pairing: leon kennedy x reader [no y/n used, gender netural]
summary: leon comes home.
tags: fluff, blurb
warnings: none
wc: 896
♪ — take me down by the smashing pumpkins [spotify] [youtube]
a/n: i promise im working on full length stuff. i wasnt anticipating even writing tonight but this popped in my head and i really wanted to write it. ily
Leon is dead tired. Ready to pass out. Autopilot drops his keys in the bowl next to the door; habit kicks his boots off.
His heart tugs when he sees you curled up on the couch. You've fallen asleep waiting for him again. Credits roll on a movie playing on a low volume. The shadows on your face are sharp compared to your softened features. Your brow loose, lips relaxed in that content frown you make when you're deep in REM. It's an expression he's found himself jealous of at times. You sleep so easily— hardly any nightmares compared to the ones that scar him more often than they don't. But stronger than that jealousy is a relief for your sense of safety.
He can't bring himself to wake you. It's late, and he knows your sleep starts to become more irregular when he's away. He can’t bear to take any more from you. Even as he thinks so, he can hear your stern voice fighting with him. You're not being selfish for wanting comfort, Leon.
Easier to say than to feel. He's still learning.
The plush blanket has slipped slightly off of you in your sleep. He pulls it back over your waist and tucks it in again. Your socks poke out of the bottom of the cocoon. You always keep your place cold for him, because he runs warm. Part of him wonders if it's just an excuse to be closer to him. He smiles at the thought as he lays a kiss on your head. A small hum rumbles from your throat in your sleep, as if even when unconscious, you can’t help but voice your happiness at the affection.
Leon pulls himself from you and trudges to the bathroom to clean himself up. He doesn't take his time. He ensures the very basics happen. The muck from his body, his soul, spins down the drain as he washes. The scent of your body wash replaces the sweat, the horror. He loses count of the amount of sighs of relief that the hot water pounding at his sore back gives him.
He throws his clothes in the washer. Brushes his teeth. Now three acts of the most minimum care he can take without passing out from exhaustion.
Once he's dressed in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, he doesn't crawl into bed. The cold sheets are unwelcoming. Crisply made, as if you had yet to touch them since you'd woken this morning. If you’d even slept in them at all. Leon thinks it's a ridiculous idea to curl up in that ghost of you, when you're warm and real in the next room. His already aching back be damned.
He returns to the living room. Your face is still relaxed, deep in sleep. Your cheek squished against a soft pillow, arm shoved underneath and hanging limply off the couch cushion. It's undeniably cute, and for the first time in days he feels a sense of peace. Happiness, even. There's no monsters here. Just you in an old shirt of his, glowing in the light of the TV screen.
He kneels on the floor and places another whisper of a kiss on your forehead, waiting a few seconds to see if you happen to stir. It's barely an attempt to wake you; sleep has its hold on you. He doesn't fight it.
He still longs to be close to you. To replace the cold fingers from abandoned facilities with your warmth.
The sofa is really only built for the both of you when you're half on top of each other. He refuses to even attempt to wiggle his way in there right now. Maybe if it was a night after a week of him being at home, when he knows you've slept well, he’d do so. When everything is lighthearted, and you'd put on a faux pout when he wakes you from your slumber. And you’d cuddle into him anyway, clearly more comfortable with him squeezed onto the crowded furniture with you.
Leon retrieves the other pillow on the couch from next to your socked feet. He's a little too envious of the one you're currently hugging. For now, its twin will do. He scoots the coffee table further from the couch to make space for his tired body. The cheap laminate is cold, but he's slept on worse. He muses that he'd probably be able to get a full eight hours on a bed of spikes as long as you're next to him.
It's a ridiculous sight, his massive form settling down on the floor next to you like a golden retriever waiting by your side. Meanwhile, you're cozy as ever in the plush cushions above him.
For Leon, it's more than enough. knowing you're safe and sound.
He takes one last risk, one that almost seems like higher stakes than the hell of work he's just been through. To reach up and rest his palm on top of your hand. It’s well worth the reward. His fingers curl at your wrist to feel your steady pulse. The rhythm slows his own heart to a leisurely pace. He studies the rise and fall of your shoulders, his own syncing alongside it without even trying. Sleep drags his eyelids shut before he knows it, and just like that, Leon Kennedy is domesticated once again.
Congratulations on hitting 10k, our sweetest Elle! ❤️
I would like to request a blurb (🧸) with Spencer Reid with 6 (two fingers pressed against a pulse point) from the prompt list, along with 100 (“you’re safe here”) from the dialogue list.
Maybe Spencer has a nightmare after a particularly hard case. The bad dream was about the reader dying or getting seriously hurt, so he immediately checks for the reader’s pulse when he wakes up.
Feel free to modify anything (or create an entirely different concept!). Thank you so much, and congratulations once again! 🫶🏼
thank you, lovely!! hope i did it justice <33
Spencer Reid x gn!reader who Spencer cannot lose [634 words]
CW: no gender markers used for reader, nightmare, hurt/comfort
Spencer has mastered the practice of slipping out of your shared bed without waking you on account of the many cases that see him leaving at any imaginable hour of the night.
So, when you wake to the feeling of his hand – gentle but firm – wrapped around your wrist, you immediately know something is wrong.
You open your eyes, squinting into the dark to find Spencer – eyes wide, hair sleep rumpled, cheeks etched with lines from his pillowcase – staring down at you.
Your voice is hoarse from disuse. “Hey-”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers quickly, throat very obviously tight with emotion.
“Spencer?”
“It’s okay,” he sighs, leaning down to press his forehead to the high point of your shoulder, “you’re safe here.”
You have the feeling it’s not you that he’s trying to convince.
“Spencer,” you murmur softly.
He sniffs, thumb brushing across the softest part of your wrist apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you tell him, thoroughly sleep addled as you rub your free hand up and down his arm in a way you hope is soothing. “It’s alright.”
Spencer shakes his head minutely but doesn’t emerge from the home he’s made in your neck, nor does he remove his fingerprint from your pulse point.
You swallow, brain audibly recalibrating as you try to figure out how to rectify this as the last bits of sleep seep from your pores. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
You have the feeling Spencer only pretends to consider the offer for your sake – the lull between your question and his response too long to be authentic – before he shakes his head no.
“I just…need to hold you for a bit,” he admits quietly. “Please.”
“Yeah, Spence. Of course.”
You gently pry him off of you, though only enough to lay him back onto his own side of the bed where you scooch over to join him.
His heart beats a startling cadence beneath your ear, proof of his panic that has yet to recede, even with you warm in his arms. You begin to time your breaths with the sweep of your hand across his chest. After a few moments, the hand of his that sweeps along your back begins to mimic the rhythm.
“I lost you,” he admits eventually, whispering it carefully into the darkness of your room as though he's afraid of speaking it out into existence. “I failed you.”
“You didn’t,” you insist, pressing your palm into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m right here.”
“I know.”
“I’m safe here,” you echo his earlier sentiment. “You’re safe here.”
“I can’t let anything happen to you.” His words come out in a breath, the muscles in his body pulled so taut that you’re sure he’s going to pull something as he pulls you ever tighter into his side. “I don’t think I can survive it. I really don’t.”
“You’re okay, Spence.” You lift your head to press a kiss to the part of his chest your head had been resting. “You’re okay, we’re okay.”
You press another kiss to his collarbone, one to the space below his ear where his pulse flutters, then one to the hinge of his jaw, to his cheekbone, to the corner of his eye that you force to flutter shut, to his eyelashes, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth.
“Spencer.”
“You’re okay,” he breathes out, relaxing a bit into the mattress under your ministrations.
“I’m okay,” you agree softly. “You’re okay?”
He returns the kiss that you press to his lips, hands landing on your hips to keep you there. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“Okay,” you murmur against his lips, hovering there until he manages the world's most gentle smile – once again, likely more for your sake than his own – before you kiss him again.
I’ve been thinking about Steve Harrington and how he is just such a lover boy. I think he’d be so good about being vocal and saying he loves his girl, honestly sometimes when he’s just staring at awe in her like in the grocery store or brushing their teeth side by side he’ll say it before really even thinking about it. BUT MORE THAN FHAT I FEEL LKKE HES FHE KING OF SAYING I LOVE YOU WIRHOUT SAYING IT! Like he’s the thoughtful taking care of ppl and noticing little details and showing love thru actions too
noooo because i can totally see Steve just randomly pulling you aside and going "hey, you know i love you, right?" i definitely see Steve as a big physical touch & acts of service kind of guy. also, ik this isn’t what you were talking about at ALL but i read this ask at 5:30am and it inspired this blurb so i hope you enjoy <3
Steve Harrington x shy!reader who hates that she loves him [666 words]
CW: fem!reader, Steve’s love language is flustering reader, reader’s love language is being left alone, she’s okay though don’t worry about her too much, fluff
You’re Steve’s shy girl.
Always have been and — if Steve gets his way — always will be.
He does his best to respect your shyness most of the time (some of the time) ((very infrequently)).
The two of you are currently on a double-date-not-date, as Robin so eloquently calls it, accompanying her and Vicky so that their date may appear less date-like. It makes it easier for the two of them but much harder for you, who has somehow decided that anyone witnessing Steve’s affections for you to be some kind of humiliation ritual.
The funniest part is that this used to be the only way Steve could get you to spend time with him, safety in numbers and whatnot. Group movie nights at his place, milkshakes at the diner that found Steve footing the bill for far too many ravenous teenagers, and Robin chaperoning the two of you; whatever it took so as not to call attention to Steve’s obvious infatuation with you.
Still, you’re a good friend — the best friend, really — and Robin needed the two of you to return the favour for all of the date-not-date’s she accompanied the two of you on, so, here you are.
