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outtathisworld-imagines · 2 days ago

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Every second counts

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Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive/mature themes briefly mentioned at points, swearing because Richie 🥲 fluff. Not proofread.

A.N: has anyone watched the new season of the bear because it truly is *chefs kiss* 😌 and I am a sucker for Richie 🥲

Please let me know what else you guys would like to see me write! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

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The first time Richie caught glimpse of you was at the corner supermarket.

You had a basket full of groceries while he tried to proudly carry everything in his arms- undermining just how much he had to get. He dropped a bag of chips in a matter of seconds and hesitantly contorted his body and limbs in attempts to pick them up.

“Ah shit,” he looked at the rest of his groceries and knew everything would fall if he bent down. That was until the chips were placed in front of his face on top of his pile of shopping. “T-thanks.” He sent you a brief smile.

“You want me to grab you a basket?” The eyes peering over the mountain he held in his arms asked. He almost dropped everything when he looked into them.

“Uh, I’m good!”

“Alright,” you drawled out “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you drop everything in aisle six.” You chuckled and walked away. Richie remained in the same spot.

He walked forward slowly and steadily, watching you grab something, ponder over it then toss it into your basket. You glanced down to the bottom of the aisle and saw him standing there and smiled, shaking your head and moving on after a few seconds.

Richie groaned trying to pick up toothpaste, wondering what he would be willing to sacrifice for it. He found a moment of strength and reached for it but it was already gone. A soft noise brought his attention to the chip bag that was balancing on top of everything with a tube of toothpaste sinking into the centre of it. Richie turned and saw you next to him, you raised a brow and he sighed in defeat. “Okay. Maybe a basket.”

You giggled “I like how proud you are.” You placed down your own between your feet and his, walking down and grabbing him a basket. You helped take a few things from him and placed it in the basket before he dropped everything else from his arms into it. “Better?” You asked watching him shake his strained arms. He nodded yes with a small smirk. “Good because next time you play grocery store Jenga I might not be here to help you.”

“Well where would you be goin’?” He asked, now following you, becoming intrigued with you- the beautiful mysterious shopping stranger.

“Wouldn’t be goin’ anywhere, would be laughing my ass off by the cash registers watching you instead.” Richie barked out a laugh, first time he remembered doing that in weeks. The stress of work and his failed marriage took a toll on him.

“Well, I usually shop at this time so if you want a show…”

You stopped and turned on your heel “I’m guessing you’re giving me a front row ticket to your shopping shit-show?”

Richie smirked and held out his hand, introducing himself to you. You took it and introduced yourself with a grin.

Over the next few weeks, you often bumped into him, walking side by side with him down aisles and making casual conversation- mainly about how ridiculous the price was getting for groceries. How he longed for each second, each minute, he spent with you to last longer. Then you parted ways after paying, heading in opposite directions out of the store only to meet up days later again at the exact same place.

Richie was cursing the sudden rain as he ran to pick up milk, getting drenched by the downpour. His old work t-shirt he grabbed by the door now clinging to him.

As he reached the corner store he noticed you outside with your groceries by your feet and a wet paper bag that had ripped to shreds around it. You tried scooping everything up in your arms, he was reminded of the first day he met you and was struggling to carry everything.

“Hey, hey, hey, here let me help!” He bent down and helped you pick things up- he completely forgot about the milk he needed.

“Jesus, you need reinforced paper bags here!” You yelled over the rain and the faint rumbles of thunder in the distance. “Here let me-” you tried taking some bits from him but he held onto them, as much as he loved the little miss independent act, he knew you needed help. “I got it Richie.”

“No, let me help you home with these, you get another paper bag it’s just gonna fuckin’ end up the same way.”

“I’m the opposite way from you, I don’t have a car and you’re already soaked. I don’t want you getting a cold.” The gentle caring tone almost made him melt right there and then in the street.

“I’ll be alright.” He walked in the direction you always did before turning back to you, looking for guidance to your house. “We doin’ this or what? I don’t know where the fuck you live.” You laughed and jogged to catch up to him.

The pair of you walked quickly through the rain back to your apartment, coming to it after almost ten minutes of walking and getting drenched. “C’mon up,” you motioned your head to the stairs and he followed up behind you, trying his best not to stare at your ass.

He hated to admit it but he actually looked forward to seeing you at the store, after a month after first meeting you, he wanted to get to know you better. He felt like a teenager again with the crush he had on you, he felt excited again, he felt there was hope.

You opened the door to your apartment and stood to the side to let him in. You told him where the kitchen was and to just leave everything on the counter top, he did just that and then took in the space around him. A low whistle left his mouth “Shit, nice place you got.”

You bashfully smiled, placing down the armful of items you had “Thanks.” You looked him up and down “Fuck, you’re soaked right through,” you pointed to him. “Stay until the rain is off and I can dry your stuff. I have a sweatshirt you can borrow and old sweats that might fit.” You looked him up and down again. “Maybe.”

He laughed, deep from within his chest. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Richie,” your soft scolding made him bite down on his lip. How his name left your mouth so effortlessly made him feel things he thought died inside him a long time ago were now suddenly resurrected. “Let me get you a drink, dry your clothes and keep you from the torrential rain outside- weather says it’ll stop by five, surely you can spare two hours?” A loud rumble of thunder made him agree, those seconds and minutes he once longed for to spend with you suddenly granted to him like a wish come true. He stood awkwardly in your apartment, taking in all the art on the walls as you quickly changed into sweats and a jumper, grabbing some bits for Richie along with a towel and passing them over to him. “Bathroom is just there, just give me your stuff when you’re ready.”

He nodded, sending you a thankful smile. He changed in your bathroom, it smelt like cotton and lavender. He let out a deep exhale, feeling relaxed for once despite the nerves that bubbled inside from being in such a close proximity with you.

He handed you his wet clothes and you put them in the dryer, but before asking him about his t-shirt. “What’s ‘Original Beef of Chicagoland’?”

“We’ve changed name, it’s The Bear now, it’s where I work- front of house. You never been? It’s an institution.”

You shook your head slowly, humming lowly as you went to the kitchen. “I’m not from around here.” You said. “Wine or instant coffee- that’s all I got.” You told him and he asked for coffee.

“Where you from?” Richie asked from the other side of your kitchen being tactical at trying to remain a distance where he wouldn’t be tempted to just pounce on you.

“New York originally, came here for work about six months ago.” You explained as you put the teapot on the stove. “I work for The Art Institute as an assistant manager but I’m a specialist on mid-century art and I sometimes guide people around when we are short. Talk about the pieces to people who don’t really give a shit most of the time.” You humourlessly chortled.

Richie nodded “I see that. From your place I thought you’d be a creative kinda gal. It’s a pretty place you got, but I already coulda guessed you would have a place like this.”

You let out a snort “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged a shoulder “Pretty girl, pretty apartment- just made sense in my head.” The whistle of your tea pot coming to boil filled the space between you both as a silence hung between you both. You blinked at him in surprise and he scrunched his nose “What? I might be stupid enough to not grab a basket, but I ain’t blind to the fact you’re...” he cleared his throat, eyes trailing slowly up your body. “Pretty.”

You took the teapot off the stove when it finished. You abandoned the coffee as you closed the space between you both, Richie’s palms starting to sweat the closer you got- his tactical strategy now going out the window. “I just got out of wet clothes,” you lowly said, bringing your face to within inches of his. Richie practically steadied himself with a hand on your waist. “And yet, I’m soaked again.”

“Oh?” Richie’s brow furrowed in confusion before a wicked smirk graced his lips. “Ohh…” he let you make the first move, the feeling of your lips against his made him hum in delight. The faint taste of smoke and nicotine from him got you addicted almost instantly, your hand coming to the back of his neck as you brought him closer to you, pressing him against you even further. “Don’t know why you gave me spare clothes, got a feeling they’re just gonna come off again,” he chuckled against your soft skin, you took a fistful of your sweatshirt and dragged him to your bedroom.

—•—

“I want you to meet Eva.” He said one night in bed as he held you in his arms. The seconds turning into minutes and hours spent wrapped up with each other. He wanted each moment spent with you to count.

You turned your head and tilted it to see him better, the smile on your face spreading from ear to ear. “Really?” Your excited tone made his heart skip a beat. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

It had been about three months since you and Richie got together, since then the pair of you were almost inseparable and he felt himself falling further each day. He asked you out officially after your impromptu afternoon together and after your third date, despite him not wanting any ‘labels’ because he was ‘too old for that shit’ he asked you to be his girlfriend.

He had some important people he wanted you to meet, his daughter Eva of course and the team at The Bear- two significant factors in his life. He thought he’d soften the blow with Eva first before throwing you to the wolves in his work.

“I appreciate how excited you are.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before giving you another on your lips.

“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s a massive part of your life. I think you sometimes expect me not to think you had a life before me. I like that you’ve lived. I like finding out more about you.” You traced a finger down his chest. “I’m just glad I get to be part of this portion of your life.”

His smile was soft, sincere. “I hope a lot longer than just a portion.” He told you before rolling you over onto your back and peppering kisses all over your face.

You arranged for Richie to bring Eva to your work, his daughter was turning into a bit of a creative type much like you so you both thought the gallery would be an ideal place to meet. You told him to get you by the door with her after the museum had closed.

You smoothed out the nerves and the creases on your dress seeing them both walk hand in hand towards you. “Hi there!” You greeted them with a wide, nervous smile.

“Eva, this is my good friend Y/N,” Richie introduced her to you, a little unsure of what to introduce you as, but he thought that was a safe choice.

You bent down to her level and extended your hand out. “Hi,” she shyly shook your hand.

“Hi Eva, it’s so lovely to meet you. I love your light up shoes.” Your compliment was an instant hit with her and she giggled, grabbing onto Richie’s leg bashfully before hiding behind it. You stood up straight again, Richie shooting you a silent wink. “Well, shall we head in?” You asked and motioned to the museum.

Richie’s features crinkled “Ain’t it closed for the night?”

“Not for Eva it isn’t,” you said to him, his heart about to burst in his chest at your kindness towards her. “Access all areas.” She gasped in delight and practically dragged Richie inside.

“Steady, sweetie! Steady!” He all but ran to catch up with her. “Perks of an assistant manager huh?” He asked you and you nodded. He let go of Eva’s hand so she could see a painting, and so he could have a moment with you. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. For both of you.” You told him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He took your hand in his and brought it to his chest, just above his heart as he walked side by side with you to Eva who was admiring the pieces on display.

Richie had wandered off to check out a piece of art, when he turned the corner he almost cried with happiness at the sight before him. You were sat down next to Eva in front of a painting explaining it to her, she watched you intently and with complete dedication. He then watched as Eva stood up and extended her hand out to you, you stood and took it with a smile before she dragged you to the next piece on display. “Ah shit…” he muttered to himself. He was in deep. He knew he was in beyond deep. Richie followed closely behind you both “There’s my girls!” You turned your head and grinned at him, your hand still wrapped around Eva’s.

“Let’s go this way!” Eva pulled you to another room as Richie tried to keep up.

After almost two hours of wondering, she was getting tired. “I should get someone home,” he said and picked her up in his arms. “Have fun, sweetie?”

“The best time!” She tiredly yet excitably replied.

You watched him interact with her, how soft he was as a father. How loving he was. “Well it was lovely to meet you Eva, I’m glad you had a great time! Just gimme a second to get something.” You jogged off to grab a gift you got for her. “I got a bracelet making kit that your dad can help you with. He told me you liked Taylor Swift and I know she sings about them. You can make a little more art at home.” She gasped with wide eyes and grasped it with both hands. “Let me know when you get home, okay?” You asked Richie and he nodded, blowing him a discreet kiss as he left.

He carried Eva in his arms back to his car, the young girl looking at the kit in awe. “I love her, Daddy!” She told him.

Richie looked back over his shoulder, the smile on his face that he struggled to once find now there all the time. “Yeah, me too.”

—•—

“You should uh,” Richie nervously scratched the back of his neck “Come by for dinner once you get off.”

The two of you were having lunch outside the museum on a bench. “Sure, need me to pick anything up?”

He nervously chuckled, the baptism of fire he was about to throw you had been terrifying him since the day he developed feelings for you. He wanted you to meet the team, especially Carmy, it was important to him. “N-no, I mean like…dinner at The Bear.” You pursued your lips nodding, another leap in your relationship. Since meeting Eva, Richie was integrating you more and more into his life. He was now a massive part of yours, he made Chicago feel like home. He was home.

“You want me to pop by tonight? What if you’re still working?” You asked.

Richie let out a chortle “Then be prepared for the best fuckin’ dinner service you’ve had in your life!” You laughed loudly, passersby turning thier heads to look at all the hilarity, the noise was like music to Richie’s ears. He looked at you in awe, you silently questioned him with just a look, Richie becoming accustomed to all your mannerisms that he just now knew. “I know it didn’t deserve it, but I’m glad Chicago has a smile like yours in it.” Your smile faltered so discreetly that he didn’t notice, his words filling you with nothing but joy on an immeasurable scale. “I’ll let you get back to work.” He stood and helped you up, watching as you gently brushed the crumbs off your skirt. You craned your head up to his, accommodating for the height difference to embrace a kiss from him. He took your face in his hands and opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue that never came, he simply kissed you instead, hard and with conviction. “I’ll save a table just for you.”

You nodded and headed back into the museum, blissfully unaware that was his way of telling you he loved you without actually saying those three words.

Richie’s eyes were locked on the windows all night trying to catch a glimpse of you, the restaurant had died down and the guys were embracing the lull. “Yo, Rich-”

“Not now!” He looked to the clock, each second being dragged out far too long. You would have finished about a half hour ago. Typical that when he looked up, the door opened.

His hardened stern expression softened instantly at the sight of you. You’d changed since he met you earlier in the day, a coat hid the majority of your floaty dress that he hoped he would be taking off you later that night when he got you home. “Hey,” you smiled at him. “You scrub up well.” You motioned and admired his suit.

“Hi,” he softly greeted you. “You look fuckin’ unreal.” He couldn’t quite believe his eyes or his luck that you were standing in the doorway of a place that he dedicated so much of his life to. “Stunning.” You glanced over his shoulder and saw many pairs of eyes looking back at you. Richie caught your line of sight and saw everyone there trying to catch a glimpse of you, he cleared his throat and remained professional.

He had mentioned you once or twice, the team always trying to believe deeper but he tried to his personal life to himself.

“You think that’s her?” Syd asked.

Marcus snorted “Are you for real? Is she even real?! She’s too pretty to be his girlfriend!”

Carmy had a small smile on his face, his eyes darting between you and Richie. “That’s her alright.”

“Will they stare at me all night?” You quietly asked.

Richie tightly smiled “Probably.”

“Well, table for one and many onlookers I guess.”

Before he took you to the table he reserved just for you, he extended out his hands. “Let me take your coat.” You shimmied out of it and he almost let out a groan at the sight of you. “Fuck,” he lowly uttered and swallowed hard seeing you properly in the dress he was definitely taking off you tonight.

He sat you down, poured you a wine and handed you a menu. You looked up to him through your lashes, deciding to have a little fun with him. “What does my incredibly handsome sex-god of a waiter recommend because I don’t see him on the menu…” you teased and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, pleasantly flustered by your comment.

“You’re makin’ me blush, honey.” He tried to sound tough, stern even, but instead his words were laced with excited nerves. He leaned forward and pointed at things he recommend to you. “Can’t kiss you right now because I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.” He quietly told you and you nodded in understandingly with a large grin in your face. “Those are my suggestions, get whatever you like because dinner is on me.”

You placed down your menu and rested your chin on your balled fist, elbow firmly on the table. “Then let me at least treat you to breakfast.”

“Where we gonna go?” He asked.

You let out a laugh, loud enough to capture everyone’s attention again. “Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you? We’ll have breakfast at my house.”

“Okay, what time you want me over for?”

“Richie…”

“What?”

You lowly laughed shaking your head. “You won’t be leaving my house…”

“Why wouldn’t I be- oh! Ohh…” he glanced over his shoulder, mouthing ‘fuck off just now’ to the group of piled up chefs in the doorway.

“If you’re lucky, I might even make you pancakes…naked.”

Richie choked on thin air. “Oh keep that information to yourself, sweetheart.” He leaned down, dropping his tone. “Don’t be teasin’ me here or else I’m gonna have to tuck a napkin into my collar and spread you wide open on one of those tables and eat you out like I know you want me too.” You tried to hide your smile but couldn’t at just how he could make something so dirty sound so sweet. He stood up straight, fixing his tie and an aura of professionalism washing over him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He went to the kitchen, many eyes still on you. You wiggled your fingers, casually waving at his team who were staring you down. When Richie came out he had someone in chef whites beside him. “Y/N, this is Carmy,” the man with a curly, floppy head of hair extended his hand to you. “Head chef and closest thing I got to family. My cousin.” He smirked at him proudly, gripping onto his shoulder.

“Nice to finally meet you Y/N,” Carmy warmly smiled “I’m happy you guys are together. God knows it’s improved his mood- massively.” He playfully jibed, Richie rolled his eyes and you giggled at their dynamic. Richie was called to the kitchen, leaving you with the head chef. “You’re good for him. So thank you.”

“He’s good for me too, makes me happy beyond anything you could ever imagine.” You looked off into the distance until your eyes found him again.

Carmy smiled at what you said before looking at Richie. “Glad he can do that for you, I’m just glad he’s found love again.”

You blinked. Your breath hitching.

“Love…?”

Carmy casually glanced back to you before his head fully snapped around, realising what he said. “Shit!” He hissed, mentally kicking and cursing himself. “Forget what I said. Fuck! I thought he told you already!”

You laughed, loudly, Carmy trying to shush you when Richie furrowed a brow at all the commotion and what the hell Carmy could have said to make you laugh as hysterically as you were. “I-I’m sorry, I-” you took a deep inhale and exhale. “That’s just made my night. But don’t worry, I won’t let on. He better say it soon though because I don’t know how much longer I can go without saying it to him because each second that passes is a second less he knows.” You longingly sighed “I love Richie.” You confided in Carmy. “I need him to know because life is unpredictable and I need to make each moment, hell each second, with him count.”

“Okay so we got-“ you looked up to Richie with glistening eyes and he hesitated putting the food down in front of you. “What he do?” He glared at Carmy “Don’t think I won’t kick your ass in front of my girl, cousin.” Carmy stood with a small smile, his hands defensively raised out as he made his way back to the kitchen. You let out a blubbery giggle. “What?” He asked placing down the food.

You looked back and forth from the plate to him. “This is missing something.”

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed as he closely examined the plate. “Missin’ what?” You beckoned him closer with just the wiggle of your fingers. He leaned down and you captured your lips with his. You felt his lips part in surprise before he smiled into the kiss. “You’re trouble.” He murmured before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips and pulling back, a small choir of ‘Ohhh’s’ coming from the kitchen at the sight.

“You love it.”

He looked deep into your eyes as he replied, his heart practically on the table in front of you. “I do.” He smiled, his own eyes now becoming glossy. “I love you.”

You leaned forward and kissed him again, Richie not giving a damn about getting teased by the team for the foreseeable future about it. “I love you too.” You brushed your nose against and peppered kisses over his lips. “What time do you get off?”

“We’re just about closin’ soon.”

“Good because the second you’re off, I’m gonna be getting you off.”

Richie slowly stood up straight, tensing on the spot at your promise. He cleared his throat, trying his best to hide his reddening cheeks.

“Yo guys,” his voice cracked. “We’re closing. We need this food wrapped up to go! Now!”

#can I get uhhh more of this man pls #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #the bear fic #the bear #the bear richie #Richie Jerimovich fic #carmy berzatto #the bear fx #the bear family #the bear fanfiction #ebon moss bachrach #richie jerimovich smut #richard jerimovich #Richard Jerimovich x reader #Richard Jerimovich smut #carmen berzatto

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 2 days ago

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I’d Know You in Darkness | Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Summary: When childhood friends drift apart, there’s no telling if they’ll ever meet again. Their choices seem to pull them further and further away from each other… and then back into each other’s arms.

TW: Mentions of drug abuse, child abuse, car accident, allusions of self harm, some discussions of mental health. Let me know if I miss anything.

Words: 8k+

A/N: So apparently I haven’t posted a fic in 3 years?? I'm kind of scared. And going back to reading fic here is so interesting to see the change in trends. I can go on and on about it, but that would be another post. What an ever changing landscape. And drafts actually autosaves on here?? Wild.

So, anyways, here’s some slow burn childhood friends to lovers Bob Reynolds x Reader word vomit. Bone apple teeth. Reader's nickname is Canary. Reblog and comment if you want a part 2…

____

Bob was never one to believe in soulmates. His father had a temper, and even more so when he drank. That anger would be projected onto his mother who he loved very much but she did not want his protection. “You’re going to make things worse. You’re always making things worse.” Those words echoed through his mind to this very day. Suffice it to say, he did not grow up with the concept of what a healthy and loving relationship should be.

You lived next door with parents that don’t pay much attention to you. At least, as long as you were doing well in school and staying out of trouble, they didn’t care how often you left the house or kept your door locked.

One day, he ran out of his house and right into you. His face was red and tear stricken, his lip bleeding from a cut and bruising forming around his eye. He scrambled to get up and you grabbed his wrist before he could get away and led him through the back of your house to the kitchen. You grabbed your supplies: a cloth, a bowl of ice, a small tub of ice cream, two spoons, and a bottle of water. Then, you led him upstairs to your room and he sat on your bed while you got the first aid kit from the bathroom.

