloused and warm. “Then we’ve got you. All the way.”

Sam nodded once, eyes locked on yours, unshakable. “Every hour. Every day. You’re not carrying this alone.”

Castiel’s voice was quieter than a prayer. “You will not be alone.”

And in that tiny, unbreakable circle — beneath harsh lights and divine pressure, under prophecy and fear — you found something holy, something powerful enough to rival Heaven:

Family.

✦

The bunker had settled into an uneasy silence after the meeting — no one said it, but everyone felt it. Dean disappeared into the garage with clenched fists and a low mutter about fixing something that probably didn’t need fixing. Sam lingered by the table, poring over lore books again even though his eyes were glassy from exhaustion. You needed space — not to be alone, but to be quiet, to think without being watched like you might break.

You found Castiel standing at the far end of the hall outside the library, framed in the faint golden spill of a flickering sconce. He was still. Silent. Almost like he was waiting for you.

Your steps were soft as you approached, the sound of your socks against the cold concrete muffled and careful.

“Castiel?” Your voice was small. Hesitant.

He turned slowly, meeting your eyes with that same quiet intensity — not demanding, not prying. Just seeing.

You stood across from him, fingers curled around the sleeve of your sweater, thumb tracing the seam over and over. You hadn’t meant to cry again, but your throat was already tightening.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he answered immediately, gently. “Anything.”

You exhaled shakily and leaned against the wall beside him, your eyes flicking to the floor. “I know I’m not supposed to question the prophecy. Or the plan. Or Heaven.” A pause. “But… I’ve been thinking about Mary. The Mary. The mother of Christ.”

Castiel stayed quiet. His gaze didn’t waver.

You swallowed hard. “Did she suffer?”

A long, heavy silence.

“Did she have complications?” you pressed, voice trembling now. “Did she carry him safely? Did she have pain when she gave birth? Was she scared like I am?”

Castiel’s brow creased, and he looked at you not with divine detachment, but with profound, aching compassion — a look you’d come to learn was rare for an angel, but somehow effortless for him.

“She was scared,” he said finally. “Terrified, at times. She was young. Isolated. Chosen for something she didn’t fully understand. She had to leave her home, flee with Joseph to avoid judgment, to escape violence. She had no medical care. No midwife. Only faith.”

Your eyes burned, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“But was it… easy for her? The birth, I mean. Did God make it painless? Did she just breathe and— and Jesus appeared like some miracle, perfect and healthy and glowing in a manger?”

Castiel turned toward you, and something human flickered across his face — not pity. Understanding.

“No,” he said quietly. “It was not easy. Her labor was long. She bled. She screamed. She was on the floor of a stable, surrounded by hay and dirt. And yet… she endured.”

You were crying now, quiet and hard, the weight of everything curling into your chest. “So she didn’t get special treatment,” you whispered. “She was holy. Chosen. And she still had to go through all of it.”

Castiel nodded. “Because it was not the miracle of a painless birth that made her holy. It was her willingness. Her strength. Her love.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m not her, Cas. I don’t know if I have that kind of strength. Everyone keeps saying I won’t be alone, that I’m protected, but I still feel like I’m walking into something I’ll never come out of. I’m not brave like her.”

There was the rustle of his coat as he stepped closer, and then his hand — warm and steady — came to rest on your upper back. Not pushing. Just there.

“You are not Mary,” he said gently, “but your heart carries the same courage. She doubted, too. She cried. She begged. She wanted to understand. And she kept going. That is strength.”

You looked up at him, blinking through tears. “Do you think… she regretted it?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “She loved her child beyond anything else. And that love gave her a power no angel could ever touch.”

You stared at him, your lip trembling. “Do you think I’ll survive it?”

Castiel looked at you for a long time — not just your face, but your soul. Then he nodded.

“I do,” he said. “And if I am wrong, then I will move Heaven itself to make it right. I promise you that.”

Your chest cracked at his words, not from fear — but from the strange, holy relief of being truly seen. Of knowing you didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“Will you stay with me?” you asked softly. “When it’s time?”

He nodded again. “I will not leave your side.”

You leaned against his shoulder then — not out of exhaustion, but surrender. You didn’t have every answer. You didn’t feel brave. But in that hallway, under flickering light and the wings of an angel, you found enough hope to keep breathing.