Here being you walking nearly five-feet ahead of Steve because holding his hand is apparently embarrassing somehow.
He tries not to be too offended by it. He’s walking at the back of the group licking his wounds anyway.
Vicky and Robin are arguing (it’s called banter, dingus) over something Steve can’t profess to having paid much mind to, which sees you leaning over to murmur something no doubt cheeky in Vicky’s ear. The redhead bursts out into laughter and Steve has the delight of watching your shoulders hike up as though physically fending off the stares that the sound of your friend’s joy might direct your way.
But you’re Steve’s shy girl so, unfortunately for you, he’s long been staring and you look extra kissable right now.
Something has to be done about it.
“Hey hey hey, hold up a sec?” Steve calls out, seeing you pause and turn his way as he jogs the few steps to catch up to you.
Vicky — more intuitive than some give her credit for — quickly steps out of the way and pulls Robin along with her as Steve invades your space, hardly giving you a moment to quietly ask him what his problem is or tell him to fuck off before he’s grabbing your jaw.
His grip isn’t rough but it is firm, allowing him the privilege of angling your face up so he can press his lips to yours and elicit a squeak of surprise out of you. Steve smiles and pulls back with a satisfied hum.
You’re stunned, pleased as punch and flustered beyond reason in equal measures, blinking up at Steve like he’s both salvation and damnation. There’s no doubt in his mind that your cheeks are ablaze and he has half a mind to touch them to confirm this fact for himself, if only he wasn’t 100% certain you’d swat his hands away.
He bumps his nose up against yours and presses one last quick kiss to the corner of your mouth in both thanks and apology, chucking you gently under the chin with his knuckle before letting his hand fall away. “Hm, there we go. Much better.”
You blink at him once — twice — more before turning on your heel and marching ahead of him again. Vicky tries not to chuckle at your expense, though Robin has no such qualms.
“I think you broke her,” she comments, loud enough so you can hear; your shoulders inch up in response.
“Awe, babe, you okay?” Steve laughs after you. You don’t grace him with a response. “Come on, there’s no need to be embarrassed. D’you need me to kiss it better for you?”
Vicky loses against the urge to laugh and Steve almost feels bad.
pairing. boyfriend!bucky x fem!reader prompt. “where the fuck is the fucking tuna?” — january jumble scribbles day 8 word count. 300 (edited like three times😭) warnings. none. fluff. notes. i’ve never owned a cat my entire life, so if it shows, i’m sorry 😭 but @sheriff-bodecker was kind enough to say that this makes sense, easing my nerves 🥺
artwork. cutest bucky alpine fanart by @artwinx !
when you’re both back from the grocery store, alpine’s alreadt claimed the couch, purring so loud you can hear it over the fridge hum.
it’s her dinner time.
you head straight for the cabinet, but there’s… nothing. just a sad empty shelf staring back.
“bucky? where’s the tuna?”
“what?”
“for alpine. there’s literally none left.”
he peers over your shoulder like the cabinet might magically restock itself. “i swear i bought two cans last week.”
crouching so that he’s eye-level with alpine, “hey, babygirl. where’d you hide the tuna, huh?”
stretching luxuriously, she slumps against his chest with her whole fluffy weight, purring even louder like she’s answering in vibrations. her little head butts under his chin, claiming him. you can’t help the stupid soft smile tugging your mouth.
voice dropping to a whisper against her fur, he sing-songs, “alpine, where the fuck is the fucking tuna?”
“she’s been extra round lately. you think we should take her to the vet? is she overeating or—”
“nah, she’s just happy. look at her.” he scratches behind her ears. “right, baby? you’re just living your best life.”
alpine decides she’s done with affection, hops off the couch, as she pads toward the door.
you both exchange a glance. two seconds later she’s back, except now she’s got company. two strays trail behind her like she’s their queen, one tabby, one black, both looking very well-fed.
“oh.”
“so that’s where the tuna went.”
“your majesty’s been hosting dinner parties without us,” bucky laughs.
when you reach out, the black one sniffs your fingers, then headbutts your palm like he’s known you forever. “guess we’re buying more tuna tomorrow.”
bucky scoops alpine up, tucks her against his chest. “and maybe some for the freeloaders.”
you grin, watching him press a kiss to her head.
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Hi gorgeous I loved your steve harrington fics so much, please can i request a steve x dustins older sister reader where they tell dustin theyre dating and he's all like omg what do i do why are you dating my sister omg
hi hunny! so i was hesitant to write this cuz i was afraid of writing something I’ve already read a few times, so i changed it a tiny bit and ended up having a lot of fun with it so hopefully you still enjoy! ALSO: in my mind, Henderson!reader is technically a niece of Claudia's who she took in before she ever had Dustin, so she's always been Dustin's older sister and Claudia is her 'mom', but reader can look however you want her to!
Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader who get caught breaking Dustin's rules [815 words]
CW: fem!reader, mentions heavy makeout sessions, brief allusion to NSFW activities, sibling dynamics, crack/comedy
You have to admit that you’re starting to grow dizzy, eyes tracking your little brother's form as he marches to-and-fro before you and Steve, separated by only the low coffee table that houses your mother's magazines. You and your boyfriend are situated one whole cushion away from each other on the very sofa that you had just been caught making out on, both thoroughly chagrined.
You can’t help but feel a little guilty; you know it’s probably not easy for a kid when his all-time favourite person turned babysitter turned certified big brother starts dating his sister, but it really couldn’t be helped.
If all of the trauma bonding wasn’t enough, he’s got a great head of hair, big hands, and kind eyes. Who are you to say no when a guy like Steve starts showing an interest in you?
Still, whatever guilt you feel quickly morphes into mortification when Dustin halts his death march to stare at the two of you with his hands on his hips like a very disappointed father.
The loaded silence nearly does you in, but it’s Steve who breaks first. “Listen, man, I-”
”Shut the hell up,” Dustin barks, silencing Steve immediately.
“Dustin, we-” you try instead, only to end up much the same way Steve had.
”There are rules for a reason,” Dustin shouts, using his hands to emphasize both rules and reason. “It’s bad enough you’re dating my sister, I already put up with you making googly eyes at her on the daily.”
Steve lets out a scoff of offence. “I don’t make googly-”
“Rule number one!” Dustin continues, using one index finger to point at the other. “No macking on my sister!”
Steve lets out a breath of surrender. “Yeah, okay.”
“Rule number two!” Dustin continues, adding a second finger. “No groping!”
“My hands were completely above board!” Your boyfriend protests.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Dustin mutters bitterly, shame flooding your system as you sink further into your seat and tuck your guilty, wandering hands beneath your thighs.
“Rule number three!” A third finger is added to the bunch. “Dustin should not be accosted with the sight of-”
“-sight of his babysitter or his sister with lust filled eyes, yeah. We were there when you made the rules.” Steve finishes for him, leaning an elbow on the armrest and his chin on his fist to paint the perfect picture of peevishness.
“And yet I come home to find you sliding into third base on my sofa. I watch TV on that thing!”
“That was hardly third base,” Steve scoffs in response.
“Any base is too many bases for me to witness!”
You press the back of your hand to your lips as you fight the urge to laugh at your brother’s shrill outburst.
“You shouldn’t even be up to bat! You should be in the dugout! Quietly! Handing out water bottles and shit!”
“Dustin, I’m sorry,” you insist, finding that you really do feel badly about the whole thing. Most of all because it has ultimately found the three of you sitting here, having this conversation. If you hadn’t already had enough gates and portals and parallel universes to last a lifetime, you’d go so far as to say you sort of wish the couch would just swallow you up at this point. “I wasn’t watching the time and forgot you’d be coming home soon.”
Dustin stares at you hard for a few beats of silence. “Where’s mom?”
“Bingo.”
He lets out a dismissive huff. “You’re lucky it was me who got home first.”
Steve – the idiot – snorts out a laugh. “Please, your mother’s way more polite than you. Probably would have asked if we needed a snack.”
“Steve,” you hiss.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, listen to your girl, man,” Dustin taunts.
“Well, I’d like to but then this tiny dickhead dictator showed up and started yelling at us. Jesus.”
“Oh my god,” you groan as you lower your face into your hands. “This is so not helping our case.”
Steve relents, shooting you an apologetic look. “Okay, alright. I’m sorry, babe. I’ll stop,”
Dustin makes a theatric gagging sound. “Ew, Harrington.”
“What!?” Steve shrieks, holding his hands out haplessly. “I’m not allowed to talk to my girlfriend now?”
“It’s the eyes! Stop with the, the fuckin’ googly eyes, man! It’s disgusting!”
“I don’t make- what are you talking about? Googly eyes? What does that even mean?”
The two of them devolve into their usual hysterics, neither of them noticing when you stand from your certified timeout and decide to listen to music in your room without any googly eyes or tiny dickhead dictators.
You’ll make it up to your brother later; Golden Girls reruns and the tub of ice cream in your freezer perfect for appeasing the youngest Henderson.
And Steve will make it up to you later when he climbs through your bedroom window long after everyone else has fallen asleep.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader who has suffered a head injury [1.9k words]
summary: Of course Steve leaves you under Robin’s supervision for maybe twenty-seven-and-a-half minutes only for you to wake up after suffering a head injury unable to recall that you’re dating the biggest dingus from high school in your severely concussed state.
CW: hospital fic, brief mention of a fall and injury, Robin's POV so it's a little spirally, mostly fluff
Robin honest to God feels really, really bad and wishes she could take back her internal moaning and groaning about how she wished you would just wake up already and save her from this boredom because this is much, much worse.
Really, she should have just relaxed and been grateful that you’re still kicking it at all; head injuries are no joke. Still, unconscious people make terrible company.
But now she wishes she was merely bored again.