He had already started eating ice cream when you got back, his blue eyes watching in alert as you took a damp cloth and gently wiped his face, careful of his bruises and cut lip, then wrapped ice into the cloth for his eye. He reluctantly put aside the ice cream to hold the makeshift ice pack to his eye. You got to work in cleaning his lip and disinfecting it, soothing him each time he flinched while you gently cupped his cheek to keep him steady. Once your work was done and you tossed the used q-tips and cotton, you turned to him and tilted your head curiously.

“Your eyes are a nice shade of blue,” was the first thing you said to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, his gratitude extending beyond the compliment. “Why did you help me?”

You frowned. “Because you needed help,” you said as if it was the most obvious thing.

Since then you became best friends, although it wasn’t always easy. The anger from his home would often follow him when he’d meet up with you and at times that anger would be redirected to you. Over the years, you drifted apart then came back again, over and over, learning from mistakes and repeating them again, just as the motions of growing pains do. He gradually learned to be more gentle and tried not to be too quick to anger while you gradually learned not to rely your self-worth on how useful you are to others.

Prom night. You wanted to ask Bob to prom, but he had asked someone else from class instead. Of course she had said yes. Bob was a cute guy and on his good days, he was the sweetest person that was so full of love he didn't know how to handle it. So, you went with a group of your other friends instead. He was able to steal one moment with you, pulling you aside to a quiet corridor from the gym.

“It was getting too loud in there,” he said, leaning his head against the wall.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you admonished him.

He shrugged. “She kept talking and pulling me here and there. When I asked to go someplace quiet, she assumed the worst and walked away.”

“Thought she’d be enthusiastic about it. She was really into you,” you said halfheartedly, the words tasting bitter in your mouth.

“I think she figured out how boring I was and was desperately trying to make the most of it. And I, uh, snapped at her to be quiet,” he said sheepishly. “She was going on and on about some gossip and she started talking about you and how she knows your parents are losing the house and that you’re probably cheating to get good grades in class.”

You sighed. “Bobert.” He smiled at your nickname for him. “That’s just her opinion. What about you? Didn’t you like her?”

“Thought she was cute and all. She was the only one that showed interest in me –” You gave him a pointed look that he didn’t notice. “ – but if she’s talking trash about my best friend, then all interest for her is gone.” He closed his eyes for a minute and you settled to his side and did the same. You were enjoying the muffled music and silence in between you two when he spoke up again. “Did I mention you look pretty tonight?”

You opened your eyes and felt your cheeks heat up. You tugged on the long sleeves of your outfit and looked at him. “You did now… you look pretty, too.”

He chuckled bashfully, looking down at his loose fitting suit that he got from a thrift store. “A teacher said it reminded him of Talking Heads. Hey, I –”

“Robby! There you are!” a boy shouted from down the hall.

Another joined in. “Dude, let’s go! Kyle’s got his dad’s truck tonight!” Hoots and hollers echoed through the empty hall.

Bob swung his head between you and his friends, his eyebrows raised high in conflicted emotions. He should have told them no, should have stayed with you and taken you home, sneak into your room and watch 80s slashers. His hesitancy made you think he wanted otherwise but didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You sighed, pushing yourself off the wall and stepped towards him.

“Just be safe, Bobert,” you said softly, fixing his tie. Your face was inches from his and both of you will think of this moment to this day because of how you both pulled away, your hands remaining connected to each other until he slipped away with a brush of his fingertips against yours.

The accident was the catalyst, he felt. Morphine injected into his veins, making the pain go away and everything else faded. He needed more of that and once he was discharged, he went out looking for it. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you, of you seeing what he had become. School wasn’t important anymore, getting his next fix to help him forget how miserable and painful life had been was.

There were arguments that he remembered snippets of, many that he hadn’t remembered at all, not until The Void showed him. How you managed to find him at whatever alley or crack house he ended up in, how he resisted your help, then he’d come back and say he’d do better and fall back into drugs again. You believed in him so much that he could recover, yet The Void in him made him spiteful of you. In his mind, it was killing you to save him, so he was saving you by pushing you away.

He wished you knew that it wasn’t your fault that he slipped away and he shouldn’t have yelled at you, accusing you of abandoning him when he found out you enlisted. He knew you were struggling to break away from your parents and still get into a good school. Your family’s financial situation was complicated yet still made you unqualified for full financial aid, and you weren’t making enough at your job to move out, so you thought the Army was a reasonable alternative.

Despite the promise of leave, the minimum of three years of service seemed too long for Bob. One of his biggest regrets was being high the night you had to leave. When he found a moment of sobriety, reality sunk in that you were gone and he didn’t want to live in that reality just yet.

Then the Blip happened. He wished it happened to him, but he had to keep on living. From what he heard, you had vanished along with half of Earth’s population. Why you and not him? You had so many things to do. You had a purpose, he didn’t. Now those three years felt like nothing compared to those five years without you, because now he couldn’t text or email you or meet up for lunch when you were on leave. Now, you were actually gone.

When you and the others that were Blipped returned, he made sure you couldn’t find him again. He didn’t know that you still tried anyways and that you were always a moment too late. After getting your degree, you transferred to the Air Force where you met Joaquin Torres and Sam Wilson. You occasionally operated as a trio and helped them deal with Samuel Sterns and the Red Hulk until Sam asked you and Joaquin to join his Avengers team. The obvious answer was yes.

Little did you know that Bob had become the sole survivor of the Project Sentry experiments and would later cast Manhattan in darkness, then become a part of Valentina’s New Avengers. A team of which Sam threatened to sue for copyright.

____

Bob never wanted to join any of the missions. He had taken baby steps in controlling his powers, but Valentina believed in the method of throwing him in the deep end and hoped he would swim and not drown and take everyone else in the water with him. So, here he was on a mission with the team to check out a possible Hydra group.

The intel given was not sufficient enough and was proving to be more difficult than they were prepared for. Which meant Bob had to utilize his powers more than he would like to protect his friends.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Bob,” Bucky said, gripping his arm.

Bob whipped his head around to their mission leader, golden rings blazing around his pupils, with one hand raised to hold a Hydra agent upside down in the air. Yelena ducked under Walker’s upgraded shield as bullets were shot before gunning down the other agents. Alexei lifted a large cabinet and used it to block one of the doors.

“We need information, too,” Bucky continued, “If we can’t find anything in their database, we need to question them. Besides, with all that power, you can still make the mistake of having your guard down.”

“But I’m invincible,” Bob shot back, dropping the agent.

“But we’re not.” Bucky gestured to the group. “Three of us may have the super soldier serum, but we can still get hit. Yelena and Ava can get hurt. We’re a team. If any of us lower our guards, then one of us is in trouble.”

“I think it’s a little too quiet now, no?” Alexei said without lowering his voice.

Yelena shushed him as she held up the datapad. “We’re still in the middle of a Hydra base. The map just updated and it looks like there’ s more rooms than we were initially told.” She held it up for everyone to see.

Ava reappeared, having ventured ahead. “There’s more locked doors down these corridors, some with different levels of clearances.”

Bucky nodded. “Good work, Ava.” He scanned the updated map and took in their surroundings.

“So, buddy system?” Yelena asked with a shrug.

Bucky and Alexei went ahead towards where their weapons storage should be, hoping to find out what they’re next move is and where they were getting their weapons. Walker and Ava took the corridor where the higher clearance doors were, planning to phase through or bust through. Bob and Yelena took another corridor where electric cables ran across the walls and into different rooms. From Yelena’s assessment, it looked like a quick set up and wasn’t planned for any invaders to break in.

It was hard to say what had set off first. Yelena was looking through their systems for information when there was a series of clicks coming from the other side of the room. Bob turned around for the source of the noise and stood between the threat and Yelena.

Ava had phased through a high clearance room and found an office with notes and a computer to raid. She let Walker in before going through the computer, allowing him to go through the notes and whatever clues that could be in the room. The computer began to flash error the further she scanned through it when red lights started flashing.

Bucky and Alexei reached the storage room to find agents already there making moves emptying the storage when there was a pause as one of them mentioned the trucks being delayed. Just then, an explosion hit from the other side of the base.

Everything was a blur. Ava retrieved what little data she could find and collected the files from the desk before urging Walker to rush out. They ran through the corridors as an explosion shook the building. Walker yanked Ava back as a chunk of the ceiling fell through before she could phase. He looked up through the hole and saw three winged figures flying through the sky, one in the recognizable stars and stripes.

“Sam?!” Walker called out.

Sam tossed the shield out, hitting three missiles heading towards them. “Joaquin,” Sam urged with an unspoken order.

“On it, Cap,” the new Falcon said, flying out to where Bucky and Alexei were, sounds of shooting and shouting erupting in their direction.

“Canary, check the explosion site.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” you said, flying over to where Bob and Yelena were.

Sam landed in front of Walker and Ava, pressing a button on the side to retract his helmet. “Walker, Starr. Director de Fontaine belatedly informed us of this mission with more intel. Someone knew that you were coming.”

“Fuck, we were set up!” Walker shouted, kicking the wall.

“We gotta get you guys out of here before more reinforcements arrive. Do what you gotta do and meet us at the rendezvous point.” He sent the coordinates to their communication device.

“Alright, Captain,” Ava said. Walker shot her a frown which she returned with a shrug. Sam nodded at them both before flying up again.

“‘Captain’?” Walker mocked, “What was that?”

“I don’t know what your deal is. He’s the one that’s actually Captain America and he does have that air of authority and charisma that you don’t,” Ava said, walking past him.

“I’ve got charisma,” Walker muttered, following close behind.

Meanwhile, Yelena coughed as she inhaled ash and dust. Her ear rang as her body struggled to get out of the rubble, each movement nauseating and making the room spin. She couldn’t even call out to Bob as her body shook through another coughing fit. A figure with mechanical wings landed next to her, making her jerk for her gun that she struggled to hold up.

“Hey, it’s okay. Yelena Belova, right?” You tried to soothe her, retracting your helmet and mask to introduce yourself. “They also call me Canary. I was sent with Captain America and the Falcon to retrieve you guys and make sure you return safely. I’m a medic, allow me to help you.”

“Bob… Bob,” Yelena managed to get out, her eyes drifting around.

You restrained yourself from gasping at the name. From the rushed briefing you received from Valentina, you knew that you were eventually going to face Bob, but it felt real now. You scanned the immediate area and turned out with nothing. Hopefully he wasn’t buried under the rubble. Yelena seemed to understand your thought process and shook her head, pointing up at the sky. There, a glowing figure flew past and took out another missile with his body.

“Okay, I’ll get him, but I need to treat you first.”

You weren’t able to give her the full treatment right now, but at least you had enough supplies. Good thing you’ve studied Tony Stark's work and acquired a thing or two from your time helping out Wakanda’s outreach centers. You scanned her body quickly and thoroughly, before taking out a small device from your utility belt. It expanded into an oxygen device, which you placed over her mouth and encouraged her to breathe in. It was a device inspired by the water breathing apparatus that you saw in Wakanda. Shuri had helped develop a device for treating smoke inhalation and gave one to you. Then, you started putting on patches designed to treat minor burn injuries on the ones that you could see and cleaned and bandaged her head just enough until she could get proper medical attention.

“Belova’s down. Looks like she took more damage from the smoke and impact than the fire, but she’s unable to walk right now,” You communicated through your earpiece.

“Ava and I are the closest,” Walker said, “We can get her.”

You situated Yelena to an even surface away from the smoke, making sure she stayed awake until the others arrived. She lifted the mask off and croaked, “Get Bob. He might be too far gone.”

“I don’t believe that,” you said, hearing footsteps rushing over.

“I got her, I got her,” Walker said, rushing to Yelena’s side.

You wasted no time in getting into the sky again, heading straight for Bob. Your heart seized as you watched him crush an incoming helicopter into a ball and tossed it into another one.

“Bob, stop!” You shouted, flying over. There were no threats left in the air for him to attack. But there was you and from what you’ve seen of Manhattan that day, he might not stop. “Bobert!”

He froze, his whole body turning to you. There was a slight glow around him with blazing golden rings in his eyes, far from the baby blues you knew. You shivered but pushed forward, reaching a hand out towards him. He retreated, clutching his head.

“You! You dared to show your face after you abandoned me!” He hissed, a slight echo in his voice. The glow around his body faded, replaced by a shadow that crawled up his body.

His words were like a knife to your stomach. “I didn’t abandon you! You knew why I enlisted, I –”

“You didn’t want to deal with me anymore. I was holding you back.” The knife kept twisting and twisting.

“I was going to come back for you!” You flew closer. “Bob, please.”

You surged forwards and grabbed his arms. Suddenly, you feel your mind being pulled under as you were thrown back in time to your teenage years. You found yourself in your childhood home, following your younger self as you got home from school. Up the stairs, down the hall, and to the bathroom. You felt a violent chill wash over you once you recognized this memory. Bob stood next to you, frowning as the scene played out.

“I don’t want you to see this,” you whispered, pushing him back as the bathroom light bled through the crack of the door and into the hall.

The light reflected off of his eyes and he could see, just for a moment, a razor blade. Your teenage self raised their arm, palm up. You shoved him away into your room before he could see more. Your wrists were stinging from phantom pains at the memory, most of the scars having faded since then. You couldn’t bear to look at Bob, but you could feel the heat radiating off of his body retreating, the air around you growing heavy and chilled. You forced yourself to look and saw Bob shaking, tears streaking down his face.

“I didn’t know. How could I have not known?” he choked out. The darkness returned, crawling up his neck and covering half of his face again.

“I hid it from you. I didn’t want you to know,” you said, rubbing your wrists together out of an old habit.

“You should have told me!” His voice rumbled. The darkness crawled an inch across his face. “I’m… I’m the worst friend. I should have known… But you didn’t even trust me to know, either, didn’t you?”

You realized what was going on and grabbed his face, the dark side icy cold to the touch. “Bobert,” you said softly. The pinprick of light that was his left eye, along with his glossy blue right eye, wavered. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me like that. I… I was ashamed of myself. I thought I was weak and I wanted to be someone that you could lean on. How can you lean on someone who looked unstable, right? And you had it worse at home and I didn’t want to feel any pity or for you to get angry or –”

Bob broke through your hold and wrapped his arms around you. The warmth from his body seeped into yours and you never realized until now how cold you had gotten. The darkness had retreated once more and you were staring into his blue eyes .

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you away,” he said, sounding almost breathless and strained, like his mind wanted to suppress it but his heart wanted to spill, “When you left… I had gone down a dark path that I didn’t want you to see me in. A path that you had been trying to prevent me from going on this whole time while you had your own darkness to deal with.”

“Bob…”

“No, I need to say this. I missed you so much and I knew you deserved better. I tried to get better and, turns out, there are no shortcuts when it comes to this kind of stuff and I’ve made it worse… but I’ve also got friends now. Friends who support me and make the effort to understand me… just like you had all those years ago when you first patched me up. Now…” Bob gave you a reassuring nod, then let go.

You were yanked back into the present, your gut dropping as you felt yourself free falling. Your wings must have retracted sometime during the vision. The button was jammed, making you scramble for the emergency parachute that you had. Before you could pull it, Bob swooped down and wrapped a strong arm around your waist. The sudden force of motion made you choke, hands scrambling to cling onto his shoulders and arms.

“Breathe, I’ve got you,” Bob said, his face more visible, more like the Bob you knew with those blue eyes that you loved, golden rings glowing faintly around them.

You told him about the rendezvous point and held on as he flew the both of you over. You were the last ones to meet up, feeling all eyes on you. Bob gently lowered you down, his hands on your waist until you stabilized yourself.

“Everyone good?” Sam asked.

You nodded, watching as Bob rushed over to Alexei who had taken over carrying Yelena from Walker. Yelena reached over and weakly punched Bob on the shoulder. He chuckled, letting out a quiet, “Ouch.” Yelena lifted the oxygen mask and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Someone got carried away and literally left me in the dust,” she said, her voice sounding a lot better than earlier.

“I let my guard down and you got hurt,” Bob said, dropping his head. “I made everything worse.”

Your heart clenched at those words, all too familiar during your shared childhood, but there was a slight relief as his team all shut it down and complimented him. He flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“You didn’t make things worse, just that things could have been handled differently. And we’re gonna work on that,” Bucky said, squeezing his shoulder. “It also looks like you’ve got a little more control over your powers. I’m proud of you, buddy… but maybe don’t get carried away next time.”

The plane ride itself was uneventful and the group took the time to get their bearings and consolidate the information that they had on the situation. You stayed by Yelena’s side, seeing improvements in her health already. Bob sat on her other side, deep in thought. You tried not to let your mind wander about the nature of their relationship. Besides, it wasn’t your place.

Walker had ceased his pacing after a while, having accepted that Valentina was still going to screw with them despite holding much of her dark secrets that could not only get her impeached but also arrested. He was now getting heated about football with Sam, their volume fluctuating along with Alexei’s occasional bouts of snores as he sat with his legs stretched out before him and his hands folded on his stomach, a picture of peace and content in an uncomfortable sleeping situation. With Yelena’s condition stabilized, Ava had taken your spot next to her, keeping her up with hushed chatter. Joaquin interrupted Bucky’s attempt of a nap by his barrage of questions about Steve Rogers and stories of growing up in Brooklyn more than seventy years ago. This left you and Bob.

Bob played with the sleeves of his tactical suit that looked slightly too big on him. You’ve seen in his file that Valentina gave you that he had been given a gaudy golden suit when they wanted to tout him around as their golden boy. Even that appeared to be the wrong size on him. You saw him stop, then glanced at you and down at your sleeves. You lifted your arm and he gingerly took it, as if he hadn’t thrown a metal table, blown a hole in the ceiling, and crushed a helicopter earlier that day.

He slowly peeled the sleeve back, revealing faint horizontal scars. You felt his body shake again but he held back his tears, covering the scars with the expanse of his palm, the heat burning away the phantom stinging. You dropped your head on his shoulder and reached over to his left arm near his elbow junction where bruising would speckle his skin.

“We’re here now,” you said softly, loud enough for only the two of you to hear.

He felt him nod, resting his head against yours. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

You closed your eyes, basking in the comfortable stillness between you. He was here with you now, after all these years of chasing after his shadow. Despite everything, both of you were still here. Are either of you still the same person that you were the last time you saw each other? It felt so easy to fall into each other, your bodies familiar with each other’s touch, and your eyes recognizing every microexpression and movement in body language.

Bob felt your body go slack against his, your breathing evened out as you fell asleep. He was worried that touching you again would pull you into another shame room, but The Void was quiet. He glanced around at his team, the majority of them preoccupied with their own thing.

Except for Bucky. One of the most observant team members was staring at him. His eyes flickered between you and Bob, then raised a curious eyebrow. Bob got flustered but couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you, as if you were magnets that finally found the other piece to stick to. So instead, Bob shot him with his best attempt of a death glare without any malice behind it. Bucky simply snorted and turned back to Joaquin whose questions were slowing down as the adrenaline wore off.

____

As soon as the plane landed at the Watchtower, the team stormed through and demanded to see Valentina. Of course, she was in an “important meeting” and didn’t want to be interrupted. The team didn’t care and was ready to burst through when Sam persuaded them not to. In his soothing and rational way, he convinced them to wash up and rest before dealing with her.

You, Sam, and Joaquin, were not given accommodations despite Valentina’s insistence on you three staying in the tower for a while. That meant that you had to share a room with someone. Joaquin grinned, going in to wrap an arm around Bucky when Sam called dibs. Everyone else avoided eye contact, not sure if they were able to handle his high energy.

Yelena nodded at you and gestured to follow her. “Doctor needs to keep an eye on their patient,” she said over her shoulder. She shot Bob a smirk, letting him know that she will definitely interrogate you about the nature of your relationship with him.

Bob glared and was startled when Joaquin wrapped an arm around his shoulder instead. Everyone quickly retreated to their rooms, leaving Bob and Joaquin alone in the hallway.

“So, I wanna talk about those cool powers that I saw earlier,” Joaquin started as Bob shuffled the both of them to his room, “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it, then we can talk about something else. Heard you’re from Florida like me and Canary. Where from?”

They disappear into Bob’s room, Joaquin’s voice silenced as the door seals behind them.

Meanwhile, you had taken Yelena to the small med bay that Valentina had set up, the rest of the floor occupied by lab rooms that she assured the team was not meant to create anything nefarious or recreate the super soldier serum. After looking Yelena over, the doctor recommended rest, fresh air, and prescribed painkillers for her aching muscles and headache.

After heading to her room, you found yourself at Yelena’s desk as she showered, the bathroom door wide open, letting the steam out. “So, tell me, Canary,” Yelena shouted through the rushing water, “How do you know our Bob?”

“Well -”

“What? Sorry, I cannot hear you from all the way over there. Just sit on the toilet or something.”

You came over and washed your face at the sink first before settling on the toilet lid. “Well, Bob and I go way back. We were neighbors since grade school and just… drifted apart near the end of high school.”

“Neighbors, huh? You must have heard a lot next door.” You knew what she was doing, but you had nothing to hide, so you answered.

“Yes, I knew about his father. Patched Bob up a couple of times because of that asshole and all those assholes in school. It’s how we met. I hated staying in my house. It was too suffocating. Then, this boy ran into me. He looked terrible. Black eye, busted lip, the works. Gave him some ice for his eye, cleaned his lip, and got him ice cream.”

“Whoa,” Yelena popped her head out of the shower, “Can I have ice cream after this?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Yelena smiled, slinking her head back in the shower. “I like you, Canary. You’re a smart doctor, you’re sweet like ice cream, and you’re our Bob’s long lost love. Ha, I think binge watching melodramas with my dad is really affecting me.”

“Wait, wait, wait, who said anything about long lost love?” you said, flustered.