And that, for tonight, was enough.

✦

The war room had long since gone dim, only the faint orange glow from the table lamps keeping the shadows at bay. The clock on the wall ticked quietly, its hands crawling toward midnight. Somewhere down the hall, Castiel stood watch without need for rest, and the faint clinking of tools in the garage had finally stopped — Dean must’ve worn himself out or given up for the night.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the library, but the couch was comfortable, and Sam’s presence — warm and quiet and solid beside you — had made you feel safe enough to close your eyes. Now, though, you were awake again, curled sideways with your legs drawn up and a blanket tucked around your hips. Sam slept with his hand still loosely draped over your shin, his face slack with exhaustion. He hadn’t even stirred when you’d shifted, hadn’t noticed the way your hand kept drifting to your stomach, rubbing slow, aimless circles as thoughts pressed into your mind like weight on your chest.

You didn’t realize Dean was there until the creak of the floorboard near the entrance made you lift your head.

He stood in the doorway in sweatpants and a henley, bare feet silent, a beer in one hand and an unreadable look on his face. His eyes immediately flicked to you — the alertness didn’t leave his posture until he registered that you were awake and Sam was peacefully asleep beside you.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and a little rough.

You nodded, offering the smallest of smiles. “Can’t sleep.”

He lingered a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should leave you alone or come in. But then you shifted, patting the cushion near your knees. “You can sit.”

Dean gave a slow exhale, as if he’d been waiting for permission. He set the beer on the low table, then crossed to the couch, easing down carefully beside your legs. You watched the way his hand braced the back of the cushion like he was afraid to jostle you — like you might break.

You both sat in silence for a moment. The sound of Sam breathing deep and slow filled the space, rhythmic and grounding. The lamp beside you cast a warm light over Dean’s face, and for the first time all day, he didn’t look like he was holding something back.

His eyes dropped to your stomach, and his voice came quieter. “You still feel it?”

You looked down at yourself, hand pressing against the soft curve of your belly. “Not right now. Sometimes I think I do, though. Little flutters.” You paused. “It’s too early for real movement, but… I don’t know. Maybe it’s something else.”

Dean smiled faintly, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “Or maybe the kid’s just a little overachiever already.”

You gave a tired laugh and turned toward him slightly, folding your legs enough to make room. “You wanna feel?”

Dean blinked. “I can?”

You nodded, guiding his hand gently with yours. “I don’t think there’s much to feel yet, but… it’s okay.”

He moved slowly, reverently, like he was reaching toward something sacred. His palm settled lightly over your bump — broad, calloused, warm. You saw the way his lips parted just slightly, his chest stilled like he was holding his breath.

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “It’s Uncle Dean.”

You smiled, your eyes stinging again for the hundredth time that day.

Dean’s thumb gently swept in a circle, protective and full of awe. “Your mom’s… she’s somethin’ else, y’know? Strongest damn woman I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something, ‘cause I’ve seen a lot of badass women.” He glanced up at you, eyes soft. “But she takes the cake.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out wet. Your fingers tightened in the blanket, emotions crawling up your throat. Dean saw it, and his hand pressed just a little firmer over your stomach, grounding you.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, voice lower now, more serious. “Hell, I am too. But we’re not gonna let anything happen to you. Or the baby. Not on my watch.”

You swallowed hard. “I’ve been thinking… if I can’t have a hospital birth, I need to at least have a plan. A real one. I'd think I'd like to stay with Jody when it gets closer. She has space. She’s delivered babies before. She’d know what to do if something goes wrong.”

Dean nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Jody’s smart. Tough. We’d be lucky to have her. Yeah — yeah, that’s a good idea.”

You hesitated. “And maybe Rowena joins us too. If she’s willing. I mean, I know she’s not exactly—” you gestured vaguely, “maternal, but she knows magic. Ancient stuff. If something supernatural happens, she could help.”

“Rowena owes us a few favors,” Dean said with a small smirk. “Plus, she kinda has a soft spot for you, whether she wants to admit it or not.”

You exhaled, feeling some of the heaviness lift off your chest.

Dean was quiet for a moment more. Then, almost absently, still rubbing his thumb gently over your stomach, he added, “You’re gonna be a hell of a mom, y’know that?”