You see, a good friend – an average friend, even – might’ve responded to you waking up for the first time in over fifteen hours after suffering a head injury by saying things like oh, thank god you’re awake! Or, are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you want some water? Let me go get a nurse.
But maybe Robin isn’t a good friend because her immediate response to the sound of you shifting in your bed before blinking blearily up at her is “oh my god, thank god you’re awake. I’m so bored. Also, Max said something really funny to Mike earlier and I’ve been dying to tell you.”
You blink at her – not unlike a frog, if she’s being completely honest, one eye closing before the other – with furrowed brows before your eyes flit towards the stark whiteness of your surroundings.
“Hospital.” She explains at your confused expression. “You fell. Big time. We thought you were dead at first. Steve was hysterical and wouldn’t let anyone touch you until Nancy called an ambulance. He’s going to be so pissed that you woke up while he was gone.” Robin recounts with a nervous chuckle. You really did scare the shit out of her; out of all of them.
“Steve?”
Robin misinterprets the confusion in your tone as she shifts her chair closer to you. “Yeah, he’s been here the whole time; the nurses were not impressed, but he wouldn’t leave. Dustin finally managed to convince him to leave long enough to shower and change at least. We had to tell him he was starting to smell bad. He didn’t, mind you, but don’t tell him that.”
You blink at her again, this one less amphibian in nature. “Steve?”
“Yes…Steve,” she parrots, wondering how long the two of you might sit here volleying the man's name back and forth.
“As in Harrington?”
“No, as in Steve Guttenburg from Police Academy,” she deadpans. “Yes, Steve Harrington.”
“Why on Earth would Steve Harrington care if I was in the hospital?” And Robin can’t even take the time to be proud of you for getting all of those words out together in a row when reality crashes down on her.
Now, Robin will admit that it’s a little shameful how long it takes her to realize something isn’t quite right. She probably could have – should have – assumed, seeing as you are currently laying in a hospital bed; nothing is quite right about a person hooked up to a heart monitor.
Of course, of course Steve leaves you under Robin’s supervision for maybe twenty-seven-and-a-half minutes only for you to wake up in your severely concussed state unable to recall that you’re dating the biggest dingus from high school, and have been for a while.
Why did Robin insist Steve leave? Why would she tell him she could handle this? Why does anyone ever trust her with anything ever?
Fortunately, she’s saved from needing to find answers to those burning questions at Dustin and Steve’s return. Unfortunately, she has no time to answer your burning question (or warn a certain Steve of the current predicament) either.
“The coconut ruins it,” Robin hears Steve argue with his mouth full as the two boys materialize in the doorway, both too wrapped up in whatever argument they’re having to see the two occupants staring at them in bemusement and horror.
“The coconut rui- the coconut ruins it!? Steve, the bar is coconut. Coconut is the fundamental component of it,” Dustin sputters.
“I just think it’d be better if it was, like, peanut butter or something.”
Dustin scoffs incredulously. “Then you buy Reese’s or a Bopper! Why would you buy an Almond Joy if you don’t like coconut?”
“I didn’t say I don’t like coconut,” Steve argues, looking at the teen as though he was an idiot. “I just meant it would be better if it wasn’t coconut.”
“You’re insane.”
Robin’s inclined to agree.
She clears her throat. “Hey, so-”
“Whoa! Look who’s up!” Dustin interrupts with a smile, Steve’s head whipping to the side to see you staring at them with wide eyes.
“Whoa, hey! Hey, hey hey hey, wow. Holy shit, hi baby. How long have you been up?”
“Uh, not long,” Robin interjects, voice steadily rising in both volume and pitch. “Listen, we-”
“How are you feeling?” Steve continues as he abandons his coconut monstrosity on a rolling table and makes for your bedside, ignoring Robin and the pointed looks she’s shooting at him. “Are you hurting? Are you thirsty?”
You go to respond but Robin beats you to it. “Steve, I-”
“Have you had any water yet? Robin, where’s her water?” Steve continues, fussing with the blankets that have been untucked from your legs as his eyes flit around the room for the bottle of water he’d set aside for when you needed it. “Why haven’t you given her water yet?”
“We haven’t exactly had time, Steve. Listen-”
“Have you called the nurse?” Steve asks, shaking his head before even waiting for a response. “Dustin, go get a nurse.”
Dustin doesn’t hesitate before he’s jogging out of the room in search of a nurse.
“What’s Robin doin’ to ya, huh?” Steve coos at you as he perches on the edge of your bed and presses a careful kiss to your temple, flagrantly ignoring the way Robin is frantically waving at him and mentally screaming Earth to dingus!! “She’s got terrible bedside manners, can’t even take care of my girl properly.”
You turn your horrified gaze to Robin as though you dating Steve the Hair Harrington is somehow her fault (it is a little bit; she’s the one who re-introduced you two, insisting he was a changed man since high school).
“Steve!” Robin finally shrieks, missing the way you wince at the volume as Steve turns to look at her like she’s grown three heads.
“Well, it’s true! You didn’t even get her water, never flagged a nurse-”
“We didn’t exactly have a lot of time before you two showed up,” Robin counters as Dustin returns.
“The nurses are just doing a shift change, said someone will be with her shortly.” Dustin reports as he hands Steve a new, cold bottle of water for you.
“Okay, alright. That’s alright, yeah?” Steve confirms with you as he cracks it open. “Are you in pain? If you’re in pain, I can go tell them you need help now.”
Robin watches as you take stock of yourself before side-eyeing her. “I…don’t think so.”
“You don’t think you’re in any pain?” Steve asks gently, bending over slightly in an attempt to regain your attention. Robin finds her heart squeezing at how soft he’s being with you.
Your heart seems to do the same, eyes flooding with tears as all three occupants in the room tense at the sight.
“Hey, hey hey hey, what’s the matter, huh? What’s with the tears?”
Robin stands. “Steve, I really-”
“Are you in pain? What hurts?”
“Steve-”
“What, Robin?” Steve finally snaps, turning towards her like she’s a fly that finally landed on a lampshade after spending the entire afternoon bothering the shit out of him.
“She woke up a little…” Robin pauses, looking towards your teary form as she considers how to explain this gently, “confused.”
“Confused?” Steve parrots before turning back to you. “Confused how?”
“Confused as in she didn’t understand why Steve Harrington has been haunting her hospital room.”
Steve’s brows furrow as he considers you before realization dawns on his face.
The sound that escapes you in response borders a sob. Robin feels a little bit like doing the same.
“Don’t cry, honey,” Steve all but begs as he scooches closer towards you on the bed, one hand grasping yours and leaning his weight on the other as he rests it against the bed by your opposite hip. “Hey, did Robin tell you about the wicked burn Max delivered to Mike earlier?”
Dustin perks up. “Oh man, he got so red; worse when El started repeating it afterwards.”
“Mike accused Max of purposefully turning El against him.” Steve agrees.
“Again. Hey, when they get here, make sure to call Mike a-”
“I don’t want anyone else in here,” you interrupt Dustin quickly, wiping roughly at your face with the hand not currently occupied by Steve’s. “I don’t- it’s…they’re too loud.”
Robin laughs. “Yeah, they are too loud. You comin’ around?”
You suck in a deep, shuddering breath and let out a noncommittal hum in response.
“Okay, no one else will come in here,” Steve agrees, gaze locked onto your face as he rubs his thumb along the back of your knuckles, cautious of the IV taped to the back of your hand. “Do you want any of us to leave?”
The question is innocent enough, though Robin knows he’s mostly asking you if you’d like him to leave.
You shake your head no, though, and give his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Okay,” he whispers, leaning forward to press another kiss to your head and humming at you in question when you lift your chin, obviously asking for a real one.
Steve hesitates, clearly concerned he’s not reading your queues right and wondering if you’re feeling at all more cognizant. Apparently, though, rushing your unconscious girlfriend to the hospital and being without kisses for nearly sixteen hours makes a man a little desperate, finding him ultimately pressing a cautious kiss to your lips anyways.
“You’re okay, hm?” Steve murmurs into the corner of your mouth, dotting a few more kisses to your face before sitting up. “Scared the shit out of me.”
“M’sorry,” your whisper back.
“Yeah, you should be. He’s been insufferable,” Dustin comments, earning him a glare from Steve and a half-smile from you.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, that’s enough out of you, wise guy. What the hell are you two still doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you guys go alert the others that she’s awake?”
“Alright, dingus. Say less,” Robin sighs as she stands, Dustin playfully muttering about how he knows when he’s not wanted.
You pay them no mind, looking up at Steve shyly; it reminds Robin of when the two of you first started hanging out. Awkward, tentative, careful. Steve looks like he’s shielding you from the entire world with the way he’s leaning over your form, you’re looking at him like he might disappear if you blink for too long.
The two of you are disgusting; she loves you both so much.
Robin pauses at the door to take one last look at two of her favourite people, you bite your lip as you ask Steve a question that Robin can’t hear, he chuckles before replying, a little louder, “’course, sweetheart. You can have as many kisses as you want.”
Hello Elle, I come baring a fic idea. I am unsure of who you are currently writing for at the moment, so anyone is fine. I’m thinking Fame au, and the character catches the reader watching edits of them. Hope you have a good day, let me know if this doesn’t make sense! :D💕
awe thanks so much! i love requests like these, i find them really helpful during times when i struggle with a bit of writers block!
model!Finnick Odair x fem!reader who is watching edits of him [925 words]
CW: fame!au, modern!au, Finnick poses in underwear, fluff
Finnick has well and truly lost you.
Not in the literal sense; you’re occupying the same couch as him, afterall.
But by the time he clues into the fact that your phone is playing the same 20 seconds of audio from some top 40 song, he’s listened to it about eight times. And based on your goofy smile and eyes full of mirth, he knows you’ve gotten stuck on a single TikTok.