Yelena poked her head out again, water dripping everywhere as she stared you down. “You’ve experienced The Void, yes? Seeing the things that you were the most shamed and traumatized about?” You nodded. “Well, the team has seen many of Bob’s and you were there for many of them. You cared for him. You loved him. I saw you on the plane. You still do.”

You stared at your hands, thinking back to when you touched his arm. For years, you would see finger shaped bruises, then tiny dotted ones, but now they were gone and something else replaced it. You felt the power that hummed under his skin, subtle but warm. But just because the bruises aren’t visible doesn’t mean it’s erased from his memory.

“It was easy to love him. It’s needing him to believe that makes it difficult.”

The shower squeaks off and Yelena’s arm shoots out to grab her towel. “You can say that again. Imagine a team full of emotionally constipated assholes learning to communicate and express emotions just so our teammate doesn’t get consumed by his own darkness.”

“Helps you guys to not get consumed by your own darkness, too, right?”

Yelena stepped out of the shower, wrapped in her towel. She studied you, then nodded. “It does.”

“You know, since we’re here, I think you guys should also speak to Sam,” you said, following her out the bathroom, “He was a counselor at the VA. He may not have the super soldier serum, but I like to say that his superpower is empathy. He’s really good at what he does.”

“I know! I saw that video of him talking down that Red Hulk. Super cool stuff. I don’t think the team would be up for it, though.”

“He also does group sessions,” you suggested.

“Very tempted, Canary, but first, after you shower we might binge watch another soap opera. We do that a lot when we unwind and want something that’s not action. My dad started it and we all just sat down and watched it with him.”

You didn’t think that when Yelena said “we” that it meant everyone on the team was actually sitting down and watching soap operas together. Everyone had taken Sam’s advice and washed up, their bodies seemingly more relaxed as they slowly gathered in front of the large flat screen TV in the common room. Snacks and drinks were up for grabs on the coffee table and the team had taken the usual spots around the couch.

There were two chaise lounges that sandwiched the wide couch. Yelena walked past you and stretched out on one of them, her dad already settled on the other one. Walker was in a lazy boy chair that was angled to the TV, clutching a banana from the fruit bowl with the leg rest inclined. Ava sat next to Yelena, sharing a popcorn bowl that had extra butter and pickled jalapenos. Bucky appeared relaxed for once, although he seemed more relaxed ever since Sam arrived anyways. He perched himself on the other lazy boy chair, rocking it like an old disgruntled man with a beer in hand.

Joaquin and Sam didn’t mind sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch, two beers in front of them and a big bowl of chips and salsa between them. Bob sat next to Joaquin, a small smile on his face as the other man offered him chips and salsa, too. You took the empty spot on the couch above Bob, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl to pick on. Bob looked up and offered you a smile as you settled in, shifting around so that your legs boxed Bob in. He wrapped an arm around one of them and leaned back with a soft sigh.

Everyone’s face was glued to the screen as things started to get tense. You gently ran your fingers through Bob’s brown hair, leaning over occasionally to offer an orange slice to him. He’d absentmindedly angled his head to take it with his mouth and hummed in appreciation, his eyes not leaving the screen.

“Why won’t you look at me? Markus!” the woman on screen screamed.

“Elizabeth, we can’t!” the man, Markus, said, yanking her hands away from him.

She gasped, her makeup suddenly running. “Why not? I love you! You said you loved me!”

“Ah, man, I have a bad feeling about this,” Joaquin whispered, having experience watching telenovelas with his mom and grandma.

“Because…” Markus whipped around, breathing heavily, “You…” He looks down, then peers up at her intensely, “You don’t know what happened to your father, do you?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “What does this got to do –”

“My brother… had a child out of wedlock.”

“Oh, my god,” Yelena muttered in Russian, chewing on a jalapeno.

“Could have been worse,” Ava added. Sam shot her an incredulous look. She shrugged.

“You…” Markus continued, shaking Elizabeth’s shoulders, “Are my long lost niece.”

The scene froze and the outro music began.

Bucky groaned, complaining about how the twists haven't changed over the years and that he hated those “secretly related” tropes. Walker and Alexei exclaimed with the former throwing his banana peel to the screen, making the TV wobble slightly.

“Welp, as their patient, Doctor Canary said I could have ice cream,” Yelena said, handing the popcorn bowl back to Ava and hopping off the chaise lounge to get to the kitchen.

“Good, I need it!” Alexei said, getting up to follow his daughter.

“I see you’ve upheld your tradition,” Bob said, looking back at you upside down.

You leaned forward so that your face was right above his and squished his cheeks. “It helped my very first patient. I figured I could use it on special occasions.”

He placed his hands over yours and kept them in place, a dopey smile spreading on both of your faces. It was silly, but being together after all those years made it feel easy to be. Life had not granted either of you many moments of softness. Sure, you made friends after Bob, including Joaquin who had become like a brother to you, but it was only recently that you had opened up more to him and even Sam and you had a feeling that it was the same with Bob and his team who also had their rough edges.

“Lovebirds, get your ice cream or else we’re eating it all without you!” Walker called out.

The gallon of vanilla ice cream was scrapped clean as everyone took their fill. You and Bob made your bowls and decided to retreat to his room, ignoring the teasing from the team.

“We will recap you when you return,” Alexei said as you both disappeared into the hallway leading up to the rooms.

You sat cross legged on his bed facing each other as you recounted your days in the Army, your decision to continue serving after college and medical school by transferring to the Air Force, and your life that led you to working with Captain America. Bob finally opened up about what happened to him, how he had struggled with his addiction while trying to hold down a job, how he traveled to Malaysia for a study, hoping to get better and be better. Then, he spoke of how he met his new family and how it led to them being called The New Avengers.

“Who would have thought that our decisions would lead us back to each other like this?” you said, putting your empty bowl on the bedside table.

You looked around his room, a lot more spacious than his childhood room, a little less personalized, but it had potential. Your eyes landed onto Bob who was frowning as he was lost in thought. He had changed out of his tactical gear and into a blue and dark blue striped baggy sweater and comfy gray sweatpants, his brown wavy hair reaching his jawline. He looked soft and comfortable, not just in his clothes, but also in himself. You took his empty bowl out of the way, stacking it with yours, and scooted over to him. He blinked as he was pulled out of his thoughts by your movement, his eyes watching you closely.

You reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, your hand lingering for a few seconds before you pulled away again. “That glow in your eyes,” you started to say, “Does it happen whenever you use your powers?”

Bob nodded, playing with his sleeves. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then finally met your eyes. “I’ve been trying to keep it under control… keep him under control. Whenever my powers get too much, he takes over.”

“He?”

He tried his best to explain it the way he understood it. There was no set definition and some of it was uncharted territory. Valentina had facilitated this transformation, but even she didn’t know what she created. He likened it to a form of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Not quite separate identities, but a little more like parts of himself, his emotions, being separated into their own physical manifestation. His arrogance and delusions of grandeur. His emptiness and shame. They may share his memories and see through his eyes, but being intense manifestations of his emotions can be too much for him and caused black outs on his end. He was getting better at it and he had been remembering more as his control over his powers improved.

“I think I get it,” you said. You tilted your head to the side. “I’m glad you’re doing better, with all things considered. You have a team to support you and the means to train and control your powers.”

“And look at you, a doctor that flies with Captain America.” You both laughed at how funny life was, then sat in a comfortable silence. Bob shifted around to lay down on the bed and patted the space next to him. You joined him, your hands centimeters away as you stared up at the ceiling. “Was this what you have always thought your life would be like?”

“There’s no way I would have thought that I’d be working with superheroes. I’m just… me, you know? And to be honest, I’ve always pictured us someplace, I don’t know, maybe a medium sized town. Not too small where everyone knows everyone and not too big where it’s too chaotic and noisy. We’d have a house in a nice neighborhood. Not cookie cutter type but not rundown. I’d be working at a local clinic helping people and you’d be working at the bookstore, probably reading more books than you were selling them. Now that I think about it, those were big asks.”

Bob turned to his side to face you and smirked, nudging your shoulder. “You imagined us living together?”

Your cheeks heated. “Well, yeah. We were supposed to escape from our hometown, start over somewhere else together. That was the plan, anyways, after serving and finishing college. Then, things happened.”

You risked a glance at him and he was staring back, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m sorry that I accused you of abandoning me,” he said shakily.

You cupped his cheek gently, reminiscent of the day you first patched him up and the many times after when you had looked at him with those eyes that were full of something he never was sure about. It was never a look he saw at home, so he didn’t wonder about it until now. It made his throat tighten, his heart squeeze, but yet his body could not help but lean into you every single time. So he did, he finally gave into it and that constricting feeling he had was not because of you, it was because of himself for suppressing happiness and the yearning to lower his guard, to just be. It was the fear of being hurt again, of being caught in a moment of weakness and having it turned against him. When he gave in, it all spilt out.

He wrapped his arms around you and cried, one of your hands rubbing circles on his back while the other ran your fingers through his hair. He had gotten better at physical touch and expressing himself. The whole team did.

Yelena had become his best friend and was the first to offer a hug if he needed it and sometimes, especially after a rough mission, she would ask for a hug, too. Alexei started with more of a fatherly pat on the back, but he would easily hug his daughter, while Walker’s was more of a brotherly with a tough exterior pat. Ava was still getting used to it, having spent years not being able to hold a solid form for long, but she appreciated an arm squeeze every now and then, reminding her of her new stable being, that there are others who’d notice if she’d disappear. Bucky was a surprise to him. Despite his resting grumpy face, his hugs were warm and weighted. Grounding and reliable.

Your hugs, though… Your arms felt like protective walls, your body heat a warm blanket. Fingers caressing him like he was precious, your soothing voice soft like sharing a secret that only the two of you know. But there was something else, too. Time has passed and neither of you have gone unscathed by it. Your hands were steady and firm. You could be gentle, but there was more of an assuredness to them. Your arms pulled him in tighter, like you were shielding him from the world and holding in his darkness. Gone was the hesitancy that held you back and Bob responded just the same. He knew he was broken in some ways and you still had shame rooms that were left untouched.

Despite these changes, Bob was quite sure of this, something that he had a small taste of when you were both safe in your childhood room and away from the world, when you both were in that hallway during prom. He had seen it happen between Sam and Bucky and in a familial way between Yelena and Alexei. Two people who would bicker and spend a good amount of time away from each other, but always fall into a familiar rhythm with each other. Another foreign concept that he could not quite place in his unstable life until now.

Your hugs were like coming home.

“You feel a lot warmer than I remember,” you mumbled, “And not the sweaty stinky puberty or withdrawal warm kind.”

He hummed. “I run hot now. Something to do with having the power of a thousand suns.”

“Hot damn.”

Bob snorted at your corny joke. “I love you,” he whispered, muffled as his lips were pressed against your head.

“I love you, too.”

It was easy, a simple truth that grew since that fateful meeting. Whether it will mean anything more would be too early to say. What mattered now was that you were together again.

____

Joaquin was strolling down the hallway as the group called it quits for the night, ending the soap opera marathon on yet another cliffhanger involving amnesia and a possible character death. He almost reached Bob’s room when Walker steered him away.

“Yeah, no, buddy, I think you’re going to be rooming with me tonight,” he said, redirecting him to his room.

“Oh, are they… okay.” Joaquin pointed at Bob’s door and then turned away, letting the man guide him. “So, I heard Sam and Bucky dislocated your shoulder. How does that work with the super soldier healing factor?”

“Oh, boy,” Walker sighed.

“I was actually looking forward to our sleepover, but I guess this is fine, too,” Yelena said, heading to her own room.

“Ah, young love,” Alexei said, “But we are all in agreement that any of you bring someone over in the future, we would have to interrogate them, yes?”

“I’m never bringing anyone over,” Ava muttered, “Goodnight guys.”

There was a chorus of goodnights before the doors were closed. Sam and Bucky walked side by side, glancing at each door as if they were prefects at a boarding school. Bucky had a fond smile on his face, which he quickly wiped away when he caught Sam looking.

Bucky cleared his throat and pulled a frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with a chuckle, “Just that you’ve got an interesting team here. I think this is good for you.”

“Does that mean you’ll pull the lawsuit?”

“Ha ha. I know I was upset with you, but my fight isn’t with you, it’s Valentina. I’ve seen how governments exploited heroes, soldiers, and Valentina is self-serving and sly. I don’t want her to be waving the Avengers name around to get her way. But, if you join my team…” Sam raised his eyebrows, letting the offer sit.

They stopped in front of Bucky’s room as he thought it through. “You’re asking me to join your Avengers team?” Bucky asked incredulously.

Sam shrugged. “I was always going to ask, but you weren’t answering any of your calls. It was only when you were made Valentina’s Avengers did you try calling me back. I gotta say, man, you were really scrambling there.”

“It wasn’t planned. We were actually about to arrest her when she told the press that we were the new Avengers, so…”

“Yeah, I kind of figured. I’m just messing with you.” Sam looked across at Bob’s door. “You know, I’ve never seen Canary initiate physical touch beyond a professional level. Heard their folks weren’t the affectionate type. Joining the army, then the Air Force helped them form bonds and they got a real shock with how Joaquin is, but this is the most affectionate and soft I’ve seen them.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. “Bob’s had it rough, too, growing up. We knew of Canary to an extent. Childhood friends that grew apart. When I saw it… I couldn’t help but think of Steve, you know? Sometimes when Bob puts himself in the line of fire to save his friends, I think of that little guy from Brooklyn standing up to assholes in a damp alleyway. His pops can be real mean, too. Had to patch him up all the time. But them? I think they’ve got something special.”

“Let’s slow down and let them figure it out, huh? Besides, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Lead the way, Cap.”

#bob reynolds x reader #robert bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts fic #the new avengers fic #slow burn #childhood friends to lovers #posting this and running away #marvel fic #I have ideas for part 2 involving a group therapy session lol

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hanniebaeee · 14 days ago

Text

Not Your Type

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: Nothing much

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluffff, angst

Summary: He saves you from trouble. And you fall head over heels. You're a rich girl, he's struggling to make ends meet. But love knows no bounds right?

a/n: Ok, so this turned into a whole Kdrama 🤣 But I love this Jinnie so much omg 🥺 I usually don't post on Mondays, but here it is 🤷‍♀️

You knew this dress was a mistake. You hated it the moment your mum shoved it into your hands and demanded you to wear it.

A shimmery, black number with a cut so high on the thigh you might as well have just worn some glitter and called it a day. But no. This was mum's way of nudging you not so subtly into the marriage market, hoping that some future business heir from this high-society party would take an interest.

And if that dress wasn't enough, your mum had the nerve to slide next to you and poke your ribs with her elbow and say, “Smile, darling. You look like a corpse in designer wear.”

So you gave a withering glare and you left. Stomped out. Heels clicking against the marble dramatically until they clicked on the road dramatically.

You had walked a long way until you registered the silence. You stopped short, swallowing as you took in your surroundings. A quiet alley. Dark.

The moment the reality of your situation crashed in in the form of a shadow in the dark, your knees were already shaking. Literally.

You turned and started speed walking - as fast as those cursed heels let you - but you could hear heavy footsteps behind you, closing in fast.

Of course this was the perfect time and outfit for a creepy stalker to take interest in you. Of course. The night you looked like an expensive, trembling snack in five-inch heels.

“Hey, princess,” the voice rasped behind you.

Shit.

But before you could even gasp, another figure stepped in between you and the stalker. Tall. Long limbs. Broad shoulders in a dark hoodie. Short dark hair. And cold.

His gaze flicked lazily to your stalker. And he took a step forward.

“Leave,” he said, voice low and calm. “Now.”

The creep stammered. Blinked. And to your surprise, turned and ran.

Silence.

Then the stranger’s eyes slid to you. You were frozen - heart pounding and barely breathing.

“You’re not from here.” He stated, voice flat.

His gaze ran down your dress - slow and unbothered - and back up. And then he sighed.

“What kind of idiot walks through this part of the city dressed like that?” Another glance at your outfit. “You’re lucky he was a coward.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning to get stalked, thanks.” You bristled.

His brows lifted the tiniest bit as he said, “And yet here you are.”

“What’s it to you?” you snapped, crossing your arms.

“Nothing, actually.” He said, and turned like he was about to leave.

“Wait!” you blurted. “Please don't leave me here!”

He stopped and sighed again.

“Where do you live?” You swallowed and told him.

“That's not too far.” He said. “Come on, I'll walk you.”

He started walking, not waiting for you. The nerve. The absolute nerve. You wanted to throw a tantrum right there, but you hurried after him, heels clicking.

“You know, you could be nicer to the girl you just saved.”

“Oh so I have to save you, and be nice to you. And anything your highness?”

Your heart flipped. But you caught yourself, but not fast enough, unfortunately, because you were pretty sure that you just imprinted on him like a damn baby duck.

“Do you treat all damsels like this?” you muttered.

He snorted, the tiniest, briefest smirk ghosting his mouth. “You’re no damsel.”

Damn right.

“I cannot stop thinking about him.”

“You’re still on this? Seriously?” Your cousin Minho groaned loudly from your bed, face buried in a silk pillow.

Jeongin, your best friend, didn’t even look up from his phone, as he said, “What’s his name again?”

“I don’t know,” you whined, flopping dramatically onto the bed. “That’s the problem. He saved me from that creep. He was gorgeous…like a fallen angel in a hoodie.”

“Or like a potential criminal.” Minho snorted.

You threw a cushion at him. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Jeongin sighed deeply, finally looking at you. He was the picture of a perfect young businessman. Perfect black hair. Rolex watch. Already CEO of his father’s company.

“Babe. Seriously. Why him?” he asked.

“Because,” you huffed, rolling over, “he didn’t care about me. He didn’t even look impressed. Or starstruck. Or interested. Like I was just... normal.”

Minho lifted his head, looking scandalized. “God forbid.”

You pointed at Jeongin. “You. You can find out who he is. I know you can. Call Seungmin and find out for me, please, Innie.”

Jeongin squinted at you like you’d grown two heads. And you'd mentioned Seungmin - Jeongin’s friend (your short term fling from your uni days), and also a lawyer, who had the necessary “contacts”.

“You want me to run a background check on the stranger who saved you in a back alley? With the help of your ex.” Jeongin repeated.

“Obviously. He isn't my ex, he's just -”

“Babe. You cannot be serious.”

You flopped again, more dramatically this time.

“Innie, this is a life and death situation.” You stared at the ceiling with a sigh. “I want him.”

Minho sat up and hit you with a pillow. “You are unhinged.”

Jeongin stared at you for a moment and then sighed like his soul was leaking out of his body.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, pulling out his other phone - the shady one. The black one you weren’t supposed to know existed.

“Jeongin!” Minho gasped. “No. Don’t encourage her insanity, so quickly.”

“She’s going to make me anyway,” Jeongin grumbled, typing furiously. “Might as well get it done before she sells her watch to hire a private investigator.”

“That was one time!” you cried.

“Princess. What exactly are you planning when I do find him?” he asked, glancing at you over the screen.

You grinned, wicked and sure.

“Oh, I’m going to marry him. Oh my God.” you squealed and tackled Minho into a hug as he flailed.

“She’s going to eat this poor man alive.” he wheezed as he wrestled you away.

—

A few hours later:

Jeongin stood in front of you, holding his tablet like it was the Holy Grail.

“I found him.”

You sat up so fast your hair smacked Minho in the face, and he made a disgusted sound, shoving you away.

“Tell me everything,” you gasped.

“Name - Hwang Hyunjin. Lives in a terrible part of town with his single mother and little sister, Yeji - high school, smart kid. He works two jobs. Day shifts at a garage. Night shifts at a diner near the river.” Jeongin read out.

“Criminal record?” Minho asked, sitting up.

“None. Not even a parking ticket.” Jeongin scrolled. “Guy’s clean. Like... painfully clean. His school record? Top of his class. Wanted to go to art school. Didn’t. Had to stay and take care of the family ‘cos dad's not in the picture, and mum's a bit poorly to work.”

You were silent. Too silent.

Jeongin looked up as he said, “No mob ties. No arrests. He’s just... broke. Really broke. But responsible. Works like a dog to keep his sister in school. And keeps weird rich heiresses safe from creeps, apparently.”

You stared. Heart pounding.

Minho squinted at you. “Oh no.”

“I love him,” you whispered.

Minho threw his arms up. “Jesus CHRIST -”

“I knew he was good.” You grabbed a pillow, hugging it to your chest. “I knew it. I could smell it. Like... honour. And a bit of tragedy.”

“Princess, no.” Jeongin pointed sharply at you. “You can’t ‘love’ someone because you read a background check. That’s insane.”

“I can and I do.” You grinned, full teeth. “I’m going to marry him.”

“Stop. Stop this immediately.” Minho said, shaking his head. “If your mum finds out-”

“Marry him. Have his babies. Take care of his family.” you ranted.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Minho said, dragging a hand down his face. “Jeongin, you broke her.”

“Babe. You can’t just... show up in his life. You’re from this world.” He gestured grandly around your room. “He’s from a place where if rent is late, the landlord screams through the walls.”

You just smiled.

“All the more reason I want him.”

Minho groaned. Jeongin groaned harder. You flopped back on the bed, sighing dreamily.

Hwang Hyunjin. Beautiful. Big sad eyes and rough hands and a world you weren’t supposed to touch.

The bell above the greasy diner door chimed when you pushed it open. God. It smelled like fried onions and floor cleaner in there.

“Okay, princess,” Jeongin’s voice crackled through your AirPods. “Go seduce the poor man.”

“I hate this,” Minho groaned. “This is actual social suicide. She’s going to die.”