Your heart cracked a little at the way he said it — like he meant it with every fiber of who he was. No teasing, no jokes. Just the truth.

“I don’t feel like it,” you said honestly. “I feel… scared and overwhelmed and exhausted and kind of like I’m failing before I’ve even started.”

Dean looked at you then — really looked — and shifted closer.

“That’s exactly how you know you’re not failing,” he said. “You care. You’re already fighting for this baby. That’s what being a parent is. Giving a damn even when it’s hard.”

You felt the tears rise again, but you didn’t fight them this time. One slid down your cheek, and Dean leaned forward just enough to swipe it away with his knuckle.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured. “Not for one second.”

You nodded, voice trembling. “Okay.”

The room had fallen quiet again after Dean’s words, his hand still warm and steady over your belly. Sam hadn’t stirred beside you, his deep sleep undisturbed. And Dean… he didn’t move either, like he could sit there all night just keeping watch, just being near.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, watching him.

“Dean?” you whispered.

He looked over, eyes soft. “Yeah?”

You hesitated. The words sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and too big for your chest. But you couldn’t keep them down — not with everything pressing in, not with how terrified you felt beneath the calm.

“Would you…” You swallowed. “Would you pray with me?”

Dean blinked.

You saw the surprise flicker in his face — not mockery, not discomfort, just genuine stillness, like you’d asked him something sacred.

“I know it’s not really your thing,” you added quickly, almost apologetic. “But I… I feel like I’m forgetting how. Or maybe I’m just scared that if I do it alone, no one’s really listening.”

Dean’s expression softened into something unbearably tender. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You reached for his hand, the one not resting on your belly, and he gave it without hesitation — strong and calloused, but gentle as it curled around yours.

You closed your eyes.

It was quiet. So quiet that you could hear the hum of the bunker’s old air vents, the whisper of Sam breathing, the soft flicker of the lamp’s bulb.

You didn’t know where to start. It had been so long since prayer felt like something other than duty or desperation. But this moment was different — it wasn’t about answers. It was about not feeling alone.

So you started.

“God,” you whispered, your voice catching. “I don’t know if you’re still listening. I don’t know if you’ve been listening for a while. But I’m scared. And I don’t know how to do this without falling apart.”

Dean’s grip tightened just slightly, a wordless grounding.

You continued, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m trying to be strong. For this baby. For Sam. For Dean. For everyone. But I don’t know how to be strong when I’m this scared. When I don’t know what’s coming, or how much it’s going to hurt. I don’t know if I can carry this all the way. I’m afraid I’ll fail.”

Dean’s voice joined yours — rough, low, unsure but sincere.

“Hey, uh… God,” he murmured, and you could hear the awkwardness — not disbelief, just unfamiliarity, like someone stepping into a church for the first time. “This is Dean. Winchester.” A faint, dry chuckle. “I know we haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”

You smiled through your tears.

“But she’s… she’s one of the good ones,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on your stomach. “You already know that. You picked her. And if you’re really up there — really watching — then don’t leave her alone in this. Not now. Not when she’s giving everything she’s got.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles as he added, softer still, “She deserves peace. And she deserves to meet this baby without pain, without fear. I don’t ask for a lot, but I’m asking for that. Please.”

Your breath hitched, and your grip on his hand tightened. A moment passed. Then another.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full.

You didn’t hear a voice from heaven. You didn’t feel a burst of holy light or divine certainty. But what you did feel was the weight of Dean’s hand holding yours, steady and solid. The warmth of Sam’s body still sleeping beside you. The faint kick — was it? maybe — low against your ribs.

The smallest sign. The smallest flicker.

Dean looked at you again, his eyes shining a little, like maybe he hadn’t expected to feel anything from a prayer. And maybe he didn’t — not in a way he could name. But something had shifted between you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, and your voice was barely a whisper.

“Thank you. For doing that.”

He squeezed your hand. “Anytime.”

You rested your head back, finally feeling like you could maybe — maybe — sleep. And Dean leaned back too, keeping his hand in yours, his other one over your stomach, guarding two heartbeats with everything he had.

You weren’t alone. Not in this, not in your fear, not in your faith. And maybe that was enough — for now.