He tries your name; well, not your name, but variations of epithets he often throws your way. Honey, a classic. He tries for another; sweetheart. Even goes for an ooey-gooey my love. Then he starts pulling others out of his box of treasures; babe, baby, princess, darling, angel, sweetpea, babe, hot stuff, babe.
No dice.
So, he commits the cardinal sin – he snaps his fingers at you, not unlike the way an owner might to a dog – and vows to get on his knees and atone for his sins later when you finally lift your face from the screen to look at him in bemusement.
“What?”
He laughs at you. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, eight minutes.” An exaggeration. “What are you watching?”
Your goofy smile turns sardonic as you raise a brow at him. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would,” he agrees readily around a teasing smile of his own. “That's why I asked.”
Your response is haughty; your nose turns up at him and everything. “This doesn’t concern you, Finn.”
And, well, he disagrees, because it’s taking up an awful lot of his girlfriend’s attention – which he feels should be on him – and he’s sort of bored and lonely, despite being on the same couch as you as he scrolls through his own for you page.
He abandons his phone and repositions on the couch, eliciting a groan of disagreement from you as he spreads out and leans heavily into your side.
“Honey.”
“What,” you huff, smiling despite your putupon ire.
“I miss you,” he pouts.
“I’m literally right here,” you counter, stabbing him with your socked foot that’s now trapped under his weight. “You couldn’t possibly get any closer to me.”
“S’not close enough.” He says it into your arm, words muffled by the fabric of your sweater as he weasels his way closer, closer, closer-
“I know what you’re doing,” you snicker, smiling down at him fond and lovely and- shit why was Finnick ever on the opposite side of the couch as you?
“I wanna know what’s stealing all of my girlfriend’s attention away from me,” he admits, aiming for smarmy but landing somewhere closer to petulant.
The laugh that flies out of you is sharp, surprising, and – if Finnick’s being honest – a little bit hurtful, considering he just laid his feelings out on the line for you.
“What is so funny about that?” He huffs in frustration though he makes no moves to remove himself from you; laughing at him or no, he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“You’re ridiculous.” Is your only reply, returning your attention to your phone.
“That’s not a new deduction now, is it, sweetheart? Because it’s a little late in the game to be picking up on those clues.”
You give him another mean jab of your foot. “Ass.”
“What are you watching,” he asks again, annoying even to his own ears.
You pass him your phone.
The screen is various shots of Finnick posing – scantily dressed – for a number of different ads. Calvin Klein, Abercrombie, Prada, and some he can’t even remember shooting though the half-naked man on your screen is definitely him.
“You’re watching thirst edits of me?” He asks, two octaves too high as he laughs.
“Uhm, yeah?” You reply as if that was obvious, taking the phone back and opening up the comments.
“Oh god, you’re one of those.” Finnick groans as he settles back into your side, watching you heart comments that manage to earn a huff of a laugh from you.
“One of what?”
“You go through comment sections?”
“People in the comment sections are fucking funny, Finn. That’s, like, some of the best content online; the comment section.”
“Is that right?”
You turn your nose up again. “Quite.”
Finnick snorts a laugh at you but kisses your elbow placatingly. “I can’t believe you watch thirst edits of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I watch thirst edits of you?” You ask in disbelief. “It’s, like, the best part of having a supermodel partner.”
“Your supermodel partner is literally right here for your viewing pleasure, sweetheart. You only have to ask.”
You scrunch your nose up and smile at him like you’re sharing a secret. “I know…but odairsbabymama89 put a lot of effort into making this, so…”
“Unbelievable,” he scoffs.
“I have been wondering, though,” you begin, and Finnick clocks your tone immediately.
“Have you now?”
“Aren’t models supposed to, like, model fashion? Like, provide visual examples of different clothing?”
You turn your phone towards him, his attention pulled back towards an image of him in Calvin Klein briefs that leave very little to the imagination. “You spend an awful love of time being photographed wearing, like, no clothes.”
Finnick snorts again, pulling you further into the couch with him and forcing you to readjust your hold on him. “And are you complaining?”
You laugh again, but this time it’s lighter, brighter, sweeter. “Not even a little bit.”
His face is buried under your arm and he smiles into your ribs. “Didn’t think so.”
the "i can do it myself" girl with "i know u can but sit down and let me" man aka barty
love your work lovie 🦋🦋
I've had this request saved for two months, and then last week when I was building my bed frame I was like "omg! this is it!", so THANK YOU for your request and for your patience in my writing <3
Barty Crouch Junior x fem!reader who can do it herself [538 words]
CW: the very last piece of dialogue is suggestive but SFW and not explicit
You’d been so focused on the next step in the assembly of your bed frame that you hadn’t even heard Barty’s arrival until he let his bags fall to the ground with a thunk and he gasped theatrically at you, causing you to drop the allen key in surprise.
“Treasure!” He whisper-shouted at you. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh my god, Barty.” You let out breathlessly. “You scared me.”
“What are you doing!?”
You looked over at your almost half-assembled bed frame feeling rather chuffed at your progress. “I’m building my bed frame! Doesn’t it look good?” You asked proudly; your face falling when you turned at Barty’s silence to see his face contorted in what looked to be… offence?
“Without me?” He deadpanned at that.
You blinked at him dumbly, a bead of sweat from your efforts moving from your temple to your jaw as you considered him. “What?”
“You just go ahead and start building stuff? Without me? When you have a completely competent and useful boyfriend who literally exists to build stuff for you?”
“Barty, I can build my own bed frame.” You chided, looking down at the instructions that actually contained zero words and only pictures.
You could build your own bed frame, and you’d been doing a damn good job at it too, thank you very much.
“That’s not the point, babe.” Barty muttered as he stalked over to you and ripped the instructions out of your hands (pressing a gentle kiss to your head in consolation) and ignoring your petulant “oi!”
“I had it handled!”
“Yes, and now I’m here.” He argued without sparing you a glance.
“Barty.” You scolded severely. “I’m not useless. I can do things for myself.”
You watched as Barty’s shoulders fell and he lifted his head to look at you softly.
“Treasure, I am more than aware of how capable and competent you are; that was never the issue.”
“Then what is this issue?” You asked him, reaching back for the instructions only to have him hold them out of your reach and taking your outstretched hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.
“The issue is that you shouldn’t have to do things for yourself; not always, not right now. Let me do this for you, yeah? It makes me feel good.”
You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Oh, so this is actually rather self-serving, is it? Doing my chores makes you feel good about yourself; it has nothing to do with me?”
“Now you’re getting it.” He agreed with a wink before moving his gaze between the progress you had made thus far and the instructions. “Not letting me do this would be really quite selfish, babe; do you never think of others?”
“Terribly sorry, Bee.”
Barty scoffed teasingly. “You should be; I’m dating a very rude girl.”
“That’s mean; you’re mean.”
Barty looked at you incredulously. “I’m literally building you furniture right now.”
You shook your head at your boyfriend's antics and sighed. “Well what am I supposed to do now?”
“You sit there and keep looking pretty, Tres; then we can break in this bed frame.”
He almost looked offended at the bark of laughter that elicited from your lips.
2ndly, this is my official request for the 'potter!reader x Barty where she steals Jamies clothes' idea we were discussing ✌️
(I highlighted it in the Barty doc incase you forgot)
first of all; thank you, thank you! *bows dramatically*
secondly; here's a celebratory Barty fic
Barty Crouch Jr x Potter!reader and James is not pleased
There were a few things in life that being James Potter’s twin sister made particularly difficult.
One such thing was your ability to have friends (or, in your case, a boyfriend) not pre-approved by him.
You heard a horrified squawking sound as you made the last step down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room and looked up to see James staring at you with wide eyes while Sirius smirked, Remus rolled his eyes, and Peter groaned dramatically.
“Where do you think you’re going!?” James demanded as he all but stepped over Peter to make his way over to you.
“Prongs, please, this is the fourth time you abandoned this chess game.” Peter whined as Sirius snickered.
“Leave the poor girl alone, James. You’re not her mother.” Remus chided, causing you to raise your eyebrows at your brother as if saying “yeah!”
“Where are you going?” James amended with an eye roll of his own.
“Slytherin.” You answered simply, crossing your arms over your chest as you challenged your brother head on.
“And what are you wearing?” He continued displeasing; plucking at the long-sleeved t-shirt you currently adorned between his two fingers as if it was something particularly disgusting he’d found on the side of the road.
You scoffed derisively as you swatted his hands away. “What? Are joggers and a long sleeved shirt not modest enough, James?”
He narrowed his eyes at you as he petulantly swatted you back for having swatted him. “These are boys' clothes, Y/N; you’re wearing a boy’s clothes. Oh my Godric; you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you!” He accused theatrically.
He spun on the spot to face his friends and dragged you beside him roughly by the arm as he pointed at you. “She’s wearing his clothes! Junior is defiling my sister.”
And though that wasn’t technically untrue, it wasn’t the fucking point, or any of his business.
“James!” You shouted over his panicked trade, ignoring Peter’s protests at him being “far too invested in his own sister’s sexual habits.”
“James Fleamont Potter!” You bellowed, grabbing your brother by a fistful of his hair and pulling his face towards you. “This is your shirt. I took it from your trunk.”
James froze in his place; hunched over like a ventriloquist dummy that you were controlling by means of his hair as he took a second look at your outfit.
A brief look of embarrassment flashed across his features as his eyes flit back up to yours.
“Huh.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Funny that.”
You sneered at him and shoved him away from you. “As lovely as this was, Jamie, I’ll be leaving.”
“Wait! No!” James started, reaching for you before he was being physically redirected back towards the couch by Remus.
“Come on, James; leave your sister alone, yeah?” He said jovially as he thumped James on the back twice.