“Shut up, both of you,” you hissed under your breath, sauntering toward the counter. “He’s here. I see him. Oh my God, he's such a dream.”

Hyunjin stood behind the counter, white apron on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and head down as he wiped the counter with a rag.

He glanced up, saw you, froze and narrowed his eyes.

You had half a mind to scramble from there, but you took in a deep breath and walked up to him, sat on the cracked red bar stool and smiled at him.

“Ohhh it’s you,” you said aloud, and heard snickering from your idiot friends on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” Hyunjin asked.

“Just here for some coffee-” you said, smiling like a maniac.

Silence. He looked you up and down like you’d fallen from space.

“Coffee,” he repeated slowly. “Here?”

“This is so bad,” Minho whispered.

Hyunjin folded his arms, apron tugging tight.

“Not really your type of place, princess,” he said coolly. “We don’t serve sparkling water or gold-dusted lattes, in case you got lost.”

But you didn't hear half of what he said because you were gazing at him with those big eyes, pupils blown wide and a soft blush covering your cheeks.

“You’re perfect,” you said without thinking.

“Oh my God,” Jeongin shrieked. “BABE HE JUST INSULTED YOU!”

Hyunjin blinked and frowned as he asked, “What?”

“I…uh…I heard the coffee’s good here!” you yelped. “Just wanted to try it. I love coffee. And local businesses, you know. Love them.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Minho said, cringing on your behalf.

Hyunjin sighed and turned, grabbing the ancient coffee pot.

“She’s gonna drink that sludge and die,” Minho whispered gleefully.

“Babe, you can still run, he’s not watching,” Jeongin said.

Before you could say anything, a chipped mug slammed in front of you. Hyunjin leaned in, eyes sharp.

“Drink.”

You blinked up at him and then lifted the mug. Taking a deep breath, you sipped. And nearly died. It tasted like nightmares and tar.

Jeongin snorted as he said, “Want me to call an ambulance?”

Hyunjin watched your struggle, his mouth quirking - just barely - as you forced it down.

“Good?” he asked.

“Delicious,” you coughed, smiling like your life depended on it. “Best... best coffee ever.”

He leaned closer, elbows on the counter and his eyes burned into yours.

“Why are you really here, princess?”

“Oh my God,” Jeongin gasped. “He’s onto you. Abort! Abort!”

“Maybe I like the view?” you offered in a small voice.

Minho made a dying seal noise and said, “NO. You did not just say that.”

Hyunjin gave you a suspicious look.

“Try not to choke on it,” he muttered, sliding the sugar jar toward you. “Can’t have you dying here. Bad for the business.”

You nodded, stirring sugar into the horror coffee.

“She’s gone. This is the end. She’s ruined.” You heard Minho groan as Jeongin laughed.

You took another sip, and grimaced. Ok, so you can't do this. Not another sip. So you pushed the awful cup away.

“Ugh. You win,” you huffed, looking up at Hyunjin. “Fuck the coffee.”

Hyunjin leaned on the counter, arms folded, a slow amused smile tugging at his mouth. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“You think?” he drawled. “Told you it was bad. But you rich types always gotta try things for the thrill, right?”

You pouted, feeling your face heating up.

“No,” you said loudly, with your heart in your throat. “It’s not the coffee.”

His brow arched, his eyes daring you to speak.

“I like you, okay?” you blurted. “I really do. You’re the first person I’ve actually liked in…God, forever. And I don’t know how to play the cute, coy girl. So there. I like you.”

The air froze between you as Hyunjin blinked and stared like you’d just spoken parseltongue.

“What?” he said flatly.

“I like you.”

His mouth twitched - but not into a smile. But rather into disbelief and cold annoyance.

“Okay. That’s not funny.” He said, his jaw ticking. “If that's all, you can leave.”

Your stomach twisted. Oh this was all so wrong.

“I’m not joking,” you said, sitting up straight. “I swear I’m not. I -”

His hand hit the counter, hard. Not loud, but firm - enough to make you shut up.

“This is my workplace,” he said sharply, but his voice didn't raise at all. “Not your playground. I work double shifts to pay for rent. To buy dinner. To keep my sister in school. Not that you’d know what that feels like.”

You flinched.

“I’m not some shiny toy for you to chase when you’re bored,” he bit out, voice tired, but sharp. “So whatever game you’re playing - stop. Get out. And I’ll pretend this whole thing didn’t happen.”

His chest rose and fell fast, jaw tight. His hand gripped the counter like he wanted to break it.

And you - ridiculous, spoiled, hopeless you - just sat there. Heart racing and face hot. And wanting him more than ever.

“Hyun-”

“Get. Out.” he muttered again, cold, sharp, final. “Please don't play with my life.”

Oh, you weren't doing this. You weren't used to this - being told off for being simply honest. You were so innocent like that. What did you even do wrong? You were in love, was that a crime?

So you stood and stepped closer, leaning in till his face was inches away from yours. Hyunjin’s body stilled like a wild animal caught in headlights.

And you smiled, slowly and sweetly. Like you knew something he didn’t.

“How dare you. I know you think I'm some deranged rich girl. But you don't get to say things like that just because I'm rich. I'm human too. And,” you whispered. “Just so you know - I’m gonna marry the fuck out of you, Hwang Hyunjin.”

His eyes blew wide, and his mouth parted in barely concealed shock.

“Because I think you're amazing and I'm in love with you,” your voice cracked, but you held on. “I’m gonna marry you. And then I’m gonna show you what I can really do. Just you wait.”

SILENCE.

And then -

“AAAAAAAAHHHHH -” Jeongin squealed in your ear like a dying dolphin. So damn loud that your eardrum actually rang. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD SHE SAID IT - SHE PROPOSED IN A DINER - MINHO SHE PROPOSED IN A DINER -”

Hyunjin was frozen. His jaw moved but no words came out. His pretty mouth opened, closed and opened again. Like you’d broken his entire brain.

“Speechless, babe?” you teased softly, and he blinked - once, twice.

“You’ll see, Hyunjin,” you said softly, the hurt showing on your face for the first time since you stepped into the diner, and Hyunjin swallowed hard.

You straightened, collected yourself, winked, and sashayed your rich, totally humiliated ass right out of that diner, leaving him gaping like you’d hit him with a truck.

---

You wobbled out of the diner with your heart hammering and your throat burning. Your friends watched as you yanked open the car door - Minho’s sleek black Porsche - and threw yourself into the back seat.

And burst into tears. Loud, ugly, no dignity left tears.

Minho turned slowly in the driver’s seat and sighed.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, staring dead ahead. “Are you seriously crying over diner-boy now?”

Jeongin popped his head between the front seats, grinning like a gremlin.

“Babe,” he cooed. “Babe no, come on. You killed it in there. It was hot. Honestly I nearly asked for your hand myself.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes. “He hates me.”

“No he doesn’t,” Jeongin said, climbing fully into the backseat beside you and pulling you into a hug. “He was shook. You fried his brain, babe. He doesn’t know what hit him.”

“He told me to get out,” you wailed.

“Maybe because you proposed like a crazy person, while he was at work!” Minho scolded, grabbing a few tissues out of the box in the dashboard, and offering them to you.

“Shut up, hyung!” Jeongin snapped. “She’s so brave. She’s a queen. She just confessed her love, that's not a crime!”

You sniffed again, and hugged Jeongin tighter.

“I’m gonna marry him,” you mumbled miserably.

Jeongin grinned wide. “Damn right you are.”

The next morning:

Hyunjin shoved open the garage door - his face dark and tired. Chris, the owner of the garage, glanced up from the ledger he was looking at.

“What's that face for?” he asked, walking around the little counter and walking towards the garage door to swat his younger brother Felix, who was ogling at a girl outside.

“Stop flirting with her, Lix! Her dad’s gonna kill you, and then throw her in a convent. So please get back to -”

“Hyung! She smiled at me!” Felix whined, rubbing his head. “Ahhhh she smiled!!”

Chris glared. “Get back to work, right now.”

Hyunjin sighed loudly and sat down on an old toolbox.

“And you,” Chris said, pointing at Hyunjin. “What happened?”

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, “She happened.”

“She who?” Felix’s head popped up from behind a car. “The rich girl?”

“That girl,” Hyunjin muttered.

“OHHHHH?”

Hyunjin shot him a look. “Shut up.”

Chris smirked. “And?”

“She came to the diner last night. Said she liked me. Confessed. Right there. And told me she's gonna marry me.”

“Holy shit,” Felix breathed, looking way too excited for someone who just got swatted for slacking.

“And what did you do?” Chris asked, trying to hide the fact that he was trying not to laugh.

“I may have kicked her out of the diner…and she may have left crying…”

Felix gasped so loud.

“HYUNJIN YOU DON'T MAKE GIRLS CRY!” he scolded, his beautiful face set in a scowl.

“I had to,” Hyunjin whined. “I’m not dragging someone like that down here. What am I supposed to do, make her eat instant ramen and ride the subway? She’s not built for this life. She thinks she is. But she’s not.”

Chris leaned on a car, eyes wide. “But you like her.”

“What?” Hyunjin said, looking surprised.

“You obviously like her.”

“Maybe.” Hyunjin exhaled, looking pained. “She's adorable, ok? She looks at me with those big sparkly eyes and I'm gone. Like when I helped her with that creep? She looked at me like that. And yesterday? She looked at me like that again, and I wanted to die. I just wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole, because I know I don't deserve her, but now it's gonna kill me to see her marry some CEO and carry on with her life -”

“Man. You’re so doomed.” Felix said with a grin.

Hyunjin groaned, covering his face with his hands.

You were strolling down the street with Minho, sipping on bubble tea, looking totally depressed. Well, that was until your face lit up like a Christmas tree as your eyes fell on him. Across the street. You gripped Minho's arm so tight, it made him yelp.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Lino look!!’

Minho's eyes followed you. And there came Hwang Hyunjin, with a pretty teenage girl beside him - his sister, had to be - and they were laughing at something.

“He looks so happy. Are you gonna terrify him in the middle of the street, darling?” Minho asked, sipping his coffee.

“I mean, I have say hi to my sister-in-law, don't you think?”

“You're unhinged.”

“I learned from you.” You quipped with a shrug, before waving at Hyunjin.

He slowed the moment his eyes locked onto yours. And they widened in horror.

“Hyunjin!” you chirped, and Minho stopped dead beside you.

Hyunjin froze like an animal in headlights. Again. Yeji blinked up at him and then, across the street at you.

“Who's that?” she whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

You beamed and bounced across the street with Minho sighing and trailing behind like a weary dad.

“Hi!” you greeted brightly, waving.

Hyunjin rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but your face. Yeji was glancing between you both and her narrowed, seeing her brother’s ears turn a bright shade of red.

“This is...uh…” Hyunjin coughed. “This is...a friend.”

“A friend?!” Minho hissed in your ear. “When did that happen? When did that happen?!”

You elbowed him sharply, grinning at Yeji.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you said, smiling sweetly. “It’s so nice to meet you. You must be Yeji, right?”

Her face lit up as she nodded.

“Oh, your brother talks about you all the time,” you teased, shooting Hyunjin a glance.

He choked.

“I don’t -”

“Oppa, you didn’t tell me you had such a pretty friend!” Yeji giggled and you giggled back - like two old friends already.

Hyunjin’s eyes met Minho's, who stood beside you, utterly silent, sipping his bubble tea with the sourest poker face you’d ever seen.

“Hyunjinnie, how come you didn't invite her over for dinner?” She said, giving Hyunjin a teasing look, and then turned to you and said, “Do you wanna come home for dinner? He’s cooking tonight!”

“No, she doesn’t -” Hyunjin started, panicking.

“Yes I do!” you gasped, clapping your hands. “I’d love to!”

Hyunjin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Like he was praying to every god he knew. Because honestly, his heart ached seeing that smile on your face.

“It’s nothing fancy, but you’ll come, right? I wanna hear how you met oppa!” Yeji saud and you nodded.

“Oh, I’ll tell you everything,” you laughed.

“Of course you will. Of course you will.” Minho groaned softly beside you.

---

You stood in front of Hyunjin’s apartment door with a paper bag in one hand and flowers in the other. You have been standing outside his door for like ten minutes now, trying to gather your thoughts. You were scared to death. You really were.

You so desperately wanted him to like you, but that sharp stab every time he looked so done with you didn't help. Neither did the butterflies in your tummy.

Just as you raised your hand to knock, Hyunjin opened the door. Seeing your panicked face, he grinned and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest.

“Were you gonna stand here all night?” He teased and yeah. All that sass and courage leaked out of your body and left the chat real quick.

“I was gonna knock.” You said, indignantly.

“Like you were gonna knock that last five times?”

“Shut up.”

“My home, my rules.”

“Well, it's gonna be mine soon. So there.” you said, you face so close to his, and he looked away, but still had that grin intact.

But he had to give it to you. You looked like a dream in your pale pink dress, hair loose, face fresh, holding flowers and chocolates like you were here to charm a kingdom.

“Who’s at the door, Hyunjin?” his mother called from the kitchen.

Yeji popped into view behind him, eyes going huge.

“Y/N! Why are you just standing there?! Come in! Mum look!”

You grinned and held out the flowers, just as his mum came into view.

“For you, princess. And these are for you, Mrs. Hwang. I hope it’s okay.”

“They're beautiful!” Yeji gasped, grabbing them.

Hyunjin stepped back silently, watching you charm his mum and sister. You slid past him with a wink.

“Smells amazing in here. Can I help?” you asked.

His mum smiled, sweet and tired, and said, “Of course you can help. Hyunjin, give her an apron!”

He fumbled one off the hook, muttering under his breath.

“You really don’t have to -”

“But I want to,” you cut in, tying the apron with a grin. “Tell me what to do.”

And just like that, you were in, chopping garlic beside his mother and stirring soup with Yeji chattering happily beside you. You laughed when his mum teased you about your useless rich-kid knife skills, and showed you how to do it right.

And Hyunjin? He leaned against the counter, watching it all unfold. Stealing glances every moment he could.

He didn’t mean to. He'd promised himself not to dream about something he knew wasn't possible for him. But here you were in his little kitchen, hair in a messy bun, sweating in the kitchen heat, and laughing so sweetly when his mum scolded you for cutting the tofu too thick. And his chest squeezed.

Damn it. You looked like you belonged there. Like you fit. Like you could stay forever. Even though his poor heart screamed the reality.

Yeji hooked your arm, giggling, telling you some story about Hyunjin, and you laughed, throwing your head back - so unapologetically… you.

Hyunjin felt his ears burn, and his cheeks burn. His entire body burned. His mother leaned in close to him, smiling.

“She’s sweet,” she said softly. “I like her.”

Hyunjin swallowed hard and shook his head.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he muttered, eyes flicking to you.

“I think you’d be lucky, boy.” His mum patted his arm, and Hyunjin really didn’t know what to say to that.

Because you were stirring soup in his kitchen, smiling like sunshine. And he was already losing this war.

A few weeks later:

Hyunjin had just started his evening shift at the diner and it was unusually quiet, except for the soft clink of cutlery and the low hum of old music crackling from the radio.

Hyunjin wiped down the counter, shoulders stiff, and his eyes tired. And then the doorbell chimed. He looked up expecting his usual trucker gang. But it wasn't them.

It was Jeongin - waltzing in like he owned the place, his silk shirt gleaming. He grinned his beautiful boyish grin as he sat on the exact barstool you had sat on some days ago.

Hyunjin went on to stacking the coffee cups for no real reason, avoiding Jeongin’s eye.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Hyunjin muttered without glancing up, “it’s a no.”

Jeongin propped his chin on his palm, and said, “Don’t be like that, hyung. I came for coffee. And maybe to give you some unsolicited advice.”

Hyunjin scowled. “No coffee. No favors. No schemes.”

Jeongin sighed, dramatic as hell.

“You’re so difficult. I get it, you don’t like me, I’m too rich, too flashy, blah blah.” He waved a hand. “But you like her, don’t you?”

Hyunjin froze, the last cup on his stack wobbling.

“That’s none of your business,” he said quietly.

“Wrong,” Jeongin smiled. “She’s my best friend. It’s exactly my business.”

Hyunjin’s jaw ticked as he gave Jeongin a glare.

“She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t want this. Or me.” He hissed. “She’ll hate this life. Give her time. She’ll wake up.”

Jeongin leaned forward, and sajd, “She’s not asleep, hyung. You are.”

Hyunjin shot him a warning glance, but Jeongin kept going, softer now.

“You think you’re protecting her. Like she’s some delicate princess in a glass tower.”

Hyunjin frowned.

“But you don’t know her like I do.” Jeongin’s voice dropped, gentle and serious now. “She looks strong and loud and stubborn. I know. But she’s the softest, most breakable thing I’ve ever met. So good. So stupidly genuine. And if it’s not you…” He shrugged. “It’ll be some rich husband. Some billionaire. Yes. You think she deserves that. But do you really want her to have a pretentious empty life? She’ll smile in pretty dresses and die quietly inside. Have you seen her smile, Hyunjin? The one she has when she talks about you? I have.”

The silence stretched between them. Hyunjin put the wobbly cup down and sighed.

“It’s not fair to her,” he whispered. “I can’t give her anything.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want things, hyung. Maybe she wants you.” Jeongin smiled softly. "Besides, what's wrong in letting her give for a change?"

Hyunjin looked down - his chest feeling tight. Like even breathing hurt. Because no matter how many times he told himself that he can't do this, the way you babied Yeji and cooked with his mum, so many times over the weeks, had his heart completely surrendering to you.

“She deserves better.” he said, his voice a whisper.

“She deserves what she wants,” Jeongin said gently. “And she wants you.”

The bell above the door jingled again and Jeongin stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.

“Think about it, hyung.” He smiled, knowing. “She loves you.”

And with that, he left, leaving Hyunjin staring at the cup in front of him. Chipped and old. And wondering if Jeongin was right.

But his thought bubble popped as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and pressed the phone to his ear, ignoring the ‘no phones during working hours’ policy.

“Hey mum-”

---

Hyunjin burst into his apartment, panicking.

“Yeji?”

His little sister sat curled on the couch, face buried in a cushion, sniffling like the world had ended. Their mum stroked her hair gently, looking absolutely worried.

“She won’t talk to me.” she said. “She hasn't said a word since she got home.”

Hyunjin's eyes fell on the big blotches of ink stains on her white uniform shirt, his heart squeezing in worry.

“Yeji, come on.” Hyunjin crouched beside her. “Talk to me. Who did this?”

She just sniffled. And it hurt Hyunjin more because she was the sweetest child. She knew Hyunjin did everything he could to give her a reasonably good life. He did take up extra work apart from his diner and garage jobs, whenever he could. She hated to burden him. Or their mum. He knew that.

Hyunjin sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and grudging, almost desperately, he pulled out his phone.

And did the thing he never thought he'd do.

---

Twenty minutes later, you blew into the apartment like a spring breeze, in a soft sundress and pretty sandals. And a giant stuffed bunny under one arm.

Jeongin strolled in behind you with grocery bags and the smuggest grin ever as he placed a few tubs of ice cream on the kitchen counter.

“Where’s my baby?” you said softly, kneeling beside Yeji. “Hey, princess. Wanna tell me what happened?”

Yeji peeked out from the pillow, eyes huge and wet. For a long, awful moment - she said nothing. Hyunjin and his mum watched as she quietly stood up, took your hand and led you inside to her bedroom.

And now, seated on her bed, she held your hand and said, “They...called me poor…said my clothes were ugly. Called me trash... and...and poured ink all over me and laughed at me, because they know I would go back with this shirt again...”

And she broke, his tiny little sobs absolutely breaking your heart. Your eyes went soft as you held her as she cried. You saw Hyunjin peeking through the crack in the door, taking a step back as he saw his sister in your arms.

Hyunjin's back hit the wall, a hand over his heart as he willed himself not to cry. He felt so terribly guilty.

“Yeji,” you said gently. “Look at me.”

She did.

"First of all," you whispered, "anyone who says something like that is smaller than a speck of dust. Second, you know what I see when I look at you?"

Yeji blinked.

"I see someone kind. Someone smart. Someone who’s gonna grow up and run the world. And, you should know that bullies always end up in the gutter…at some point of time."

A soft, tiny smile graced her face.

"There it is," you grinned. "That pretty smile. Just like your brother's."

Yeji laughed a teary laugh and sniffled.

“Of course you'll say that,” she teased in a shaky voice.

Hyunjin heard you laugh, and even through his tears, he smiled.

“Will you allow me to fix this?” you asked.

“Can you?” Yeji's eyes were big as she asked that.

“Of course, you're my family now. And no one messes with my family.”

Yeji giggled softly, and Hyunjin’s heart cracked a little. Then a lot.

“And you have this now.” You plopped the giant bunny into her lap. “Hold on to this, and consider it done.”

Yeji giggled harder and hugged the bunny tight.

You stood, smoothing your dress, and stepping out of the room to find Hyunjin standing right outside. You could see that his beautiful eyes were moist and he was trying so hard to not let it show.

“Don't worry, Hyunjin, I'll handle it.” you said.

“Wait, what?” Hyunjin said, alarmed. “What are you -”

But you were already walking out the door, grabbing Jeongin’s arm like a handbag.

“Let’s go, Innie. We’ve got bullies to end.”

“No violence!” Hyunjin called out. “Y/N!”

You stopped so abruptly on hearing Hyunjin say your name (probably for the first time) that Jeongin walked straight into you and stumbled.

You turned around, trying not to let your emotions display on your face as you said, “Of course not,”

The next day, when Hyunjin arrived at the principal’s office at Yeji's school, you were already there, laughing with the principal.