“Go on, Princess, while he’s distracted. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Sirius called, shooting you a salacious wink.
You barked a laugh and shook your head. “That doesn’t leave much off limits, Black.”
James squawked again as Sirius laughed boisterously and you left the Gryffindor common room behind you.
Blessedly, the noise level (and general vibe) in the Slytherin common room was far more relaxed as you stepped through the door.
Barty whipped his head towards the sound sporting a very severe expression on his face until his eyes landed on you, causing his expression to turn into a beaming smile as he flipped the chess board he’d been in the middle of playing with Evan over; telling his friend to “get fucking lost, my girl is here.”
You chuckled at Evan’s petulant grumblings as Barty swept you up off your feet into a bear hug and breathed you in.
“What took you so long, angelcakes?” He said through a sigh as he placed you back onto your feet, though kept your face secure within his hands as he smiled down at you.
“I had to fight off my brother on my way.”
Barty rolled his eyes dramatically and lowered his voice. “If you need me to kill him, just say the word, Princess; he’ll never bother you again.”
You chuckled and teasingly smacked his arm. “Brothers are meant to be a bother; that’s what they’re put on this earth for.”
Regulus offered you a ‘hear, hear’ as Barty escorted you towards his dorm room.
You were no sooner curled up against Barty on his bed when he was pulling you away from him and scrutinising your form.
“What are you wearing?” He asked bemusedly.
You groaned dramatically and threw yourself back onto the bed. “What is it with everyone and their obsession with my outfit!?”
“It’s not the outfit, it’s the shirt.” Barty explained, sitting up to get a better look at you.
“It’s just a shirt - not even a very nice one at that.” You muttered, looking down at the random shirt you’d pilfered from your brother’s trunk; why were boys clothes so much more comfortable!?
“How dare you!” Barty bristled in offence. “I spent a lot of my father’s dirty money on that shirt!”
You looked at your boyfriend with furrowed brows. “Barty, this isn’t your shirt?”
“I know - I bought it for Reg for his birthday last year.”
This was Regulus’ shirt?
But…
“Barty…” You started slowly, realisation dawning on you as you met your boyfriends bemused eyes. “I stole this shirt from Jamie’s room.”
Barty’s brows furrowed further as he looked back down at your James’ Regulus’ shirt. “Why…why would Potter have Reg’s shirt?”
You let the silence sit for a few moments before each of you were scrambling from Barty’s bed and racing to the common room.
“Are you sleeping with my brother!?” You shouted at the same time Barty screeched, “you’re fucking a Potter too!?”
Regulus had looked up from his book though staunchly refused to look at you; and whilst his face remained impassive, a furious blush overtook his face.
“I’M TELLING SIRIUS!” You shouted as you turned and bolted towards the door; Regulus hot on your heels shouting “don’t you fucking dare!”, and Barty cackling madly as he followed the two of you up to Gryffindor tower.
hi my lovely, i was wondering if i might please be able to make a request! absolutely fine if it doesn’t inspire you or you don’t get around to it for a while or you don’t like it it’s no pressure!!
i was just wondering if i might be able to request big brother sirius or best friend barty (my loves) and a reader who is so stressed with classes and workload- ive been having a hard time lately and i feel so out of my depth and its seems that no one else is struggling like me and my adhd really isn’t helping me cause i try and get my work done and i just end up sitting there for hours and then breaking down cause i can’t do it and i just feel so useless
so sorry for going on a tangent i just don’t really have anyone to talk to! again its totally okay if you don’t want to write this just speaking about its made me feel better! i hope you’re doing well my lovely, you bring me so much comfort! and i hope birdy is behaving herself
🪩
cheering you on babes! sorry for the wait in this request, and thanks for your patience in me <3 hope your workload isn't causing you too much grief, and both Big Brother Siri and BFF Barty have asked me to tell you to make sure to take breaks and be nice to yourself!!
please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.
BFF!Barty Crouch Junior x stressed!reader [GN] who Barty forces to take a break
You were on your umpteenth read through of your notes for your upcoming Herbology exam when your books were rudely ripped out from underneath you.
“Hey!” You shouted at the unknown assailant when you raised your head to see Barty carefully piling your notes together and shoving them into his own book bag. “Barty, give them back.”
“No can do, Treasure. Let’s go.”
You watched, dumbfounded, as Barty began to walk away from your table in the library before he turned around when he realised you weren’t following him.
“Hello!? Earth to Treasure?” He sing-songed on his way back before he waved a hand in front of your face, which you quickly swatted away.
“Barty, this isn’t funny.”
“I agree.” He answered quickly; his tone garnering a severe quality that made your skin crawl. “You’ve been shacked up in this library for Salazar knows how long, I don’t know when your last real meal was that didn’t consist of tea and Honeydukes sweets, and when was the last time you got fresh air? You know? That stuff that's produced by trees and life and not tainted with the musty smell of old books?”
“Barty, I need to prepare for this exam.” You pressed.
“Which you have, and if you humour me right now, I’ll even help you study more later. Now, let’s go.” He demanded as he took your elbow and hauled you up from the table and dragged you by the wrist unceremoniously behind him.
After numerous failed attempts at getting Barty to tell you what he was doing, where he was taking you, what he was up to, why he was dragging you across the castle, you spent your trek across the castle grounds in a begrudging silence with only the occasional muttered protest escaping your lips.
Finally, Barty released your wrist as you stopped in front of an expanse of wall encasing the southern grounds near the quidditch pitch that didn’t seem to get much traffic at all.
You watched as your friend dug his arms into the bag much further than should have been humanly possible alerting you to the fact that he had, indeed, cast an illegal undetectable extension charm.
He was going to make you fail your exam and an accomplice to a crime.
He pulled out a large stack of ceramic plates he no doubt pilfered from the kitchens and placed them beside you before reaching back in and retrieving another stack.
“Barty. What are you doing?”
“Blowing off steam, as the muggles say.” He explained simply as he moved to stand beside you and placed a matching stack of plates on his other side.
“By scrubbing dishes outside like a down-and-out House Elf?” You asked bemusedly as you picked up one of the plates and twisted it around in your hands. They didn’t look dirty.
“Ye have so little faith, dear Treasure.” Barty said theatrically before he launched a plate at the ancient stone wall and watched it shatter before the pieces rained down into the grass below it.
“Barty!”
“Too much talking, not enough throwing Treasure.” He called over to you as he hurled a second plate at the wall.
“Can you at least tell me why we’re defacing school property?!”
With a long suffering sigh, Barty allowed the plate he’d been in the process of picking up clatter back onto its stack unceremoniously.
Barty moved to stand in front of you, crouching down ever so slightly so as to force you to make direct eye contact with him and placing a hand on each of your shoulders should you consider bolting.
“Alright Treasure, listen. Are you listening? I love you, you’re my best friend, my soulmate, my ride or die, I would live, die, and kill for you; you fucking suck when you’re stressed out. Okay? You’ve been living in that library for a week, you’re barely eating or getting any vitamin D which is already difficult enough in sodding Scotland without you actively avoiding the sun’s rays, and…I miss you.”
You looked between both of his green eyes which oozed nothing but earnestness and concern before letting your shoulders drop.
“Fine, but why are we smashing plates?”
Seemingly trusting you not to take off, Barty returned to his full height with far more pep in his step than he had before he read you like one of your Herbology textbooks.
“Great question! I was trying to decide between this and shoving Gryffindor’s into the Black Lake; I figured you appreciate this better.” He said as he shot you a wink. “Now get throwing, Treasure!”
Deciding that it was folly to try to argue or reason with your…capricious friend, you picked up a plate and lobbed it dutifully at the wall.
What started off as you merely humouring your friend in his antics quickly left you breathless, smiling, and squealing in delight with each smash of a plate. You and Barty spent much of the afternoon cackling and dancing under a shower of broken porcelain before you reparo’d the plates and did it all over again.
You hardly realised the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees when you turned to look at Barty; his face flushed red and a wide grin spread across his face which you were sure was mirrored on your own.
“Thank you, Barty.”
His smile turned softer as he looked at the plate in his hands somewhat abashedly. “No need to thank me, Treasure. You know I’ll always look out for you, ‘specially when you forget to do it yourself.”
“Easy there, Junior; I'll start to think you’re going soft on us.” You teased as you nudged him in the arm with one of your plates.
He scoffed and shoved you away from him. “I will not tolerate this slander.”
“Is it slander if it’s true?”
“Defamation.”
“There’s no one here to hear me.”
“Hey, Y/N!” The sound of James Potter’s voice rung through the air as he walked towards you from the Quidditch pitch. “It’s good to see you outside of the library! I was getting wor-”
You never got to hear what James had been worried about as Barty quickly began lobbing plates in his direction.
“Barty!” You shouted as James began dodging the assault.
“Sorry, he spooked me.” Barty deadpanned, not sounding sorry at all as he continued throwing plates at the Gryffindor chaser.
“I’ll catch up with you later!” James shouted as he started jogging towards the castle in the opposite direction of his attacker.
“You know, for a quidditch player, you have terrible aim.” You grumbled at your friend as you shot him an unimpressed glare.
He returned your glare in response to your insult. “I’ll have you know, if I wanted to actually hit him, I would have.”
“Soft.”
“Alright, that’s it. Pull out your wand, Treasure.” He barked as he dropped his plates, brandished his wand and took a duelling stance.
“I am not fighting you, Junior.”
“Those were fighting words.”
And before you could retort, he had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder before he began marching towards the castle.
“What are you doing?!” You squealed as you playfully swung your fist against his back.
“Throwing you in the Black Lake.”
“Barty!”
You didn’t return to the castle until the sun had fully set; feeling tired in a good way and far happier and more relaxed than you had felt in days.
starring: Rossi!reader, Emily Prentiss
featuring: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau
synopsis: Emily is bored & has a question for the team's nepo baby
A/N: concept w/ @unstablereader. reader is Rossi's daughter [mother unknown] & grew up in the Bureau. there's no ship? per se? so you can pretend it's anyone tbh
The ambient noise consists of the vibrations of the jet’s engines, the circulation of recycled air, and pages being flipped – pages which vary greatly from Hotch’s case files, Reid’s tome sized book in its original language, and your trashy magazine – after the case thus far was discussed and dissected to the team’s full potential.
And Emily is bored.
She’s tried sighing a few times which did little more than elicit sideways glances from both JJ and Morgan – a considerable feat considering they both had headphones in. She’s even tried challenging Reid to a game of chess.
She’s left with but one option.
“Y/N,” she announces; the majority of the plane looking up at the intrusion of their quiet to look at her. The only sign you’ve heard her, though, it the way your brows raise imperceptibly where they remain pointing down at your magazine, “fuck, marry, kill: Reid, Morgan, Hotch.”
Morgan whistles and JJ snickers, but Hotch looks up with a very pointed frown. “Prentiss; unprofessional.”
“Duly noted, sir.” She agrees readily before turning back towards you. “Y/N? What say you?”
You smirk as you finally look up at Emily.
“Em, what is it about me that strikes you as the type of girl who would ever have to choose?” You respond salaciously, earning more cheers and jeers from the group as your father audibly rolls his eyes.
“Nepo baby gets what nepo baby wants.” Morgan purrs, though he’s smiling at you in the way Emily knows translates to this is all in good fun.
You seem to read it for what it is, too. “Damn straight.”
“Who raised you?” Rossi sighs; the question meant to be rhetorical.
“You did.” Reid responds helpfully. “Though I suppose if we take into account the common saying that it takes a village to raise a child, it would be more accurate to state that the two most stable figures in Y/N’s life were you and Gideon. Basically, she was raised by the BAU.”
“So that’s what’s wrong with me.” You muse.
“So you really won’t choose?” JJ presses, headphones officially folded up in her lap as she dedicates herself completely to the conversation.
“Do I have to?”
“Not if you’d like to keep your job.” Hotch sighs under his breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear it.
“You can’t fire me.” You tease Hotch. “I have seniority here.”
“Pretty girl, having been ushered from precinct to precinct from the age of six months old doesn’t give you seniority.” Morgan admonishes.
You and Rossi both furrow your brows at him as you respond in tandem. “Yes it does.”
“Y/N, you cannot have three husbands, you have to choose one.” Rossi instructs.
“Why? You had three wives.” You counter.
“Not at the same time, bella.”
“Hey, the girl knows what she wants; I respect that.” Morgan defends you, earning him an appreciative smile from you and a derisive scoff from your father.
“You must get that from your mother.”
“Actually, recent studies have suggested that children – daughters, in particular – are more likely to imitate the dating patterns of their fathers. While they don't inherit their fathers' dating habits in a literal, genetic sense, by observing their fathers' behavior in relationships, daughters learn about the dynamics of love, commitment, and expectations in relationships.” Reid rattles off, smiling contentedly to himself before he looks up to notice the team staring at him.
“Great,” you sigh sardonically, “so I can expect multiple failed marriages in my future.”
Reid bounces his head back and forth in a so-so fashion. “Well if you plan on marrying me, Hotch, and Morgan, the chances of at least two of those marriages failing is quite high.”
You lean forward almost predatorily as you smile at the doctor.
“Oh? And any thoughts on which of those marriages might fail, Doctor Reid?”
But Reid hardly opens his mouth to respond before Rossi is sitting up straighter in his chair. “No, no. No.”
“Dibs on being husband number three.” Derek proclaims.
“Marry any of them and I’ll get uncle Jason involved.” Rossi threatens, though it seems to have the opposite effect on you.
“Please; who do you think is walking Hotch down the aisle?”
Hotch, for his part, turns to you with his signature scowl somehow impossibly deeper. You beam at him in response.
“So, Rossi, how many weddings should we expect from Rossi Junior here if she’s gonna take after her old man?” Emily goads, turning the attention back to him.
“What are you at now, dad? Seven?” You add, faux innocence painting your features as you bat your lashes at him.
“I’ve only been married three times and you know that.”
“Only.” You scoff with a roll of your eyes.
“Are you happy now, Prentiss?” Hotch deadpans as he levels Emily with an unimpressed glare.
“Very, sir.” Emily agrees, leaning back in her chair and enjoying the sight of you and your father rapidly switching between English and Italian as the two of you volley insults and arguments alike.
Hi elle i have a lil bit of request it just came to my mind and I might've spend 30 minutes of trying to imagine marauders and the Slytherins reaction to this so anyways what if our dear reader was related to salazar Slytherin but like really distant so the reader can speak parseltounge well that'll probably make reader Slytherin any ship is fine with me i just wanna see the reaction of all of the boys i think they would be absolutely shocked and flabbergasted lol. Barty would be so fuckin excited i think and everytime he sees a snake he would ask reader to talk to the snakes or something but i wonder how would the marauders react to finding reader actually is a parselmouth
such a funny idea, atlas. thank you! I could perfectly picture this one quick scene for them haha <3 [383 words]
starring: Barty Crouch Jr, parselmouth!reader
CW: gn!reader, snake, brief insinuation re: the circle of life, no ship stated so I'm leaving it up to you! could be x barty or just best friend!barty
You scrunch your eyes closed at the sound of your name being shouted, grimacing as the portraits lining this side of the library shush your interloper reproachfully.
“Fuck, Treasure; I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Barty states breathlessly as he slides onto the bench beside you. “I swear to Merlin it’s like you’re hiding from me!”
“Barty, I’m trying to study.” You huff, attempting to return to your notes when you hear an eerie whisper.
“But-”
“What did you do?” You spin on him, and with this, Barty pulls out a small snake from his robe pocket.
Get your handssss off of me.
“Barty-”
“What’s this one saying?!” He inquired eagerly, tightening his hold on the poor thing.
He’sss a grabby fellow, isssn’t he?
“He’s saying he liked it better outside.” You deadpan, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.
Barty makes a disappointed sound as his hands fall to his lap – along with the snake. “You say that about all of them.”
“That’s because they all say that.” You remind him.
“Oh, come on.” Barty tries again, raising the snake so that it sits right in front of your face. Its little tongue flickers out as it smells you. “What’s this one saying?”
You sigh in a silent apology to the snake, watching as it tilts its head and considers you.
I sssuppossse hisss pocket wasssn’t sssso bad. The snake tells you. Though he had me in there for an hour. Do you have any sssnacksss?
“He says he hated your pocket and is hungry.”
It’sss not polite to tell liesss.
You narrow your eyes at the snake and lean in closer. “Trust me, you don’t want to stay with him.”
Barty sits up eagerly. “What’s happening? What’d you say!?”
You watch the snake look between the two of you before seeming to agree; offering you a rather curt nod before it slithers its way up Barty’s arm, down his torso, and back into his pocket.
“I told him you were going to put him back outside, Bee.” You tell him, smirking before you add. “Near a pond with frogs.”
“Brilliant; you’re brilliant, Tres! Thanks!” He cheers, stamping a kiss to your head before he’s taking off out of the library again – Madame Pince hissing at him along the way.
hiii number 28 “a shared bath” with finnick odair please?
thanks for playing! this ended up being darker/more angsty than you were probably hoping for so I'm sorry about that if it's not what you were looking for!
Finnick Odair x gn!reader who he joins in a cold tub [769 words]
CW: no gender markers used for reader but written with a fem!reader in mind, readers hair can be pushed over their shoulder, implied forced prostitution -> reader is 'sold' like Finnick, nonsexual nudity, grief/anxiety/trauma, hurt/comfort
You wonder if the water has actually run cold or if it’s just that the temperature of the blood in your veins has dropped. Part of you thinks you should be able to see yourself, curled into a tight ball in the tub with your forehead pressed meanly to your knees, hands locked around your calves like you’re trying to wring yourself out.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting in the tub; long enough that your tail bone is going numb, you think, and that your hair is mostly dry even though you’ve completely submerged yourself more than once.
You think.
Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you’re not even here. Maybe you’re still in your own version of hell; leering eyes matched with wicked grins and greedy hands.
You push your face into your knees harder, sparks and stars appearing behind your eyelids as air forces itself between your teeth.
You think the fan in the bathroom is running, or maybe that’s just the blood pumping in your ears.
Either way, it’s too loud.
Too loud, too loud, too loud.
So loud that you hadn’t heard Finnick enter the bathroom, hadn’t heard him rid himself of his pyjamas, hadn’t heard him place one hand on the side of the tub and step in.
One moment he wasn’t there, the next he was; gently lowering himself into the tub behind you, encouraging you forward gently with a hand to your shoulder and his calves making space for him to slot in behind you.
A high pitched whimper escapes you as he murmurs your name; moving all of your hair over to your one shoulder, his hand slides down to your upper arm which he grips in a strong hand, a gentle kiss pressed to your opposite shoulder that feels like a branding iron.
“I’m right here, honey.” He whispers, though it doesn’t sound like it’s the first time he has said it, punctuating the sentiment with a squeeze of your arm. “You’re safe.”
He slowly moves his arms around your front, wrenching your arms apart from each other and encouraging you to unfold yourself. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Your lungs give out on you; all of the oxygen that once inhabited your body exits with one large swoosh that leaves you feeling empty and panicky.
“I’ve got you.” He repeats, pulling you tightly to his chest and tucking your head under his chin; a formidable fortress encompassing you, shielding you from…
You suck in a desperate breath that makes you feel like you might choke on it.