A few teachers and four girls stood by the side, shifting nervously. You were dressed in a dark blue dress, hair styled perfectly, with a smug look on your face.

“Hyunjinnie, come, sit,” you said, and the principal was quickly on her feet, welcoming Hyunjin in like he was the president.

Hyunjin shuffled in and took a seat next to you, completely lost. And you slid a file across the table toward the principal, and said, “And that is a formal complaint against the girls bullying my sister-in-law. I have such low tolerance to bullying, but obviously you are such a capable educator, I'm sure you'll handle the situation well. If not, I'll have my lawyer pay a visit, since we already know the lowlifes who ignored all the previous complaints -”

The principal shook her head vigorously, and the teachers on the side looked horrified. So did the girls. And Hyunjin was glancing at you and then those teachers with wide eyes.

“We'll let the principal handle this for now, right, Hyunjinnie?” You said, turning to look at Hyunjin, who nodded and said, “Yeah. Yes.”

“Oh good!” You said, standing up, throwing those girls one last death glare. And Hyunjin stood up too, and followed you out of the office.

“What did you do?” He asked, catching up with you.

“Oh nothing much. Just a few new computers. New library shelves and books, and -” You smiled sweetly.

“Ohh so you didn't flex your money at all.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes.

“Oh please. No one messes with my family, babe,” you shot back. “I take my sister-in-law duties very seriously.”

You winked and Hyunjin stared, his heart fully betraying him. Because he was this close to accepting the fact that he was in love with you.

You turned with a swish and strolled past him like the queen you were.

“See you at dinner, Hyunjinnie.”

He caught your hand, suddenly, and you turned, your eyes falling on his hand and then looking up.

“Hey.” Hyunjin said, his ears turning red. “Thank you.”

You smiled, a truly lovesick giddy shy smile, and ran off - leaving him standing there. Blushing and breathless. And absolutely, 100%, hopelessly doomed.

---

Later that night:

Dinner was done. You and Yeji were howling with laughter as you told her all about how her bullies begged and apologized. And their mum, smiling as she watched.

Now as you carried the dishes to the sink, where his mum was washing the dishes, Hyunjin came up to you.

“Hey,” He muttered awkwardly. “A word?”

Your eyes met, and you nodded, before following him into his room.

Door closed, and Hyunjin sighed, back to you, hand on the handle, steadying himself.

“Listen, I’m trying to make this make sense in my head,” he began, voice strained. “You can’t just…do things like that. Being here. Charming my mum. Fixing things for Yeji. Make my heart -”

He stopped, and turned. And saw you gazing at him like he was the only star in the entire sky. Like he'd hung the moon. Like you were so gone for him - it made him absolutely dizzy.

“God,” he whispered. “I can’t do this. I can’t -”

And then he grabbed you, and cupped your face, breathless, and kissed the hell out of you.

No warning, no hesitation, no self control. Just pure unfiltered need. You gasped, and then melted into him, clutching his shirt as he walked you backward to the bed, lips moving together. The back of your legs hit the bed, and you fell back pulling him down with you. And of course -

SQUEAK. The world’s loudest, most traitorous bed squeak.

“Shit -” Hyunjin muttered against your mouth, trying to stop the metal springs from screaming.

“Fuck, they’ll hear -”

You grinned into his kiss, holding on to him tighter. “Hyunjin... they already know...”

He groaned softly, forehead dropping to yours.

“I swear to God, hold still. Or they’re gonna totally misunderstand this.”

SQEEEEAK.

The bed protested again as you shifted deliberately, smug as hell.

His eyes flew wide and he whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

You gave him a wicked grin, your fingers running through his hair now, and his jaw tightened. He closed his eyes as your nails raked over his scalp.

“Woman, you’re going to ruin me.”

“You like it,” you whispered.

He groaned, helplessly and then kissed you again. And you adjusted underneath him and the bed screamed again.

“We're gonna need a new bed if-” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah yeah, we do-”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @sammhisphere @soona-huh @princesskrystix

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #skz fluff #skz angst #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #Not Your Type by Hanniebaeee

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postracehair · 4 months ago

Text

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: fracture

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sagatale · 1 year ago

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Dreams Of You

Hello everyone! So, I thought I would give posting fanfics a shot, starting with this small "blurb?" of Jacob Black. Obviously, aged up! I have been wondering quite a lot recently how imprinting would feel and be perceived since it's described as more intense than normal love. I really hope you like it, and if you have any other ideas for a longer fanfic you would like me to write next, let me know, and I might write it!<3 sexual content 18+ minors dni

“I dream of you all the time.” His voice was low, his breath brushing against your collarbones as he found a place in the crook of your neck. Warmth surrounded you, scorching skin burning through the layers of clothing, heating you until all left were cold fingertips and even colder lips. “Even when I’m awake, I still dream of you.”

The words were almost unrecognizable as his mouth pressed against your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. His words never failed to make your heart flutter at his blatant affection for you. Never did it cease to overwhelm you, for he told you that there were truly no words that could describe how he yearned for you every minute—every second of his long, exhausting days.

Indeed, you couldn’t imagine what that was like, for if you harbored feelings in that vast amount, there could be no other way for you to deal with them than simply exploding.

Sometimes, when Jacob was perched over you, arms wound tight under your back as he hugged you close to him, strong legs helping him push into you, you could almost be sure your thoughts weren’t too far off the mark. The way his hands always seemed to handle you softly now strained against his strength, pulling you so tight against him as if having you close was the only way to keep him from eating you alive.

His pronounced brows permanently furrowed something so terribly, eyes tightly shut as sweat dripped down his skin, the salty substance dripping down your chest as his lips distracted themselves by dragging his tongue over your pulse, breathing in your scent til it consumed him whole. Strained breaths could be heard, grunts mingling with your quiet whimpers as your hands trailed over his shoulders, feeling his body tremble beneath them, shaking something so terrible.

You’d ask him if he needed a break, worry consuming you when his strong arms gave up, pressing into you more urgently as the bed rocked against the wall. Yet it turned out there wasn’t anything the matter with his stamina as he growled in protest when you tried to sit up, his heavyweight over you making your attempts futile, desperate lips finding yours as he slowed slightly, grinding into you as you moaned at the tortuous rhythm he set.

“You’re shaking, Jacob.” You’d say quietly, fingers threading through his damp hair as his hazy, warm, brown eyes found yours, once more planting his lips against yours. “I’ll be okay.” He’d mumble through the kiss, tongue caressing yours as his hand softly placed itself on your cheek, threading over your skin as if it were porcelain.

It didn’t take long for him to move inside you again, eyes glazed over as he stared into yours through lidded eyes, mouth open over your gasping one as your fingers ran through his black hair. Bringing him down to you once more, you felt the ridges and bumps of his upper body against you, muscles clenching with every thrust as if it took every willpower of his to control himself.

“God.” He panted out, releasing you to slap his hands against the mattress, gripping the sheets tightly in one hand as you heard them rip under his harsh treatment, the other hand taking hold of the headboard. The wood complained under his hard hold, crumbling as his hold tightened. Your hand found his cheek amidst the pleasure coursing through you, thumb carefully stroking the skin as you whispered his name.

It felt like every sense of reality was swept away from Jacob as his unfocused eyes fell on you, heart thumping so hard against his chest it felt like it would punch through both skin and bones. Shaking his head, he looked at you again, still finding your lidded eyes staring back at him like he had created the world you walked on.

“You’re gonna kill me,” He grunted, reveling in the feeling of your cold fingertips against his hot cheek as his stomach coiled something so terribly, making him believe he was going to go insane with desire.

In a way, he always feared being this close to you, for only being in your presence was overwhelming for him, never mind feeling your soft skin against his and hearing your pleasure-filled whimpers as he took you. Oh, how he had longed for you, how much he longed for you now, even though he was the closest to you he could ever be.

He didn’t lie when he told you he always dreamed of you. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you, like you were carved into his eyelids. He never could get close enough, and while that was a curse in itself, it was a curse he wouldn’t trade for any other.

#jacob black smut #jacob black x reader #jacob black imagine #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #twilight smut #jacob black #twilight fanfiction

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no-144444 · 8 months ago

Text

Mark my words.- o.piastri

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

summary: mark slips up about your marriage.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! rb!mechanic! wife! reader

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He crossed the finish line, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face. Sure, Checo had crashed in the last lap and Max had gotten p6. Not a good result, but then again, that’s what you had told Christian would happen if he didn’t let you build the car.

You were Adrian’s protege. You were the next Newey. Christian was just too focused on the past.

“Fuck!” he groaned, slamming his headset on the desk.

“I told you so,” you sighed, leaving him at the desk and running to the parc fermé. Oscar would be coming through in mere minutes, and you wanted to be there to see him. Secretly dating another team’s driver wasn’t easy, but you two made it work. You were both lowkey about things, even though you’d been married for about a year now. You stood beside Nicole, far away from your own team, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to see the light in his eyes when he came up to his mum and you.

Nicole wrapped her arms around you, cheering as you both relived the moment that Oscar had won. Oscar Piastri, 2 time Gran Prix winner. He’d proven himself time and time again, he wasn’t a second driver, and McLaren now had a difficult choice to make.

But all that was for another day. Today was about Oscar.

He ran over to the team, finally spotting his mum and you beside her. You could see from his eyes that he was smiling. She pulled him into a tight hug.

“You did it!” she cheered, holding him close. “I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled off his helmet, smiling at her. “Thanks mum, love you loads,” he smiled, then turned his attention to you. “Not bad, eh?”

You smirked. “Not bad Piastri.”

“Not bad for you either, Piastri,” he smirked as you rolled your eyes.

“Go get weighed idiot, I’ll catch you in the airport, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss you for the world,” he winked, then walked off to continue the celebrations.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You woke up the next morning, sore, with Oscar beside you. You groaned as you turned over, shutting off his alarm. “Osc,” you yawned.

“Shush,” he whispered. “Five more minutes.”

“Oscar, we need to get up,” you reminded him, but he just tightened his grip on your waist. “Come on Osc, I need a shower.”

He smirked and you rolled your eyes, not missing his innuendo. “I could-”

“We did enough of that last night, give me time to recover,” you laughed. “Worth a shot,” he smiled. “Alright, I’ll start on some breakfast.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a sweet greeting (also short because his breath stinks in the morning) and you went your separate ways. This weekend was Singapore, and you knew how tough it was on every driver, engineer, and mechanic. Singapore was always the race you dreaded. It was unpredictable and hot. Way too hot.

You came out of the shower to see Oscar pacing the kitchen, on the phone with a very stressed Mark. “No I understand that, but I thought they wouldn’t hear us… I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Oscar, it’s too late mate. You’d better just come out with it, or get your mum to, or something. People are getting really confused and they think Y/n is your sister or something,” Mark sighed

You burst out laughing, making Oscar laugh.

“They think we’re siblings?” you laughed. “What the fuck?”

“You did call her ‘Piastri’ to be fair mate,” Mark chuckled.

“Well that is her second name!” he defended.

“Osc, just post our wedding photos or something,” you shrugged. “Or we could just let people speculate.”

“Sorry baby, but I don’t really love the idea of people thinking you’re one of my sisters,” he mocked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

You shrugged, grabbing a piece of toast he'd made you. “I don’t care, I’m just an insignificant engineer from RedBull.”

He rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re so helpful,” he responded sarcastically.

“Using sarcasm as a defence mechanism because you don’t want to admit you’re the breadwinner of the family? How humble and noble of you,” you laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek and squeezing his ass, making him jump.

“I hate it when you do that,” he scoffed, batting your hand away. You knew he loved it.

“Anyways, what’s our action plan lads?” Mark asked.

“Up to you,” you shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Will I post on twitter and act like it’s been common knowledge?” He suggested.

“Mate, no one would believe that. You’re known for keeping things secret and being nonchalant, just do that,” Mark laughed.

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. “Thanks Mark.”

“See you in Singapore,” he sighed and you grained as Oscar hung up the phone.

“Fucking Singapore,” you groaned.

“I know,” he nodded in agreement. “Hopefully this year I won’t be as ill.”

“Let’s fucking hope so,” you smoothed down his hair. “You need to start brushing your hair baby. It’s so awful in the mornings.”

His lips became a line and he nodded. “Humbling me isn’t always necessary,” he breathed out and wrapped his arms around you, grabbing your ass as he pressed kisses on your face and neck. “But it is appreciated,” he finished sarcastically, as you pushed him off giggling.

“You’d appreciate it more if you took the advice,” you muttered, taking a bite of your toast.

He shook his head, chuckling. “How’d I get so lucky?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You shrugged. “By using the dark arts?” you teased and he just laughed.

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You walked into the Singapore paddock with Lando, deep in conversation about his upcoming birthday party. You usually weren’t photographed all that often in the paddock, and when you were, it’s usually because you were beside a driver or someone more important, mostly because you were known to ruin photos. Holding up your middle finger, threatening to flash the camera, etc, it’s what has made you a Gen Z favourite. You also refused to go up on the podium, no matter how many times Max asked. You were pretty low-key about everything, it worked well.

“So I was definitely thinking a DJ, but what about the dress code? Should it be casual? Business casual? Black tie?” he questioned.

You rolled your eyes. “Club attire Lando, it’s being held at a club, let people dress like they’re going to a club.”

He nodded, as if he’d never thought of that. “You’re a genius!”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you sighed as he walked off to the McLaren motorhome.

You walked off to the RedBull motorhome, noticing more cameras on you than normal. Most people just left you alone, it wasn’t often that the camera followed you (mostly because of your aforementioned behaviour), but tonight they wouldn’t let up.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Even as you sat in the pitlane, chatting to Daniel, you were still being recorded.

“Do you know what this whole thing is about?” you asked Daniel and he looked at you like you were crazy.

“Have you not seen what Mark posted?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“What the fuck did he post?” you asked, rushing to get your phone out.

And there it was. Mark had announced it for you.

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aussiegrit

tagged: oscarpiastri , reallyy/n

Liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen and 872,928 others

aussiegrit: These two crazy kids were too busy being in love (and winning races) to tell you guys that they’re married! Love you two xxx

comments

alexalbon: oh oscar’s going to go mad.

landonorris: marks time of death: now.

oscarpiastri: I WANTED TO POST FIRST

oscarpiastri: THIS SHIT IS UNFAIR. FUCK YOU MARK -> reallyy/n: someone will be sent to the stewards if you don't stop with the language...

pierregasly: it still freaks me out that they're MARRIED and 22 and 23. like wtf. -> kikagomez: 👀 -> pierregasly: ... -> user82: SHE CLOCKED YOU I FEAR

user93: I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS (no i'm not.)

user22: THIS IS SO ADORABLE WTF

sebvettel: good memories! officiating was such a blast! -> user883: SEB OFFICIATED? -> user21: it makes sense, y/n has been super close with the schumachers and seb since she was a kid because of her dads job as a mechanic in f1. he worked for ferrari from the 1980s to around 2015. -> user02: LORE DROP?????

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“That dickhead!” you cursed. “I’m going to go find Osc, I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and sent you on your way. You had to tell Oscar, he definitely didn’t know yet, right? He was going to lose it at Mark, he wanted to be the one to post, he wan-

And you walked into someone. Someone wearing papaya. Oscar wearing papaya. Oscar.

“Did you see?!” “Did you see?!”

You both chuckled, then remembered the situation.

“I’ll kill him for you if you want?” you offered and he just smiled.

“It had to come out somehow,” he shrugged. “Though, those aren’t the pictures I’d pick.”

“We all know what pictures you’d pick,” Lando interjected, winking at you. Oscar elbowed him. “I meant your wedding pictures!” “Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “Anyway, we can call him later and kill him together. Sounds good?”

He nodded, wrapping a hand around your waist, the other landing on your ass. “Sounds great.”

He quickly pressed his lips to yours, feeling all of the cameras on him, but still not caring. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you smiled before walking away, back to your conversation with Daniel.

Mark was going to get murdered, that was just a fact. Mark your words.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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batshit-auspol · 2 years ago

Text

So a bit of background first for our international followers: Clive Palmer is one of Australia's many mining billionaires who like to meddle in our country's politics, and as such he is utterly despised by all of Australia.

Picture for context:

He is most commonly known online by the title "Fatty McFuckhead", (problematic as it may be) because he tried to sue a youtuber for $500,000 for calling him that - and he lost. So the name stuck.

Up until his most recent foray into parliament, the legally certified Fuckhead was best known for his batshit business ventures, such as attempting to build "The Titanic 2" (failed) and trying to build a dinosaur theme park (also failed, but at least nobody got eaten by a T-Rex in this one).

For a very long time Clive played the role of sugar daddy to Australia's largest conservative party, the ironically named Liberal Party, until they had a falling out in 2012 after Clive claimed there was too much money influencing politics (lol), at which point he started his own party, days after saying he totally quit and wasn't fired and he only left because he didn't want to be a distraction.

His initial run at parliament was actually kinda successful, with Palmer's group winning 4 seats, plus a member from the "Motoring Enthusiasts Party" joined them too after accidentally getting elected and not knowing what the fuck to do.

Despite this initial success however, Palmer's party (which ran on basically no platform other than "I'm rich") hit an iceberg (titanic 2 achieved) and seven elected state and federal politicians quit within the first year.

By the time the next federal election rolled around, only one Palmer party candidate was still running for re-election. The most successful of this group - Jaquie Lambie - quit to sit as an independant and is still in parliament today.

Here she is with a painting of herself strangling Clive (she sells signed copies of this)

And here the senator is posting about liking sausage:

Anyway, we're getting to the point: which is the yellow posters. By the 2016 election, just two years after forming, the party was in complete freefall. It won just 0.01% of the vote at their second election, and it was announced shortly after that Clive was quitting politics and the party was being shut down. Australia breathed a sigh of relief.

It was, of course, short lived.

Clive, in desperate need of attention, restarted the party for the 2019 election, fielding candidates in every seat and spending $60 million in advertising in an attempt to win votes.

Every single candidate lost.

It was in this campaign however that Australia really started to fall out of love with Palmer, because most of that $60 million went towards putting up the world's least compelling marketing billboards on almost every single free space in the country.

For a good six months this was basically the only thing you would see in Australia if you went outside:

Clearly Graphic design is his passion. And yes, the genius did just straight up try and copy Trump's homework while changing a few words, hoping nobody would notice.

Very quickly these all got vandalised and it seemed the ad companies didn't care enough to replace them.

We could go on posting examples, there are thousands, but the best is definitely the one Ikea put up shortly after Clive lost the election:

In 2022, Clive's party contested the election AGAIN, this time also opting to send millions on spam text messages to every person in Australia begging for people to vote for him, as well as buying almost every youtube ad for a year, at the cost of $100 million.

He won a whopping one seat.

During this election Clive ran on an anti-lockdown, anti-vax platform with the slogan "freedom, freedom, freedom". That message, however, was slightly undermined when his goons, dressed in 'Freedom!' shirts, made national news for trying to beat up a protester who turned up at a rally dressed as an annoying text message, shouting "pay your workers" at Clive.

As if that wasn't bad enough, at another rally Clive knocked himself unconscious while trying to jump up on stage, and then a few weeks later was rushed to hospital with covid, while his anti-vax ads were still in regular rotation on TV, at which point it was also leaked to the press that Palmer had been alledgedly trying to buy Hitler's car.

Utterly humiliated, the party deregistered again shortly after the election.

Can't wait until he runs again in 2025.

Anyway, on the other "Clive tweeting Miss Kobayashi's Dragon" thing, we have no idea what that means but here's a screencap:

#australia #auspol #history

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modanisgf · 5 days ago

Text

DIE WITH A SMILE ; DANIELA AVANZINI.

“IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING, I’D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU.”

in which you and daniela are tired of sneaking around.

☆ PAIRING(S) : katseye!daniela x 7th member!reader

☆ WARNING(S) : not really any!

☆ TAGS : established relationship, secret relationship, wlw

a/n— this is short n sweet sorry guys… was rushing to post this its a draft from forever ago😭😭😭 ALSO NOT PROOFREAD.. AND HAPPY DANI DAY!!

daniela smiled, as her girlfriend tiredly made her way towards her in the practice room. you sat down right next to dani, laying your head on the girls shoulder.

“i don’t know how you do it dani. i’m so tired after like 2 hours of choreo.” you say, closing your eyes for a moment as you felt yourself relaxing by daniela’s side.

“anyone would get tired n/n.” dani says, giggling.

you simply nod, continuing to let yourself get comfortable until you hears loud footsteps. you jump up from your girlfriends shoulder, the door opening only seconds later to reveal sophia.

“guys we only have a little bit longer until curfew,” their leader states to which daniela nods.

“start packing up.” sophia says, making you groan once the door slammed shut.

daniela laughed at the annoyance in her girlfriends face, as she pulled the girl closer to her and ran her fingers through her hair.

“it’s okay, we still have a bit of time left. just relax.” daniela says quietly, making the girl beside her smile.

you relax once again, closing your eyes as you laid your head on daniela’s shoulder again this time from in front. daniela grabbed your waist keeping a tight grip to make sure you wouldn’t fall from her lap.

daniela smiled at her girlfriend in her lap, giving a small peck to your forehead as you fell asleep.

you felt so comfortable in her arms, if only it could always be that way.

—

the rest of the girls were out getting dinner, and you made sure to keep your girlfriend home with you. you were currently laying your head in daniela’s lap, the girl playing with your hair as you both watched the show on the tv.

the atmosphere was so calming, a cool breeze passing by the two of you from the cracked window. it felt so nice to be alone with your girlfriend for once, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

you stared up at daniela, taking in her appearance. she looked so pretty in the glow of the tv, you wanted to kiss her so bad. daniela noticed your stare, her eyes averted from the tv to your face causing your eyes to lock.

“everything okay?” shes asks, taking you out of your trance.

“you’re so pretty.” you say quietly, making the girl above you blush.

“that was so out of nowhere..” daniela mumbles.

"i'm just admiring you." you say, giving daniela a small smile.

she returned the small smile, “thank you.”

daniela ruffled your hair a bit after a period of silence, making you groan.

“dani…” you mumble in arrogance, making the girl above you laugh.

“what? i’m just admiring your hair.” daniela responds, laughing even more at the annoyed look on your face.

there was another period of silence, broken by dani again. she reached for your face, holding it while she spoke to you.

“can i kiss you?” dani asks, her voice soft.

you nod, sparking a small smile from your girlfriend. she held your face gently, giving you a small kiss. dani pulled away for a moment just to go back, kissing you for longer. though her time was up, as the front door swung open. dani didn’t realize it at first, continuing to kiss you. but when she opened her eyes and saw the horrified look on your face, her heart dropped.

“you two are dating?!” megan gasps, the rest of the girls walking in almost in insane shock as well.

you and dani froze. the two of you quickly glanced at each other before getting off of each other in a hurry.

“who? us?”daniela says stupidly, causing you to side eye her.

“way to make it anymore obvious..” you mutter, recieving a apologetic look from your girlfriend in response.

“wait, i actually called it…” lara says, gasping in awe.

“hello? what do you mean.” you reply, glancing at dani once again.

she had sort of a relieved expression on her face, making you smile a bit. you were glad that she felt safe with the girls knowing, considering the two of you weren’t exactly sure on telling them. for one, you didn’t want them dropping the news to anyone who shouldn’t need it (megan) and you also didn’t want to deal with the teasing. the girls teased the two of you without even knowing you were dating, you imagined it would only get worse now.

“you guys are so unbelievably obvious,” lara starts, making you and dani embarrassed.

“for starters, you two are so tense around each other whenever we’re live or filming. it’s like you’re making sure you don’t fuck up and hold each other the wrong way. secondly, you’re the complete opposite off camera. you’re so touchy with each other that if you weren’t dating— you’d both be in denial. and also—“ lara continues, getting cut off by you.

“okay, i think we get it.” you groan, laying back on the couch in embarrassment.

“we just didn’t wanna tell you guys incase you weren’t cool with it y’know, members dating can get kinda weird.” dani replies, giggling a bit at your embarrassed state.

she grabbed your hand while waiting for a response, rubbing circles onto your thumb. daniela was always so sweet to you, making sure you felt comfortable always.

“well if we didn’t all know or have a little bit of an idea, we wouldn’t of cared. and plus, all of us have betted on it since dream academy.” sophia shrugs, leaving you and daniela gagged.

“what, have you two met each other? you’ve been looking at each other like you’ve been married for six years since the beginning.” manon adds.

“so in conclusion we should’ve just told them..” you mutter to dani.

“yeah..”

#katseye x reader #katseye #katseye smau #daniela katseye #daniela avanzini #daniela avanzini x reader

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b1eedthefreak · 2 months ago

Note

reader with bf daryl who is obsessed with her tits and loves to suck and play with them, but also likes to lay his head and squeeze them in a non sexual way?😇

⌇ Lay Right Here

⌇ Daryl Dixon x Reader

summary ⌇ Daryl comes home tired and needy, and your chest just happens to be his favorite pillow

warnings ⌇ fluff, cuddling, Daryl being obsessed with reader’s chest in a very non sexual way

⌗ word count ⌇1.5k

a/n ⌇hello everyone i am trying a new layout this is my test post if this looks ugly i’ll cry. anyways i had fun with this request

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❀ ⋆｡˚ ˚｡⋆❀

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You were stretched out on the couch, flipping lazily through an old magazine someone had scavenged a few weeks back. The late afternoon sun was spilling through the windows, painting everything golden, and you were so lost in the soft quiet that you didn’t hear Daryl come in at first.

The front door clicked shut and heavy boots padded across the floor. Before you could even turn your head, a familiar weight dropped down next to you. You smiled when you felt Daryl’s scruffy face nuzzle into your chest, his arms wrapping tight around your waist like he hadn’t seen you in months.

“Hi Daryl,” you laughed, setting your magazine aside. “Rough day?”

He just grunted, burying his face deeper into you.

You giggled and ran your fingers through his messy hair, feeling the way he melted instantly under your touch. “You’re like a big dog, y’know that? A big dirty dog.”

He mumbled something against your skin. You caught pieces of it , “Tired.” “Missed ya.” “Smell good.”

You smiled even bigger, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer. His hand came up, sliding lazily over your side and finding its way to your chest, giving it the gentlest squeeze like it was his favorite thing in the world.

You shook your head fondly. “You’re obsessed,” you teased.

“Damn right I am,” Daryl muttered without missing a beat, squeezing you again for good measure. “Best pillow I ever had.”

You laughed so hard your shoulders shook. “I’m serious! You’re worse than a teenage boy.”

Daryl finally lifted his head, just enough to look at you. His blue eyes were heavy lidded and warm, the corners crinkling from his sleepy smile. “Ain’t just ‘bout sex. Jus’ like holdin’ ya.” His hand squeezed again, this time more gently, like he wanted to prove it wasn’t about anything dirty , just comfort.

Your chest ached in the sweetest way. You cupped his jaw with your hand, stroking your thumb across his stubbled cheek.

“I like holdin’ you too,” you whispered.

Daryl’s smile widened a little. He dropped his head back down, pressing a soft kiss right over your heart through your shirt. “Could lay here forever,” he mumbled, his voice low and rough and full of something so tender it made you want to cry.

“Don’t let me stop you,” you said, closing your eyes and letting your fingers tangle in his hair again. “Not like I was gonna get up anyway.”

He chuckled against your skin. “Good. Stay right here with me.”

You stayed like that for a long time, just breathing together, the house warm and silent around you. Every so often he would mumble something — little praises you barely caught. “So soft…” “Smell like heaven…” “Mine…”

At one point, you shifted a little and he immediately grumbled, tightening his arms around you like a possessive bear.

“You gonna let me move at all, Dixon?” you teased, laughing.

“Nope,” he said stubbornly.

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “God! you’re needy.”

He smirked into your chest. “Only for you baby.”

Your heart practically melted into a puddle. You kissed the top of his head, feeling the way he smiled against you.

Minutes turned into hours. The sun started dipping lower, painting the room in shades of orange and pink. Neither of you moved, not wanting to break the spell.

After a long stretch of silence, Daryl finally spoke again, his voice rough and quiet.

“Gonna marry ya someday.”

You tilted his chin up gently so you could see his face. His blue eyes were serious, his mouth soft and a little nervous, like he was scared you might laugh.

Instead, you smiled so big it hurt and whispered, “Yeah? You better.”

His whole face lit up, the tiniest smirk tugging at his mouth. He ducked his head back down, hiding it in your chest again like he was a little embarrassed.

You hugged him tighter, running your fingers over the back of his neck. He stayed there, holding you close like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

When he spoke next, it was even lower, just a breath against your skin;

“‘M gonna take real good care of ya… startin’ with gettin’ you upstairs… and outta this shirt.”

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❀ ⋆｡˚ ˚｡⋆❀

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#daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #norman reedus #daryl dixion x reader #norman reedus smut

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hhhwnr · 10 days ago

Text

ꨄThe Wish List — S.R

masterlist + navigation

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (established relationship)

genre: domestic fluff, comfort word count: 725 warnings: none!

summary: The plan was simple: dream out loud. Neither of you noticed when dreaming turned into planning.

author’s note: I clearly have something for written confessions. I’m new to writing on Tumblr and in English (which isn’t my first language), so please be kind. I’m open to suggestions / feedback, as long as it’s respectful :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨✵୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It starts purely by accident. You and Spencer were waiting for food at a roadside diner after a long drive — post-case — the kind that leaves you emptied out just by what you saw, regardless of it’s outcome. You were toying with a napkin on the table, pen in your hand. Spencer noticed — of course he did — spinning a pen or folding a napkin provided tactile stimulation, which helps to regulate the nervous system, reduce anxiety, give your brain something to focus on, and—

Things we should do one day:

You scribbled on the napkin and doodled a little star at the corner.

Spencer blinks, shaking off his clinical thoughts, leaning over. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Try every pie on the menu. Go see the Northern Lights. Pet a cow. Get lost on purpose.”

“Add ‘attend a meteor shower in the middle of nowhere.’ ” Spencer smiles, going along with your idea.

The next day, Spencer woke to find a notebook on his nightstand—small, soft-covered, with little stars and whales drifting across a navy sky. The cover was painted by you, no doubt about this. He could picture you hunched over the table with small lamp on surrounded by paint, long after he’d fallen asleep. Tucked inside was a note in your handwriting, a little crooked, from a rush, probably, but still so, so yours.

In case the napkin gets lost. I want to keep dreaming with you.

He ran his fingers over the cover, thumb brushing the edge like it might vanish if he didn’t hold it gently enough. On the first page, you’d written the title again, this time in blue ink and underlined twice:

Things We Should Do One Day:

And below, the first handful of wishes—pie tastings and cows and meteor showers—copied from memory. He smiled, softer than he had in days. Then he reached for a pen of his own — a green one — and added:

Read each other’s favorite childhood books out loud.

Have a pet that lives longer than our work hours.

Learn to make each other’s favorite comfort food.

Neither of you noticed how the journal shifted from ideas to intentions. From dreams to plans. “Should” started to be replaced by “will”, and “someday” started to be “soon.”

You hadn’t meant to write anything in particular when you opened the journal. Maybe you were just flipping through already existing notes, maybe to check off something you have already done. Through the pages you saw the usual — learn to make cinnamon rolls without a recipe, take a train somewhere without planning ahead—and paused when your eyes landed on something entirely new.

Marry you.

Your heart stuttered. That was it. Two small words written neatly, carefully. Circled twice — once in dark green, once in something lighter. Different pens. Different days. Which meant he’d thought about it more than once. Yet he hadn’t needed to say it out loud yet—just written down, tucked safe between dreams you’d already made come true and ones you hadn’t reached for yet.

So you picked up your pen — blue, of course — and wrote:

Yes.

You stared at the page for too long, without noticing how the key turned in the lock and the drop of messager bag on the floor.

“I’m home,” you heard Spencer calling from the doorway.

“Missed you,” you whisper, already crossing the room and hugging him tightly. His chin rested on top of your head, and his eyes flickered to the journal on the coffee table.

Spencer didn’t say anything at first, just walked over to pick it up, his fingers brushing over your reply. He looked up slowly, the journal still open in his hands. You gave him a small, soft smile, the kind that said, You already knew, didn’t you? The kind that said, I’ve known for a while, too.

“I didn’t want to rush anything,” he said, almost shyly. “I just… wanted it somewhere.”

You brought a hand to his cheek, feeling his stubble under your fingertips. “It is somewhere,” you whispered, tapping his chest with your free hand. “Right here.”

Setting the journal aside, Spencer kissed your hair — not a dramatic, but warm and gentle kiss. As gentle as your love, as gentle as the future plans your shared journal held.

Thank you for reading ! ♥︎

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #soft spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #reader insert #spencer reid fanfiction #x reader #domestic fluff #fluff #comfort

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lonerslug · 5 days ago

Note

Can you make a fluff fic about sevika comforting the reader after watching a horror movie?

It’s Not Real

a/n: omg it’s 4 am, i randomly woke up and decided to post this

You knew you shouldn’t have watched that movie.

The second you saw the trailer, a creepy little kid whispering into the dark, a shadow moving behind a mirror, the jump scare at the end that had Sevika flinching (though she’d never admit it)… you knew you were making a mistake.

And yet, you insisted.

“I can handle it,” you said.

“It’s just a movie,” you said.

“What, you think I’m gonna cry?” you had smirked, arms crossed on the couch, a blanket already in your lap.

Sevika didn’t say anything. Just raised a brow, tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, and hit play.

Now? Now you’re paying for it.

You’re standing in the doorway of your own dark hallway like it’s the entrance to hell. The bathroom is right there, just ten steps away. But your brain is already filling in the blanks, the flickering light above the mirror, the faint creak behind the shower curtain, the sound of little feet running across the tile when you turn your back.

You squeeze your eyes shut and groan softly. “I’m such an idiot.”

Behind you, Sevika’s voice calls out from the couch, lazy, amused, but gentle.

“You stuck back there?”

You peek over your shoulder and find her sprawled like a smug cat. Her legs are stretched out, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded as she watches you.

“I’m not scared,” you lie.

“Didn’t say you were.”

“I just don’t feel like getting up.”

“Mhm.”

You huff, still frozen. “…You think if I ran fast enough, I’d make it to the bathroom without dying?”

That gets a chuckle out of her. It’s low and raspy and warm, the kind of laugh that always makes you feel a little less stupid.

“You want me to come with you, baby?”

You hesitate, pride vs survival battling in your head.

She sees it. Grins. “I’ll even check the mirror.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Only a little,” she says, already rising from the couch and stretching, joints cracking. She tosses the blanket off her lap and pads over to you in her loose joggers and tank top, towering and sleepy and undeniably safe. “C’mon. Gimme your hand.”

You grumble but slide your fingers into hers anyway. Her hand is warm and solid and not haunted. “You better not leave me in there.”

“I’d never,” she murmurs, squeezing your hand. “You think I wanna sleep next to a scared little gremlin who screams every time I breathe too loud?”

“Hey!”

She laughs again, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Kidding. You’re cute when you’re scared. All clingy and small.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She leads you to the bathroom like it’s no big deal, even flipping on all the lights without being asked. She makes a dramatic show of pulling back the shower curtain and checking the mirror. “No murder babies. Just your toothpaste and that expensive-ass face wash.”

When you finally pee, Sevika leans against the sink with her arms crossed, like your bodyguard. You catch her watching you in the mirror. fond, a little smug, but soft around the edges.

Back in the bedroom, she lets you crawl into her side of the bed without comment. When you curl up against her, she wraps her arms around you without teasing.

You bury your face in her chest and mumble, “If I see that kid from the movie in my dreams, I’m waking you up.”

“I’ll knock her out for you.”

You snort, and it feels better. “You’d punch a ghost for me?”

“Any day.”

She starts stroking your back, slow and steady, her big hand moving under the fabric of your shirt, warm against your skin. “You’re safe,” she murmurs after a while. “You’re with me. Nothing’s gonna get you.”

“…Not even the mirror demon?”

“Especially not the mirror demon.”

You press a kiss to her collarbone, eyes fluttering shut. “Thanks, sev.”

“Go to sleep, gremlin.”

taglist: @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sapphicstrawcore @sevikas-whore @riotstemple29 @shxdy0ariia @illbecanon @georgiahs-stuff @thehoneybeestings

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girl-of-many-fandoms · 1 month ago

Text

Ruined

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’ve been testing König’s patience all day with that smart mouth of yours and now he’s going to shut you up.

Warnings: Degradation, rough sex, manhandling, size kink, choking, overstimulation, impact play, dom/sub dynamics, brat behavior, safe word implied (but not used). If you’re not into being treated like a chew toy with a smart mouth, skip this one.

MASTERLIST

This is pure filth, I had an idea and ran with it. I absolutely had no intention to post this but I thought you all might enjoy this.

Do enjoy 😉

——————

I should’ve stopped at the first eye roll.

Should’ve quit while I was ahead—before the second sigh, before the words “Big man, small temper” left my lips.

But where’s the fun in behaving?

König doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head. Slow. Calculating. That goddamn mask making it impossible to read the full storm behind his eyes—but I feel it. Vibrating off him like the low growl of a beast just before it pounces.

“Repeat that,” he says quietly.

I flash him a smile that’s all teeth. “Did I stutter, König?”

My voice is sugar-sweet and laced with venom. “Or is the altitude messing with your hearing, tall boy?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Just long enough for my smug little high to settle. And then—

I’m airborne.

No warning. One second I’m mouthing off, the next I’m lifted off the floor like I weigh nothing, thrown down hard onto the bed with a thud that knocks the breath from my lungs.

“What the—!”

“You don’t speak to me like that,” König growls, climbing over me. His weight pins me down, a massive thigh forcing mine apart like I’m just a doll beneath him.

I squirm—purely out of defiance, not fear. “Gonna crush me with that giant ass of yours?”

He chuckles. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

“I haven’t even started yet, Schatz.”

His hands are everywhere—rough, calloused fingers around my throat, pinning both wrists above my head with one palm like I’m nothing. Like I could fight him and it wouldn’t matter. He lets me squirm. For the thrill of it.

“You wanted to be a brat?” he hisses in my ear. “Then you get disciplined like one.”

He drags my panties down in one tug, rips my shirt, doesn’t even bother with finesse—and then flips me over like he owns every inch of me.

I moan into the sheets as his hand comes down hard on my ass. Once. Twice. Again.

My skin’s on fire, and he likes it. The way I arch up. The hiss of pain that bleeds into a whimper.

“Color?” he demands. His voice is tight—barely holding it together.

“Green, you bastard,” I spit.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back just enough for his voice to drop like gravel into my ear.

“Good. Then shut the fuck up and take it.”

I can barely breathe—and that’s before he tightens the hand around my throat.

My legs are shaking, body already flushed from the spanks, skin stinging, but he hasn’t even fucked me yet. König’s just watching me in that slow, calculated way like he’s studying a weapon he plans to dismantle piece by piece.

“Still got something to say?” His thumb presses against my lower lip. “Or is the little brat ready to learn her place?”

I glare. Bite his thumb.

Wrong move.

He growls—deep and guttural—and I swear my cunt clenches just from the sound.

The next second, he’s shoving two thick fingers inside me without warning, pushing deep, curling them just right. I cry out, back arching off the bed as he pumps them mercilessly, other hand pinning my throat like a threat.

“Loud now, huh?” he huffs, voice hot behind his mask. “Where’s all that attitude?”

“F-fuck you—” I choke out, and his fingers curl harder. “You’re—shit—so cocky—”

He pulls his fingers out, flips me again like I’m nothing. My legs are open before I even have time to resist.

“You think this is cocky?” he snarls.

And then he slams into me.

No warning. No mercy.

I scream—literally scream—as he bottoms out, one hand gripping my hip, the other still around my throat. My body tries to recoil, but there’s nowhere to go—he’s too big, too deep, stretching me until I feel like I’m about to break in half.

“Is that brat mouth working now?” König hisses into my ear. “Or should I fuck you until you cry for me?”

I whimper.

God, it’s too much—the stretch, the pace, the weight of him crushing me into the mattress. His hips snap against mine with brutal precision, forcing my breath out in ragged moans.

“You wanted to act up,” he growls, pace unrelenting. “Now you’ll come when I say. You’ll scream for me—not because you want to—because I make you.”

My hands claw at the sheets. He pounds into me harder, dragging the orgasm out of me like he’s claiming it. I cry out, nails digging into the mattress as I shatter, legs spasming.

But König doesn’t stop.

He grabs my face, forces me to look up at him—eyes barely visible behind the shadow of his mask. I see the heat in them. The rage. The possessiveness.

“You think I’m finished?” he growls.

I try to speak—I don’t even know what I’m trying to say—but all that comes out is a sob. My body is overstimulated, twitching. My thighs clamp around him instinctively, trying to push him out.

He laughs.

Dark. Ruthless.

“You’re crying already? Oh, Schatz…” He leans down, nose brushing mine. “We’re just getting started.”

My legs are shaking—numb, barely responding.

I came already. Once? Twice? I don’t know anymore. Time’s slipped somewhere between the wet slap of his hips against mine and the pressure of his hand still curled loosely around my throat.

“Poor little thing,” König murmurs, voice lower now. Not soft—mocking. “Can’t even keep count. I’ve fucked the attitude right out of you.”

I try to protest, but it comes out as a broken, wet sound—half sob, half moan. My vision blurs, not from pain, but from the pleasure he keeps wringing out of me until I’m raw, wrecked, ruined.

“You asked for this,” he grunts, slamming into me again. “You wanted to run your mouth. You wanted to be tossed around like a rag doll.”

He grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me up, bending me in half, forcing my spine to arch like I’m nothing but a toy in his hands. I’m caged by his body—his size, his weight, his cock hitting a spot so deep it punches a scream from my lungs.

“Look at you,” he growls into my ear. “Crying on my cock. Pretty tears for me, hmm?”

I whimper, tears streaking my cheeks now, head swimming.

“You love this,” he says, breath hot and ragged behind his mask. “You love being ruined like this. Tell me.”

I nod frantically, gasping, words barely forming. “Y-yes—fuck—I love it—I love it—”

He lets out a low sound. Like he’s satisfied. Like that was all he needed to hear before breaking me again.

“Good girl.”

That praise—it shatters something in me.

Because his pace changes. Rougher. Deeper. Less about punishment and more about claiming. His grip bruises into my hips, dragging me back onto his cock like I belong nowhere else.

I scream when I come again—loud, desperate, choking on it as my whole body goes tight, clenched, then completely undone.

My vision whites out.

My voice is a sob.

And he doesn’t fucking stop.

“You’re mine when you cry like this,” he snarls. “Mine when you’re shaking. Mine when you’re drooling into the sheets because your brain can’t fucking think.”

My arms collapse beneath me. My body isn’t working anymore. Just trembling, twitching, spent.

But I’m still moaning.

Still whining for him.

He leans over me, cock still buried to the hilt, hand sliding back around my throat as his voice drops to a deadly purr.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what happens when you mouth off. I break you… and you beg me for more.”