“Breathe, honey, breathe.” He coaches, swaying you back and forth ever so gently as his own deep breath elicits a layer of goosebumps to form along your arm and chest where it lands against your skin.
“S’too mu-much, Finn.” You keen. His hold on you tightens.
“I know. I know, I’m so sorry.” And he sounds so gutted that a sob tears through you; breaths ragged and stuttering but at least now growing in frequency.
You feel wretched demanding pity from a man who knows this pain all too well, for far too long. Asking Finnick to feel sorry for you like he doesn’t live this exact hell too. It leaves you feeling dirtier than you already did; how dare you?
“Don’t.” He murmurs into your temple, thighs pressing harder into your hips. “Please don’t; let me help. Please.”
“M’sorry.” You sob quietly.
“Don’t.”
There’s no room for it but you somehow end up cradled into Finnick’s chest anyhow; his arms bracketing you but not restricting you. A sanctuary, not a cage.
He lets you sit, lets you find your breath in your own time, lets you prune in the cold water, lets you grip his arm so tightly you’re sure to have left bruises. He does this all without complaint.
Part of you thinks you should be able to see yourself, nuzzled into Finnick’s chest as he sits in your cold bath and holds all of your broken pieces together.
“I’m right here.” He whispers, a promise. “I’ve got you.”
There’s nothing to say, no words to convey how grateful you are for him, how sorry you are for all of it.
So, you remain silent as you allow him to pull you out of the cold water and dry you off. You can still feel the spot on your shoulder that he had kissed when he first joined you in the tub; you’re almost sure if you looked in a mirror you could see it.
You fall asleep, damp, to the ghost of a loving kiss on your shoulder and a real one pressed to your forehead.
Hey I love your Finnick writing it’s absolutely adorable!! Recently I read your writing about Finnick flustering shy reader and was wondering if we could get more of Finnick x shy reader? Maybe in the arena and he’s continuing to make her blush and stuff and Katniss and Peeta are starting to see the human side in them and are learning to trust them after seeing how Finnick keeps flustering reader but at the same time is super protective and caring to her. I think that’d be super sweet and I’d love to see kinda the beginning of Katniss and Finnicks friendship forming as she realizes how much Finnick cares for shy reader. You totally don’t have to so no pressure I just had this idea on my mind and though you could execute it wonderfully
such a sweet idea! thanks for your request <3
Finnick Odair x shy!reader in the arena [650 words]
p1 | p2
CW: fem!reader, 75th Quarter Quell arena, teasing and fluff
Katniss is startled from her basket weaving when Finnick lets out a dramatic and ear splitting wolf whistle, prompting her to look up to see you, Peeta, and Johanna returning with some water.
“Why don’t you give us a little spin there, sweetheart?” He calls salaciously, and Katniss swears that the heat no doubt emanating from your cheeks actually causes the temperature of the entire arena to spike by at least two more degrees.
“Finnick…” You sigh, clearly too embarrassed to fight him properly. “Stop it.”
Finnick makes a faux tsking sound. “Wish I could, love, but you make it so damn hard.”
He pauses for dramatic effect – flashing his eyebrows at the motley crew – and Johanna blows a raspberry at his dirty joke.
“You’re unbelievable.” Johanna mutters. Finnick beams.
“Thank you, Jo!”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I think it was.” He argues, though his eyes are still on you. “What do you think, honey? Do you think I’m unbelievable?”
“Finn.” You say warningly.
“Incredible?”
“Stop it.”
“Amazing?”
“Cut it out.”
“Marvellous.”
A borderline hysterical, strangled sound leaves your lips – which has Finnick’s grin growing ever wider – as you stand abruptly, announcing about three octaves higher than your normal timbre and all in one breath “I’m going to get more water!” before you’re snatching up two baskets and walking away.
Finnick, for his part, groans.
“You know I hate to see you go, gorgeous, but oh how I love to watch you leave.” He purrs salaciously. Johanna barks a laugh.
“You’re a sadist, Odair!” She calls over her shoulder as she falls in step with you towards the tree line.
Finnick watches you until you disappear into the bush, and Katniss exchanges a quick look with Peeta who moves to join Wiress and Beetee so she can watch Finnick out of the corner of her eye.
“Why do you torment her so much?” She asks eventually, looking up for a brief moment when this serves to direct Finnick’s gaze to her before looking back down at her weaving. “She’s clearly shy; seems kind of mean.”
There’s a brief moment where Katniss wonders if Finnick might not tell her to fuck off; Haymitch is always warning her to “play nice”, but she’s never been one to mince words.
To her surprise, Finnick lets out a sigh.
“She’s…an anxious person,” he admits slowly, eyes darting back up to the treeline as though you might have heard him speaking so earnestly about you, “if I let her, she’ll drive herself crazy walking in circles in that brain of hers with worry.”
Katniss doesn’t pry, simply continuing her careful work and allowing Finnick to gather his thoughts. She’s not entirely sure why, but she finds that she does, actually, want to know.
“If I…keep teasing her, if I can manage to get a smile or a laugh, then…then she’ll be more worried about me tormenting her than anything else. You know?” He pauses, looking out in the distance at the last place he could see you. “All she should ever have to worry about is my teasing; I’ll be the one to worry about her.”
Katniss is looking directly at Finnick now, his ever present dimples and smile lines now just echoes of joy etched into the surface of his skin as he watches after you, waiting for your return.
“You really love her.” Katniss surmises; not exactly a question, but it elicits an answer anyways.
“More than life itself.” He replies quickly, no hesitation in his answer nor the honesty of it as he finally makes eye contact with Katniss.
Green look into grey, and they share a knowing look before there’s a sound from the bushes; Katniss’s hunter gaze poised for a fight but Finnick’s gaze falling warm and golden as you permeate the treeline with two more baskets of water, giggling lightly at something Johanna says.
hi! for a finnick prompt would you be able to do one where him and reader are already together and they are both doing their own thing but in the same room and he wants her attention but reader is still shy so she is lowkey ignoring him and is blushing, you could include lots of kisses from him, idk if that makes sense but i love your writing!
ok I'm sorry I included exactly 0 kisses in this but it's because they were in public and idk about shy!reader but I would simply combust if I participated in PDA. I hope the rest makes up for it though hahaha <3
Finnick Odair x fem!reader who are training for the 75th Hunger Games [613 words]
p1 | p2
CW: it is set during the games technically (or at least the lead up) but I stg it's super chill and comedic - hardly any darkness at all, Finnick being a relentless flirt, reader is going Through It, one threat of violence made by reader
It was getting harder and harder to avoid Finnick’s gaze, though you were beginning to suspect that was likely by design.
It was near impossible to ignore him. No sooner would you move to a different training station was he waltzing over to set up directly across from you; perhaps appearing innocent and nonchalant to the untrained eye, but his unrelenting smirk gave him away.
That was fine…this was fine. You were more or less…accustomed to Finnick, although that was usually behind closed doors, and even then you found yourself a moment's notice away from simply melting into the floorboards. Still, you figured you could probably manage having him stand across the table cutting eyes at you, so long as no one else noticed.
You looked up from the sample snares in front of you to confirm that no one else had noticed, watching in horror as one half of the lovers from District 12 quickly averted his gaze from you.
Fuck.
“You’re supposed to be looking at me, sweetheart. Don’t look at him.” Finnick murmured into your ear, causing you to let out an inelegant - and rather embarrassing - yelp as you quickly spun on the spot; suddenly face to face with your tormentor boyfriend who now had you essentially pinned between the workstation and his frame.
“Finnick.” You hissed, ignoring the heat in your face and the tightness in your chest as you tried to shove him away. He allowed you to turn back towards the station, but he made no effort to create space between the two of you.
“Yes, darling?”
“Go away.” You nearly whined, cringing as you watched Johanna snort humourlessly and shake her head at the two of you. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you!?” Finnick nearly wailed, causing you to - once again - nervously glance around the room at the other victors.
Tributes?
Tribute victors?
Victor tributes…
Whatever; lethal fuckers you were going to have to befriend or literally die trying in the next few days. You hardly saw what Finnick’s angle was by harassing you.
“Babe. I’m offended.” He continued, trailing after you as you tried to move to another station in order to shake him off, though he did have the decency to keep his voice down around the district five and six tributes. Victors? Fuck. “How is loving on my sweet, beautiful girl embarrassing?”
You nearly whimpered as you stomped one of your feet petulantly, bringing one of your hands up to your cheeks to inspect them. And, yup - as you suspected - your face was scorching.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Finnick cooed, and between your embarrassment, the fact that Finnick for a moment sounded truly concerned for your wellbeing, and the stress of being here again, you didn’t realize your mistake in responding “you’re making me blush” until it was too late.
Finnick - the smug bastard - seemed all too pleased at the news; smile growing impossibly brighter as he stood straighter in his victory.
“That’s kind of the point, honey.” He all but cheered, raising his hand as though he were going to confirm for himself that your cheeks were, indeed, a furnace.
You quickly - and rather aggressively - swatted his hand away from you.
“Finnick Odair, you touch me and I’ll have you hanging from the rafters so fucking fast it isn’t funny.” You threatened in a volume you assumed to be quiet, until you realized the gym had fallen silent and you had an audience of twenty two staring intently at the two of you.
Finnick let out a bark of laughter as you made to storm away, though you didn’t miss how Katniss leaned in to whisper “okay; Beetee, Wiress, Mags, and her” into Peeta’s ear.
Excerpt: “His anger was coming from a place of love, that was undeniable. What he had heard you tell Finn truly scared him, and he didn’t know how to work through or process what you had said. It didn’t make any sense to him.”
Warnings: I said fuck, bad writing, my usual shit. This is really kind of heavy, so if you get triggered at any moment, please take care of yourself and stop reading immediately. I want my babies safe.