I nod weakly. Or maybe I just twitch—I don’t know.

But his cock throbs inside me, and I realize—

He hasn’t even come yet.

Oh no.

————-

I need to touch some grass after writing this 😭

#könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #könig smut #konig smut #könig mw2 #call of duty smut #call of duty #call of duty imagine

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redflagshipwriter · 3 months ago

Text

Chef Beef part 1 of 2

inspired by this post.

Part 2

Jason squinted at his laptop screen. It turned into a confused scowl. “What,” he said, “the hell are they saying?”

Perturbed, he slammed the thing shut. Whatever! He didn’t need validation from viewers. He turned to finish cleaning up his kitchen. He had scrubbed everything down on camera, but the dishes still needed to be put away and he had to shut his kitchen for the night.

His nighttime phone pinged. It wasn’t the Bat business one, at least. He hesitated.

Fuck. It probably wasn’t important. But what if it was, though?

Jason heaved a massive, dramatic sigh. He put the mixing bowl back and then dug the phone out to check. It was just the stupid intergenerational Titans group chat. The first message flicked away before he could read it, replaced by a series of fire emojis and a…drooling face? Yuck. Superboy was a lot.

Jason screwed his face up in disgust and dismissed the notification without reading. Tim’s grungy little friends continued to be off-putting gremlins.

Kori chimed in with a series of hearts and flexing arm emojis.

Yeah, okay, the topic definitely wasn’t important. Goddamn social media. He just didn’t get it.

He didn’t check the video comments again until the next day, curled up in an armchair stolen from Wayne Manor. It was vigilante morning, also known as noon. He tucked his feet into the seam where the cushion met the back of the chair and took a long sip of steaming tea. Thus fortified, he typed in his password and loaded up the video he had done yesterday.

“...Huh.” He opened up his phone to do a quick search on what it meant to go live. Jason ran a hand through his hair and thought it over.

The top comments were begging him to livestream, not post after he was done. That seemed… Well, it seemed social. He pursed his lips and stalled for thinking time with more tea. Part of the reason he was doing this was to motivate himself to cook more, but putting it online, he had to admit, could only stem from a desire for some sort of attention and connection.

Ew. Jason put that bit of self reflection somewhere far away where it couldn’t hurt him, and started thinking about how to change his setup.

“One week,” he told himself. “I’ll do that for a week and see how I feel about it.”

Monday

12:07PM

Jason set up a laptop on the counter so he could see any comments while he streamed.

“Not that I’ll get comments.” He wasn’t doing anything that special. Embarrassed even alone, Jason got busy setting up. Ingredients in place and oven preheated, he started the livestream.

He waited.

Then he felt stupid. Probably no one was going to come. So he pulled over his cutting board and held up his first ingredient. “I,” he said to no one, “am going to make the best quiche you sorry motherfuckers have ever seen.” He pointedly twirled the cutting board and glanced back at the screen just in time to see notifications that people were joining.

“I’m making a quiche now,” Jason reiterated. “Best goddamn thing you’ll see all day, so make a note.”

He blinked. “Can I crush the onion in my hand?” He repeated, brow furrowing at the screen. “It would be unusable, Caitlin15.” He hefted the onion. “This beautiful motherfucker needs to be diced into perfect pieces.”

Perplexingly, that didn’t stop it. More viewers chimed in. “Uhh,” Jason said. Was this some kind of streaming social norm? “…I only have one onion. I can crush this instead?” He reached over and pulled out a carrot from the basket on the far end of the counter.

The screen erupted in all caps. He squinted. Did it have meaning? It looked like gibberish.

“Seems like a yes.” Well. Whatever. Jason crushed the carrot to a mush in his hand, catching the end that fell. He let the mush fall into the bowl he had meant for the onion. Thoughtlessly, he snapped off a bit of the carrot with his teeth and braced a forearm on the counter in front of the camera. “You gonna behave now?” He asked the stream, making sure to level an unimpressed expression to his viewers. “Sit the fuck down and listen.”

The screen erupted with ear emojis and weird dramatic shit like, “I am seated, King. 👑” Someone purchased a … sticker? What the hell? What was the point of that?

…Alright. He picked up the carrot mash bowl and considered it. “Might be making a carrot cake or bread later,” he said. “I can’t stand waste.” He shifted it out of the way and stretched up to get a new bowl from the storage up high. When he looked back down he saw there was a flurry of “six pack alert” messages and more notifications of people buying ‘stickers.’

He wheeled around to see what they must have– behind him was a collection of bottles. They were not alcohol.

“I don’t drink!” Jason snarled. “My body is a goddamn temple. No fuckin beer here.” He leveled a finger at the screen.

That first stream went alright. He got a lot of subscriptions off of it, which probably at least meant that some people liked it. Jason closed his laptop with the vague impression that things were going to be alright.

He was washing up when someone knocked on the door. Jason shook his hands twice to flick off water and then dried them with the hand towel. He threw it over his shoulder on the way to open the door. “Dick.” He opened the door, one eyebrow raised. “Everything alright?”

Dick pushed his way in, wearing his beat cop uniform. He had his pretty boy smile on, but Jason saw right through that. That fucker wanted money. “Hey, Jay!” He sniffed his way to the kitchen. “I, uh, heard you have a cooking thing going on, how’s that going?”

Hm. Alright, maybe he wanted free food, the goddamn hyena.

“How do you know this shit?” He wondered fondly. “Creep.”

Dick grimaced and put a hand to his head. “Roy showed me.” Dick sounded like he was in pain. Fair enough. That was a reasonable reaction to Roy Harper.

Jason closed the door and watched his sort-of-brother scavenge around the apartment. “Want some quiche?” He cast his thoughts back. “Oh, I have carrot bread.”

Dick gave him a slightly harried smile. “Oh, I heard about that. Crushing the carrot made an impression.”

Jason blinked.

They looked at each other.

“Are you watching my streams?” Jason asked slowly. “Hey, I’ve been getting a lot of slang in the comments I don’t know.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the list he had compiled. “People keep commenting ATE, in all caps. But I’m not eating.”

Dick stared off into the air mournfully. “It… It means you’re doing a great job. It’s not about food.”

Jason nodded. “Noted,” he murmured to himself. “Uh, raw?” He tried to make eye contact. “People send me that, also in all caps. But obviously I am cooking my goddamn food, that is the whole premise.”

Dick screwed up his face in pain and stuffed half a roll into his mouth to avoid answering. “Buddy,” he said through a mouthful of food, “I don’t want to tell you the details. But your watchers think you’re hot. That’s the gist of it.”

Jason stared at him. “...They think I’m hot,” he echoed slowly. “I am hanging out in my pajamas and cooking. I am being sloppy and rude. I call them names,” he pointed out.

Dick’s face twitched. “Yeah, some of them are into that. But also your whole…” He gestured vaguely up and down Jason’s body. “The t-shirt and sweats work for you.” He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re comfortable and safe. Having fans is kinda a lot sometimes.”

Jason snorted. “It’s not like I’m modeling like you or Kori did,” he pointed out.

“It’s not that dissimilar.” Dick rolled his neck. “Lemme see your account?”

Jason hesitated. “Why?”

“I bet you’ve gotten sponsor messages.”

He snorted. “Yeah right.” He handed the phone over and watched over Dick’s shoulder. “…Didn’t know there were messages on this app.” His eyebrows crawled upward. “These people want to give me money?”

“You need a manager,” Dick said promptly. “And a moderator to crack down on the horny comments.”

Jason physically recoiled.

“That’s what I thought,” Dick said wryly. “I can get you a mod for free. I’ll manage your account for a modest 50% of your profit.”

“Bullshit,” said Jason, despite thinking he’d make no money. “That can’t be the going rate for a manager. Fuck you. I’m going to ask Kory what she pays her manager.” He snatched back his phone and DMd her his question. “And why would anyone mod for free?”

“A loser would do it,” said Dick. “And I know just the motivated loser. Anyway, how would you feel about doing a separate livestream where you eat?” He stuffed quiche in his mouth and talked around it. “Lonely people like that, they pretend they’re having a meal together. It’s a public service, Jaybird.”

“Who on this goddamn earth would want to pretend they were eating with me?” Jason wondered.

Dick eyed him. “Who indeed.” He sniffed. “I’ll do it for 30%, if you are gonna be so cold about it. I’m not in it for the money, I’m your brother,” he wheedled.

“Your shitty cop job doesn’t pay for your lunches,” Jason said flatly. “Go get money from Bruce.”

“Never.” Dick shoved the last of the quiche in his mouth so violently he actually choked. “Gotta go. I have your passwords now, I’ll set up sponsorships and pay out your stickers.”

“Pay out what?” Jason asked, bemused.

“My break is 30 minutes,” Dick hollered over his shoulder. “Gotta get back to 3rd in the next 4 seconds.”

“…You are a mess.” Jason watched Dick whirlwind out of his apartment less than five minutes after entering to steal his food and money he didn’t even know he had. “You’re gonna be at least ten minutes late.”

“It’s fine, I’m ungovernable.” His footsteps thumped rapidly down the apartment stairs. A car tire screeched outside. A police siren started up and rapidly faded.

Jason sighed. “Dinner with lonely people, huh?” He eyed his apartment. “I guess I could set up the table there…”

Tuesday

12:51PM

“Good morning,” Jason greeted the camera. “Yeah, yeah, it’s one pm. I just got up, so sue me.” He took a pointed sip of his morning drink. It was coffee this time. “I,” he said pointedly, “had a long night. And I need some comfort. So we are starting the day with cinnamon rolls.” He gestured to his oven. “I already have the first batch cooked and cooled, so you can see me ice it and eat.” He rolled his shoulders. “First, this bowl is going to be for my wet ingredients-” He blinked. “I don’t need a new bowl. I- why do you hate this bowl?” He tilted it, perplexed. “Do you all— okay, look, I’ll show you all my bowls and you will acknowledge the superiority of this particular bowl for this task.” Shaking his head, he extended up as far as he could reach to get the rest of the bowls down.

“...I still do not drink,” Jason scowled. He felt confused and vaguely uncomfortable. “Stop saying that, I don’t like it.”

The chat listened, so whatever. He whipped up this batch of cinnamon rolls, set it to proof, and then got out his finished rolls to show the screen. “We need to make the frosting for these, but I am excited.” He let his voice rasp. “It’s gonna be way more than I can eat, but…” He shrugged. “Hey, meat? Why are you sending meat emojis– I can do you a good meaty dish tomorrow. Roast?” He brainstormed. “Steak, maybe, oh hell yeah, HawaiiHunk, I could use some meat in me too,” he agreed. “Tomorrow, yup, you and me.”

He cleared his throat and set out his supplies. “But first, let’s get that frosting.”

20 minutes later, once he had licked the frosting off his spoon, Jason showed a single perfect roll to the camera. “I’m going to sign off and have my breakfast now,” he said. Someone called GOATman said, “good job, it looks delicious.” He flashed them a smile.

“And then I guess I gotta find someone to shovel off my spare rolls to. Wish me luck.” He turned the stream off without checking what they were actually saying.

Wednesday

5:00 am

“Jason.”

He stifled a shriek. “You’re an asshole.” Jason swore. He threw the shower curtain aside violently to glare at Tim. “I’m getting ready for bed, you little shit. You still follow my patrols?”

Tim stared at him with big, resentful eyes. There were bruises under both of them. “I heard you made cinnamon rolls. Heard a lot about that. Something about a carrot, too.”

“...Yeah.” Jason frowned at him. What a weird thing to say. “Did you get a concussion?”

“Put your clothes on,” Tim groused. He pushed himself off the counter and sauntered out of the room, as if he wasn’t the weirdo who had snuck into Jason’s home after patrol, followed him into the bathroom, and waited there.

Jason pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and made his way out to see Tim’s baleful stare. “What,” he said gently, “the fuck?” He made a shoo gesture. “I didn’t say I was open to strays.”

“Should I tell Kon that he isn’t getting any of your cinnamon rolls or quiche?” Tim said waspishly.

Jason reeled a bit. Kon? Leather jacket Superboy? The hell did he have to do with anything?

There was a more salient point to address.

‘Why does he know what I’ve been cooking?’

Jason pointed at him. “You’re creeping on me again. Do you have an alert set for anytime I send a text?” He sneered. “And yeah, I am not cooking for you or your friends. Besides, the quiche is gone.”

Tim let out a violent huff. “I wish I heard less about you.” He waved a hand. “But, yeah, Kon can give up any hope?”

“What,” said Jason, “the Hell are you talking about?” He frowned. “Hope for what? Does he wanna learn to cook or something?”

He momentarily considered that. Kon was a C list celebrity. That was exactly the type of guy you might invite as a guest to your livestream.

Tim eyed him. Jason stared back. “Nothing.” Tim rolled his eyes. “To be very clear, you would never for a moment consider Kon as-”

“I never think about the guy,” Jason cut him off. “He’s a nice guy, does good work. But you’re being so fuckin weird. Take the plate of cinnamon rolls over there and get the fuck out of my house.”

Once Tim had been shoved out the door, Jason went to bed. He woke up again at 1 in the afternoon and started to set up for his next live stream.

That was a lie.

He intended to wake up at 1. Instead, he sat up from a dead sleep at 10:32 am when Dick banged on his door, dragging along his dumb cop partner and an armful of shitty coffees.

“I hate you,” Jason croaked. He wiped the protein from his eyes and snatched a drink.

“Everyone does,” commented the other cop.

Dick snorted a laugh, but both of them looked at her. “Why are you here, pig?” Jason asked pointedly.

She sniffled. “Oink, oink,” she said pointedly, and stole a cinnamon roll off the counter. “Because prettyboy is taking a break from ending the corruption of the Bludhaven cops in order to benefit from the corruption of the Bludhaven cops by selling access to his shitty little brother online.” She peeled the cinnamon roll open.

Dick pointed at her. “Amy, you said you’d be nice to me.”

She took a very large bite of her cinnamon roll and flipped him off with a smile.

“...Fair enough,” Jason said, and turned his tired glare at his shitty elder brother. “Why are you even up this early, I swear you were up as late as I was.”

Dick hefted his ass onto Jason’s clean countertop and ignored the strangled sound he made. “I have an intricate system of micro naps at traffic stops and unimportant meetings. I can get by on as little as two hours of sleep at night.”

“What happens if you miss one?” Jason asked, darkly curious.

“His whole life falls apart,” Amy said, talking with cinnamon roll in her mouth still. Jason gave her a disgusted look.

Dick waved that off. “Anyway, did you see that Kory messaged you? She wants to do a collab.” His brilliant smile faltered for a millisecond. “That would get views.” He smiled winsomely.

“...This hurts you,” Jason observed, reluctantly fascinated. “Why are you doing this? You don’t want me to hang out with your ex-fiance.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have you considered telling her that you want her back?”

“I never look back,” Dick lied breezily. “How about Raven? She’s open to a cooking video. Or.” He looked pained. “Kon. He has been messaging. A lot. He’s watching your streams.”

“...This does seem more Kon’s speed,” said Jason, thinking of all the times he had seen that motherfucker scarf down chilidogs or nachos on camera. “Kind of below Kory, honestly. Raven?” His voice tilted upward in disbelief. “She’s your friend, not mine. Why don’t you do some kind of stream with your friends?” Jason shrugged. “If you like it, I mean.”

“I’m done modeling,” Dick said. “The body shaming really got to me.” He ran a hand up his perfect body and gave a little shrug.

“That also why you’re done with a career as a world-class athlete?” Amy asked wryly. “Your career trajectory is the garbage can. I know why I’m giving parking tickets for 12 dollars an hour, but it’s just insulting that you’re here. Take your shitty Dad’s money.”

“Never,” Dick vowed. “So, collab with Raven? Great! She’ll be here tomorrow at noon.”

“I will kill you!” Jason shouted, but it was no use. The fucker was already halfway out the door.

Amy toasted him with the remainder of the cinnamon roll. “I’ve been making him buy us all donuts with what he’s making from your streams,” she told him.

Jason thought that over. “I guess you’re alright for a pig.”

She saluted him on her way out.

He managed to get a little more sleep before his stream. “I might have a guest tomorrow,” he told his viewers idly as he set up. “Feel free to guess who. My shitty manager is setting it up.”

Some of the world’s worst guesses rolled down the screen– Amanda Waller, President Luthor, Nightwing.

Jason accidentally laughed. “No, uh, none of them.” He snickered. “Think younger.” He blinked. “No, probably not you, HawaiiHunk, you goddamn flirt,” Jason shook his head. “You better watch your ass, I think I have a mod today.”

Someone sent the salute emoji. “That you?” Jason squinted. “GOATman– greatest of all time man?” He snickered. “Everyone is on notice.”

The guy was vicious. The first time HawaiiHunk commented “ur sooo sexi babe,” he got a warning.

A while later the mod said, “This is your final warning.” Jason looked up to see what the poor thirsty idiot had said. He snorted involuntarily when he saw that HawaiiHunk apparently wanted to be the dough. He wanted to see where this was going.

“Ignore himmmmm,” said Sparklefairy. She somehow sent an explosion of glitter over his stream. Dollar emojis scattered.

Jason raised an eyebrow and put some muscle into the bread he was kneading.

‘Are some of them trying to buy my attention?’ he wondered, bemused. ‘Should I tell them I’m an independently wealthy criminal? I feel like I’m tricking them.’

HawaiiHunk typed up, “I’m so wet.”

Jason stuck his tongue out and then shuddered dramatically. “That’s not my business, I don’t need to know that.”

“That’s it,” said GOATman, a fantastic mod. “Blocked.” The official notification appeared a moment later.

“Goodbye, HawaiiHunk.” Jason saluted with a laugh. “And let that be a warning to the rest of you.”

GOATman sent the salute emoji and was immediately copied by others in a flood. Jason had to laugh.

That night, before patrol, Jason sat with a frown, scrolling through his comment section. He barely noticed when Spoiler sat her ass down beside him and started doing her inventory check. He did notice when she leaned into his space to see what he was looking at.

“Dude, what the hell?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. Look at this weird shit people are saying.” He tilted his phone screen. “Raw,” he repeated, disbelievingly. “Raw. My meat is not raw.”

Stephanie choked on air.

“I cook all my meat– I cooked it to 65C.” Jason gestured pointedly.

“What, uh… Are you streaming?” Stephanie looked at him with wild eyes. “So, uh, these are fans?”

He looked at her. “Does it mean something?”

“...Yeah,” she said, after a suspiciously long pause. “It’s slang. They like you.”

“So it’s not about my meat?” Jason clarified.

“It is kind of about your meat.” Stephanie swallowed, hard. “I, uh– I think that we should… We should go. On patrol.” She pushed herself off the ledge and did a flip. “Time to hit the streets.” She flashed him a pretty, toothy smile, and then was gone.

Jason was not an idiot. Stephanie was avoiding telling him something embarrassing.

Whatever. There was something off about it. He had caught that on his own, even if he didn’t know what. Maybe they were mocking him. The concept sent a sick feeling through his gut. But– she wasn’t a liar. It was overall positive, whatever it was.

“It’s gonna be some pop culture shit I missed.” He grimaced. He wasn’t that old, but he felt old as balls sometimes. “I don’t need to be cool.”

That affirmation hanging in the air, he blew out his bangs and then scraped them back so they wouldn’t plaster to his forehead with sweat when he went on patrol. He zipped his jacket closed and swung a leg over his motorcycle. Time to go.

#Jason todd #Jason Todd/Starfire #JayRoy #Kon is dying of thirst #Dick is fixing his credit score #Jason is so out of touch #Bruce is a mod #Bruce would NOT be clueless Bruce knows all the slang #Honestly I find grungy Dick to be so sexy #most competent man in the world hamstrung by his extremely selective pride

608 notes · View notes

writesvani · 1 month ago

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dear me | 10

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety, emotional conflict, frustration, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, intense argument, self-doubt, stress, mild emotional distress

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,1k // date: 24th of May 2025

CHAPTER TEN — TETHERED THREADS happy reading my gummies...

AN: oh my god hi babies!!! dear me is back and so am i? so are we all excited or what. i don't want to spoil this chapter but it goes from 0 to 100 real quick so like. prepare yourselves. i warned you!!

now, about the note goal — plot twist — there is none. i’m currently in my ✨mystery era✨ trying to figure out a better posting system so we’re just gonna wing it for now. that does NOT mean you shouldn’t like, comment, or reblog because hello?? validation?? serotonin?? but no pressure.

if you liked the chapter and wanna scream about it, i’m here. reading. refreshing. obsessing. after all the weird energy and negativity lately, i’m really hoping we can bring back our chaotic little community — full of kindness, laughter, and just the right amount of delusion.

i love you all so much it’s actually concerning. chapter 11 will be posted on june 2nd unless the universe decides otherwise but let’s manifest consistency together, okay? okay.

The morning starts like every other.

One shot of espresso — because two makes you jittery and one feels just right — gulped down in the dim glow of your kitchen light. No breakfast, of course. You’ll eat whatever Ms. Kim requests you to make, and if it’s something boring like porridge again, well, that’s just the universe’s way of punishing you for not getting groceries. Quick shower. Music playing from your phone speaker (Today: old Arctic Monkeys. Why? Who knows, they felt like a Wednesday band). Then, one episode of Suits. Always Suits. Always one. You like the predictability, the build-up. You like the false sense of control it gives you, knowing you’ll be left on a cliffhanger but choosing to turn it off anyway.

Everything is smooth. Everything is routine. Your perfect little mental tightrope, walked with the balance of someone who’s been practicing calm like it’s a sport.

Until you sit in your car.

Crack.