The subtle rise and fall of his chest with each shallow breath he took was the most he had moved in the last hour. You would have thought him to be asleep, if you didn’t know that he made small, melodical, almost humming sounds whenever he did decide to shut his eyes for just a brief moment of rest. No, he wasn’t sleeping, but he was completely silent, completely still, and completely pissed off.
And, though you didn’t know, completely worried that if he fell asleep, you wouldn’t be there when he woke up.
Poe was turned away from you in the bed, but you knew that if you were facing him, his nostrils would be flaring and his cheeks would be tinted red from the anger he felt coursing through his veins like a blazing, unforgiving fire. And as you laid there, staring at his naked back, covered in scars and marks that would always serve as a brutal reminder of the war that had become your lives, you realized that anger might have been too gentle of a word. Rage felt like a much more suitable term.
Finnick Odair x hijacked!reader who asks what's real or not real [2k words]
summary: a District Thirteen reunion story heavily inspired by the brilliant @ervotica's fic 'a life of our own' & @/ilguna's 'hijacked'! Reader was tortured much like Peeta was into fearing Finnick, finding her playing the game 'real or not real'
CW: fem!reader, discussion of past torture [not described], reader tortured into believing Finnick did abhorrent and disgusting things to her [not described], medical personnel acting as villains sort of, hurt/comfort, hopeful/open ending
Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop.
Routine was a word that came to dictate much of Finnick’s life recently; stability. Ritualized schedules were the norm in District Thirteen. But more importantly, routine, stability, and ritualized schedules were deemed necessary and important to your recovery.
Thus, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book - the same paperback book - that he brought with him to your hospital room every day - at the exact same time - which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop.
He’d been following more or less the same routine ever since you’d been rescued from the Capitol a few weeks ago, though Finnick could admit visiting you felt slightly better now than it had in the beginning.
The beginning had been nothing short of heartbreaking for him. The beginning had been nothing short of torturous for you.
There’d been a hunch in place of hard evidence that the lot of you were being tortured in the Capitol, though to what extent no one knew. And absolutely no one was prepared for what awaited them by the time the three of you were safe in District Thirteen.
Peeta had promptly tried to off Katniss which was very off brand of him; Johanna’s head had been shaved, she was emaciated, and had a plethora of evidence of gruesome physical torture, and you…
You weren’t filled with the same loathing, hatred, and disgust that Peeta seemed to carry for Katniss. No, you were completely and utterly terrified.
Medics had to sedate you when Finnick rushed into the room upon hearing of your arrival because you’d thrown yourself against the wall so violently you’d split your head open, then nearly ripped your nails clean off your fingers in your desperation to open a locked door in an attempt to escape from him. And if that hadn’t been devastating enough, the sounds of your guttural screams and desperate cries caused by him still haunted many of Finnick’s nightmares.
Finnick had been hesitant to return to you after that; he didn’t want to ever cause you that much distress again.
Haymitch tried to reason with him; Finnick wasn’t the one causing you this much distress, it was the Capitol. The medics tried to reason with him; it was to be considered exposure therapy, they hoped that - over time - as you regained some familiarity and comfort with him and worked through your memories and trauma with the doctors that you’d start to remember.
He reluctantly agreed. So, he was horrified when, the first day he returned, you’d been strapped down to your bed in preparation for his meeting.
“This is sick!” He’d shouted at the medics as he gestured at your current state. “This isn’t exposure therapy, this is torture!”
“Mr. Odair, the hope is that once she begins to realize there’s no need to fight or run, we’ll be able to take the restraints off.” One of them explained in a bored manner.
“Fuck whatever you’re hoping for! You’re torturing her; she’s not going to feel any safer here than she did in the Capitol!”
They’d tried calling after him, but he simply looked over at you and offered a pathetic “I’m sorry, honey” that you probably hadn’t heard over your own desperate wails before he fled.
The next day he returned, you hadn’t been strapped down, but you had been heavily medicated with some kind of sedative before his arrival. He swallowed around the bile in his throat as he took a seat in one of the chairs, pretended to read his book and tried his hardest to ignore the extremely wary and haunted gaze that stayed glued to his side for the entirety of his visit.
The third visit went much the same, except about halfway through his scheduled ‘visit’, he noticed that your eyes seemed to fall extremely heavy.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?” He murmured quietly, though you would have thought he’d screamed at you with the way you bodily flinched and your eyes snapped open.
He just continued watching you as you fought to convince your heart to return to its normal tempo, slowly, cautiously nodding your head yes to his question when you seemed to realize he was earnest in his question.
“Would you like me to leave so you can get some rest?”
Your brows furrowed ever so subtly, eyes darting across his face as you searched for any hidden meaning or potential threat.
You must not have found one.
“Please.” You whispered, and - though it was still but a whisper - it was the first time he had heard your voice since the Quarter Quell that wasn’t shrieking and sobbing in fear, causing a lump to form in his throat.
“Okay, honey, I’ll go.” He whispered back, smiling at you through tears as he stood and swiftly left the room, hardly closing the door fully behind him before he let out a sob.
Over the weeks, you began finding your own routine and schedule outside of the time you spent working with doctors and medics. You were hardly ever seen without your journal on your person, and one of your doctors explained to Finnick that you were beginning to compile notes to differentiate between things you knew, things that you didn’t know, and what was real or not real. Many times, Finnick could find you working in your journal when he arrived, and though you still managed to keep a concerned eye on him at any given point and your body never fully relaxed while he was there, he was grateful you were becoming more or less accustomed to his company.
And then one day he showed up to your room to find one wall completely transformed into a giant drawing board. The board was divided into two equal sides; one side was labelled REAL and one side was labelled NOT REAL. The only thing that had been written down so far was on the NOT REAL side, which read “Finnick did not set you up and leave you there to die.”
“She’s been struggling to sleep without the aid of sedatives; she wakes up quite violently from nightmares, struggling to differentiate between what is real and what is not, even when we’re standing right there in front of her.” One of the medics told him. “We tried once to have her look through her journal, but she threw it across the room and told us to get away from her. We thought maybe having a very large visualization in front of her in her own writing would be helpful to tether her to reality upon waking.”
And that seemed all well in good, but Finnick found himself sick over some of the things the Capitol had convinced you he was guilty of more than once.
But, if this is what you needed, if this was helping you, Finnick would stomach it, no questions asked.
So, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop.
He knocked twice gently on your door before stepping inside, watching as you stepped quickly away from the board and hid the marker and eraser behind your back as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, watching Finnick as though you were waiting for him to attack.
“Hi, honey.” He greeted quietly, nodding politely at you before he pulled out his chair and took his place, flipping his book open to an arbitrary page as he pretended to read.
You didn’t move; your feet seemed to be glued to the spot as you watched Finnick pretend to not be watching you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had missed your gaze, quite selfishly, and found that while the atmosphere wasn’t exactly relaxed, he was happy enough just to have your eyes on him again.
Finnick wasn’t sure how much time had passed before you ended up breaking the silence.
“F…Finnick?” You asked, barely above a whisper; question so quiet that Finnick was sure if he hadn’t only been pretending to read, he would have missed it entirely.
You sounded as though you were trying his name out for size, just to see how it felt on your tongue. Finnick missed the days when you used to squeal his name in laughter, or groan his name in frustration, or call his name in excitement. But even though it came out cautious and stilted, he didn’t think he’d ever heard as pretty a sound as the sound of his name falling from your lips.
“Yes, sweetheart?” He asked eagerly, fighting to keep his tone, face, and body language calm as he saved his ‘place’ with a finger and leaned forward in his chair, resting his knees on his elbows.
You swallowed thickly and fiddled with the marker in your hands as you stole yourself to speak. “Can I ask you something?”
He wanted to be an ass; he wanted to say ‘you just asked me two things’, he wanted to whoop and holler at finally having an actual conversation with you after weeks of finally having you back, yet not really having you back at all.
Instead, all he said was “of course.”
You cleared your throat before gaining the courage to ask what he heard as “you love me; real, or not real?”
Finnick wasn’t sure an answer had ever come to him so fast. “Real.”
You seemed somewhat surprised by his answer even though it was clearly the answer you’d been expecting. After a few moments, you simply nodded at him before turning back to your drawing board’s REAL side.
Finnick loved me you wrote, adding bullet points underneath it...
He told me so
He acts like it
Gut feeling
...is what you cited as proof to this revelation. Finnick wanted to weep. A gut feeling; you were still in there, somewhere. There was still a version of you that knew deep down that Finnick loved you.
“It’s not quite right, honey.” He offered softly, fighting the urge to smile when you turned at his interruption, yet didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice as you often did. You simply looked at him in confusion.
“Do you mind if I make a minor adjustment?” He asked as he carefully placed his book on your empty bed and slowly stood, holding his hands out in ask.
You looked between him and the marker and eraser in your hands before holding them out for him; an invitation.
Finnick smiled at you as he slowly walked towards you, hyper focused on remaining as unthreatening as possible as he gently took the items from you, careful not to touch you unnecessarily.
He moved to the REAL side of the board, using the edge of the eraser to remove the d from the end of loved and replacing it with an s. The sentence now - properly - read Finnick loves me.
“There, now it’s perfect.” He offered you with another smile as he held the items back out to you, gently placing them in your hands when you held them open for him before he turned back towards his chair, retrieved his book, and sat back down.
Your eyes stayed glued on the correction he made to your board as the marker and eraser hovered uselessly midair; moments dragging on before your arms finally lowered to your sides.
Finnick didn’t bother pretending to read, so when you turned to look at him - face full of confusion, curiosity, concern, and what looked to be devastation - you found him already looking at you.
“Still?” You asked, voice cracking painfully as a heavy tear fell down your face.
And if Finnick thought that no answer had ever come faster to him before, he was sorely mistaken.