Not a literal sound — no smoke, no explosion — but the kind of mental snap that jolts you right between the eyes. The one that makes your chest tighten and your hands pause on the steering wheel. You try to start the engine once. Twice. A third time, just for good measure. Nothing.

Your car is dead. Or maybe just extremely petty.

You stare at the dashboard like it just told you your childhood dog ran away. Because how did you not notice the gas light? You always notice the gas light. You’re religious about the gas light. It’s your one non-negotiable.

You bang your head lightly against the steering wheel and mutter under your breath, “I deserve this.”

Maybe it’s karma. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been so wrapped up in pretending everything’s fine that the basics — like fuel — slipped through the cracks. But now you’re sitting in your silent car, the neighborhood too quiet and you realize something dreadful.

This day has already betrayed you.

And it’s not even 9 a.m.

Your first logical solution is Yoongi.

It always is, really. Calm, capable, cursed with a heart way too big for that grumpy exterior. His work is basically around the corner from Ms. Kim’s place anyway, so in theory, it makes perfect sense. One quick call, a dramatic but well-timed sigh, maybe even a guilt trip about “doing it for your beloved bestie” — and boom, problem solved.

Except, as always, the universe has beef with you.

Because when Yoongi picks up the phone, he doesn’t greet you. He whispers. Weakly.

“I’ve been betrayed,” he croaks.

“By who?” you ask, alarmed.

“My body,” he whispers, hoarse. “Fever. I’m dying. Tell my cat I love him.”

You pause. “You don’t have a cat.”

“Then who have I been feeding?” he mumbles, and the line cuts with the faintest of coughs.

You exhale through your nose, long and tired. Of course Yoongi can’t come. He’s sick. Sick-sick. Not hungover-sick, not "I stayed up binge-watching anime and now I’m emotionally unstable" sick — actual sick. You text him a get-well-soon and a half-serious promise to bring soup and put your phone down with a sigh that echoes in your dead car.

Uber? Taxi?

You wince just thinking about it. It’s not the cost, or the inconvenience, or even the question of how many strangers' asses have occupied those seats before yours. It’s just… uncomfortable. The whole idea of being stuck in a confined space while some overly chatty middle-aged man named Bob tells you about his second divorce and favorite Coldplay album?

No thanks.

You’re not a snob. You just prefer your social anxiety from a safe distance.

So your next logical option — and by logical, you mean potentially dangerous to your mental well-being — is Jungkook.

Yeah. Jungkook.

You already feel your eye twitch at the thought.

Because asking your hot, soon-to-be-married best friend to rescue you from your own stupidity has never ended in emotional stability. Still, you unlock your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

What’s the worst that could happen?

(You know exactly what could happen. You just choose to ignore it.)

“Hey,” Jungkook says as you practically haul yourself into the passenger seat of his car, the sharp scent of his cologne greeting you before his voice even fully lands.

“Hey, Kook,” you say, breathless, fumbling with the seatbelt. “Thank you for coming so quick. You literally saved my life. Or my job. Or both.”

He gives you a small smile, fingers still on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the way for me anyway.”

You hum, settling into the leather seat, trying not to notice how put together he looks this morning. Hair styled to perfection, parted just right, not a single strand out of place. His charcoal gray suit is pressed, not a wrinkle in sight, with the cuffs of his white shirt peeking just slightly from under his blazer sleeves. There’s a navy tie around his neck, loosened just a bit — enough to make him look a little less intimidating, a little more like your Jungkook.

And it’s… a lot. It’s too much, honestly.

Because you haven’t really talked since that Sunday.

Since the night he stepped on stage and left his soul in every note of that song. Since he cradled your face with both hands and pressed his forehead to yours like he couldn’t breathe unless you were that close.

Since you felt something shift.

But after that? A few texts. A meme exchange. Some "dude, that show was crazy" type messages. Nothing heavy. Nothing about the way your chest physically ached when the music stopped and you realized how close you’d been to crossing a line neither of you were meant to approach.

And maybe it was just adrenaline.

Maybe it was a high from the performance. A beautiful, fleeting moment of blurred feelings and too much noise.

But you’re an overthinker. And even now, as he drives through the streets in his sleek black car, his hand calmly resting on the gearshift, eyes focused on the road — you wonder.

Did he feel it too?

You glance sideways at him, and it’s honestly infuriating how effortlessly attractive he looks at 8:43 in the morning. You’re here with a wrinkled hoodie and barely brushed hair, and he looks like he walked out of a Vogue editorial titled "Litigation and Lust."

Your thoughts spiral. You hate it.

Because he’s your best friend.

And he’s engaged.

And you’re supposed to be so, so far from this kind of thinking.

But your heart still clenches in your chest when you think about that Sunday. His hands on your face. His breath on your skin. That look in his eyes, like maybe he was fighting something too.

So you swallow the thoughts. Tuck them behind your ribs. You look back out the window and say nothing.

Because saying something might ruin everything.

You’re both quiet for a beat too long — not awkward, not exactly — just suspended in that weird, stretched silence that sits heavy between two people who almost talked about something important but didn’t.

Then Jungkook pulls out his phone and sets it in your lap without a word.

You glance down, confused. “What’s this?”

“Play whatever you want,” he says, eyes still on the road. “I know you hate car rides without music.”

You snort softly. “Obviously. I’m not a psychopath.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So I am one now?”

“Well…” you smirk. “For someone who lives and breathes music, it’s a little criminal that you drive around in complete silence.”

He chuckles under his breath, and it’s the first sound that feels a little like the old Jungkook. “Music distracts me when I drive.”

Your fingers freeze for a moment over his Spotify. “What is it with you and music being a distraction…”

It’s innocent — said without much thought. But the second the words leave your mouth, the memory flashes sharp in your brain.

Shit.

You remember now. The moment he told you—how Nina said that playing drums made him lose focus. How it’s an unnecessary distraction.

You swallow hard, wishing you could drag those words back down your throat.

Jungkook doesn’t respond. But his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel, just enough that you notice.

You tap at the screen, trying to play it off. Your thumb hovers over House of Balloons, because of course that would be his last played. Typical. It’s not morning music by any stretch, but you tap play anyway.

The slow, pulsing rhythm of the song fills the car like smoke — sultry, haunting, too much for the morning.

You stare ahead at the road, heart rattling a little too loud in your chest.

God, you hate how much you remember. And worse — how much you want to.

You close your eyes, pretend you didn’t see the way he clenched his jaw. Pretend you’re not hearing lyrics that have nothing to do with you, but still feel like they’re scraping something raw open inside you.

Because yeah.

This is definitely too much.

And somehow still not enough.

“Well, it is distracting,” he hisses, sharper than he means to be.

He exhales through his nose and lets his voice soften. “I just don’t like to multitask like that. Plus… I wasn’t talking about that night.”

You glance at him. “I never mentioned the night you played.”

“No, but you were thinking about it.”

Your brows lift. “How do you know that, Jungkook?”

“Because I know you.”

“And I know you too,” you shoot back, “which is exactly why I can tell you’re itching to explain yourself. Because you know I’m right.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right about what, exactly?”

“You being scared to play again.”

He blinks. “What is it with you this morning? You never even said that to me before, and now suddenly you’re Freud in the passenger seat.”

“I never said it. But you know it’s true.” You turn slightly in your seat. “Come on, Kook. We both know you weren’t scared you’d suck.”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks.

“So why were you scared?” you ask gently. “Hm?”

He’s quiet.

“You were scared you’d love it. And you did.”

He scoffs under his breath, but it’s weak. “Well, not all of us get to do what we love.”

You snort. “That’s literally just an illusion toxic society and late-stage capitalism shoved down our throats.”

He throws you a look. “Okay, great. Now you’re being philosophical for no reason.”

“Am I?” you challenge. “I mean, if people did what they loved, the world would be a lot less miserable.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But that’s impossible.”

“How and why?”

“Because we’d be living in a world full of artists, musicians, basketball players, and TikTok therapists—who the hell would do the boring, dangerous, miserable jobs?”

“This might come as a shock,” you grin, “but there are people who dream of doing those jobs.”

“That’s just… incorrect. And I could elaborate.”

“Then elaborate.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pissing me off.”

You laugh, incredulous. “For saying you should maybe do something you love again? Even just as a hobby?”

“For acting like it’s that easy,” he snaps. “Like it’s not a fucking luxury to even consider that.”

“A luxury, huh?” you scoff. “Are you insinuating something, Jungkook?”

“Come on,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“No, seriously. I’d really like to know—why do you think like that?”

“I said it generally. I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Not directly,” you fire back. “But you meant it. So just spit it out.”

His jaw clenches. You watch him, waiting.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says tightly, “but it’s easy for you to sit up on your high horse, acting like you can’t understand why people don’t chase their dreams—when you had a net. You had support. You had parents who would catch you if you fell.”

Your stomach twists.

“And now,” he continues, bitter, “you have the audacity to judge the rest of us. To judge me—for choosing something stable. Something that won’t fall apart.”

“I have never judged you, Jungkook,” you say, voice firm now. “Not for a single second. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. But you’re too deep in your own bitterness and insecurity to see that.”

“Insecurity?” he snaps.

“No,” you tilt your head. “Jealousy.”

He laughs, harsh and humorless. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of the people who went for it. Who chased what they wanted. Who lived their fantasy, even if it was just for a little while.”

“Oh, so now I’m jealous of you?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say quietly. “But since you did…”

“Please,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re literally screwing yourself over.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you’re not living your dream. You lived it that one summer in high school—when you were traveling and learning and cooking and being free. Now? You’re working a glorified 9-to-5 cooking vegan meals for a neurotic rich divorcee. That wasn’t your dream.”

You blink, heart thudding. That one stung.

“Maybe not,” you say after a beat. “But by that logic? I still lived my dream. Even for a moment. Something real came from it. You never even gave yours a chance.”

His voice drops low, almost a whisper. “Because I’m not meant to.”

Your chest aches. “Then why are you so pissed?”

“Because I’m trying to reason with you!” he bursts, his voice cracking around the edges.

“And I’m trying to reason with you!”

“No, you’re not!” he snaps. “You’re trying to fix me.”

You go still.

“God, Jungkook, are you delusional or something?” you snap, voice low and tight. “I’m literally just trying to open your eyes.”

“To what, exactly?” he shoots back. “You’re talking without even trying to see it from my side. Like you always do.”

“I never act like I know everything.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah? That’s kind of your thing, though.”

“My thing?”

“You always act like you know what’s best—for everyone. Like your opinion is the only valid one, and if people don’t see it your way, then they’re just wrong.”

“That’s not true,” you bite, anger laced with hurt. “I want what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know that, Y/n. But maybe what you think is ‘best’ for me isn’t the same as what I want. Maybe I don’t have everything I ever dreamed of—but I’m content. I’m satisfied. I’m… happy.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Sure. You’re happy. But I still wish you had everything. Everything you wanted.”

He exhales sharply. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? Why, Kook?”

His eyes stay locked on the road, jaw tense. “Because if that were possible… we wouldn’t be sitting here having this argument.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I—” he pauses. “Nothing. Just forget it. I’ve got a hearing in an hour, and I can’t walk into that courtroom like this. Let’s drop it.”

You shake your head slowly. “Right. Of course. Now you want to drop it. That’s your real ‘thing,’ Jungkook—running. From arguments. From real conversations. From me.”

“I’m not running,” he says quietly. “I’m protecting my peace. Maybe you should try that sometime.”

“Protecting your peace doesn’t mean shutting people out the second they say something you don’t like,” you snap, heart hammering in your chest. “That’s not peace, Jungkook. That’s fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” he fires back, “I’m tired.”

“No, you’re afraid. Of feeling things too deeply. Of doing something reckless. Of being disappointed. So you built this perfect little life with a perfect little job and a perfect little routine, and you convince yourself it’s enough.”

He laughs bitterly. “And what, you want me to be like you? Burning out in someone else’s kitchen just so I can feel something?”

“At least I’m feeling something! At least I’m not numbing myself with depositions and court dates pretending I don’t miss the version of you that used to dream out loud.”

“That version of me doesn’t exist anymore!”

“Well, maybe I miss him anyway,” you say, voice quieter now. “Maybe I miss who you were before you decided being safe was more important than being happy.”

Silence fills the car, thick and heavy. The tension crackles between you like static. You want to reach for him, want to pull the words back, but it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales slowly, finally turning to look at you at the red light. His voice is low. “And maybe I miss the version of you who didn’t make me feel like shit for choosing differently.”

Your heart sinks.

“Maybe,” he says again, voice softer now, almost tender. “We just don’t know each other like we used to.”

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe we know each other too well. And that’s the problem.”

He doesn’t answer.

The light turns green.

He drives in silence.

And this time, you don’t reach for the music.

The silence becomes a living thing—thick, suffocating, curling around your chest like a fist. Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles white, but he doesn’t say a word. You turn your face toward the window, watching the city blur past, every billboard and traffic light glowing against the tension burning behind your eyes.

You finally speak, voice quieter this time. “Why does it always have to be like this with us?”

“Because we’re both stubborn. Because we know everything about each other,” he says, his voice quiet—like the anger’s burned out and all that’s left is ash and honesty.

You hum, not in disagreement but more like a sound of recognition. You shift in your seat, knees angled slightly toward him, your spine pressing into the cool edge of the door. The city lights bleed into the car, flashing across his jawline. He looks good like this—annoyingly good—hair perfectly styled, suit neat despite the hour, but his expression? It’s all cracked open.

“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting into the silence like it’s something he has to slice through before it swallows you both whole. “I went too far with all of this. I didn’t want us to argue.”

“No, Kook… I started it,” you say, voice soft but heavy. “I’m sorry too.”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Same,” you murmur. “It sucks.”

“You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?” His eyes flick toward you, searching your face. “Most of the shit… it was just—heat of the moment stuff.”

You nod, hand reaching over to rest gently on his shoulder. “I know, Kook. Me neither.”

The car stills for a beat. There’s no music playing now, just the muted sound of tires on wet asphalt and the whisper of things you can’t say aloud. You let the silence linger too long, and it hangs there, taut and unspoken.

Because the truth is… some of the words you said? You did mean them. Not all. But some.

And you wonder—did he?

Did he mean it when he said you were delusional? Did he mean it when he implied you had it easier? Or was that just his bruised ego talking, scared of how deeply you still saw him?

You pull your hand back and press it to your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“I meant some of it,” you admit, voice barely louder than a whisper.

He blinks. “Which parts?”

You hesitate. “The part about you being scared to play again… and how it’s easier for you to pretend you’re content than to admit you still want more.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts his hand off the wheel and runs it through his hair—slowly, like he’s buying himself time.

“You really think I’m just pretending?” he asks finally, almost offended. But not quite.

You shrug, eyes glued to the dashboard. “I think you tell yourself you’re fine so you don’t have to want something you think you’ll never get.”

He exhales sharply. “You make it sound so fucking tragic.”

“Isn’t it?” you glance at him. “I mean, maybe not in a dramatic way. But quietly, in the way that gnaws at you slowly. You don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

He’s gripping the wheel again, jaw tight. “And what about you, huh? Are you living your big dream life?”

You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I thought I was. I tell myself I am. But some nights I lie awake wondering if I’ve just built a pretty version of settling.”

He looks at you again, this time more carefully. “So we’re both full of shit.”

“Maybe that’s why we get each other so well.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “God, we’re a mess.”

“A beautiful one,” you tease softly.

He smiles faintly. “Speak for yourself.”

You nudge his arm. “Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting,” he mutters. “I’m deflecting with charm. There’s a difference.”

You laugh, finally, and the sound breaks the tension like a crack in glass letting in fresh air. But underneath it, something lingers. A feeling. A thought. One neither of you has dared to voice yet.

You turn to him again, serious now. “You don’t have to go back to being a musician full-time, Jungkook. But you could play again. For yourself. Just… because you want to.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes on the road ahead.

“And what if I do? What if I play again, and it lights something up inside me I can’t ignore?”

You reach over and squeeze his hand, firm and gentle all at once.

“Then we deal with that fire together.”

He looks at you, and this time, you don’t look away. Not when his eyes soften, not when his lips twitch up just a little. Not when the weight of years and unsaid things hangs between you.

Maybe this is how it’s always been between you two. Messy. Complicated. Raw.

But it’s real.

And for now, maybe that’s enough.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

Doesn’t flinch or pull away like he usually does when things get too real, too close to the bone. His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and it’s terrifying how natural it feels. How long you’ve both pretended this wasn’t still buried somewhere between you, under layers of arguments and half-truths and detours in life.

“I’m scared,” Jungkook says, and it’s so quiet, you almost miss it. His voice cracks on the word scared, and you’ve known him long enough to understand how rare that kind of honesty is coming from him.

You don’t say anything. You just wait.

“I’m scared that if I play again… if I really try… and I still fail…” He swallows. “Then it’s not just about life being unfair. Then it’s me. Then I’m the reason it didn’t work.”

You lean in a little, turning your body more toward him. “That’s not how it works, Kook.”

“But that’s how it feels,” he says, finally looking at you, eyes wide. “Like if I never try again, then I get to keep the dream. It stays perfect. Untouched. Still possible.”

“Untouched things don’t grow,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, head dropping back against the headrest. “God, why do you always say things that hit me like a truck?”

“Because you drive the metaphorical car straight into denial, and someone has to steer,” you offer with a small, teasing smile.

He laughs—really laughs—and it’s so genuine that it softens the ache in your chest.

“You know, back then… in high school,” he says after a moment, voice low, “when we all thought the world was ours… I used to think I’d marry someone who got me the way you do.”

Your heart stutters. You almost don’t breathe.

“Jungkook…”

“I don’t mean it like a confession or anything,” he adds quickly, though the way he avoids your eyes tells you it is one. “I just mean… you’ve always seen through me. Even when I didn’t want you to.”

You don’t know what to say. The space between you feels electric now—like something’s about to snap or shift or fall apart in a beautiful, devastating way.

“I wish I could be braver for you,” he admits, and there’s a rawness in it that nearly breaks you. “I wish I didn’t always pull away. Didn’t always shut down when things get too close.”

“You still can be,” you say softly. “Bravery isn’t some fixed trait. You can choose it. Every day.”

He turns to you again, and for a moment, everything else fades—the world outside the car, the ticking clock, the stupid hearing he has to be at in forty-five minutes. It’s just you. And him. And this fragile truth hanging in the space between.

You inhale slowly. “Maybe we’re not meant to live perfect dreams, Kook. Maybe we’re just supposed to chase the pieces that still make us feel alive.”

He nods, eyes searching yours. “And maybe I want to start chasing again.”

Your heart thuds. But you don’t let it show. You squeeze his hand instead and whisper, “Then I’ll be here. Right behind you.”

The silence that follows is no longer heavy.

It’s filled with possibility.

A few quiet beats pass. The tension between you has shifted—softer now, but still charged, still full of words unsaid.

You clear your throat. “I meant what I said though. About wanting you to be happy. And… not judging you. I never have.”

“I know,” he says, his voice steady. “I just forget sometimes. I get in my own head and push people away. Especially the ones who know me best. Guess that’s some kind of twisted reflex.”

You shrug. “You’re not the only one. I’ve done my fair share of self-sabotaging too.”

“Yeah, well…” He laughs under his breath. “Maybe we need an actual therapist in this car.”

You smile a little, the tension in your jaw easing. “Maybe. But then again, I think we’ve been each other’s therapists for so long, we wouldn’t know what to do with a real one.”

He glances at you. “You’re not wrong.”

Another pause. Then he adds, “I want to be clear about something. About Nina.”

Your stomach clenches a bit, but you keep your voice steady. “Okay.”

“She’s important to me. And I respect her more than I know how to say. She’s been nothing but good to me—and I’m not going to mess that up.”

You nod, relieved at how firmly he says it. “I know, Jungkook. I wasn’t trying to cross a line or anything.”

“You didn’t,” he assures quickly. “It’s just… I know how our conversations can get. How intense they can feel. And I want to make sure we both remember what they aren’t.”

You nod again, your voice soft. “They’re not a doorway back.”

“Exactly,” he says, offering you a brief glance. “They’re just… two people who know each other too damn well, still figuring shit out.”

You let out a quiet chuckle. “Some things never change.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Still. I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Me neither.”

“And I don’t want this to be a cycle, you know? Us going from avoiding things to blowing up in each other’s faces.”

“Then maybe we should work on saying things before they pile up,” you offer, folding your arms.

He nods. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You both fall quiet again. This time, it doesn’t feel tense—it feels reflective. Like two people recalibrating. Not leaning on each other like they used to, but still existing in the same gravity.

“I still think you should cook more for yourself, by the way,” Jungkook says after a moment. “Not for clients. Not because someone paid you. Just… for fun. For joy.”

You scoff. “Didn’t you just accuse me of being too idealistic twenty minutes ago?”

He smirks. “I did. But I’m allowed to change my mind.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “I cook enough already.”

“Not like you used to,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache a little. “Remember that summer after high school? You were obsessed with making pasta from scratch for like three weeks.”

“It was a phase,” you say with a chuckle.

“It made you happy.”

You nod, looking down at your lap. “Yeah. It did.”

“Then maybe try it again. No pressure. No performance. Just… you and the food. That’s all.”

You glance at him, your smile small but genuine. “Maybe I will.”

A beat.

“And if you ever want someone to peel carrots for you or taste test or pretend to know the difference between béchamel and hollandaise—I’m your guy.”

You laugh, the sound breaking up the last of the tension. “Noted.”

The car grows quiet again, but this time it feels okay. Comfortable. Like something has been salvaged. Not what once was. Not what could’ve been. But what is.

The ride to your job is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. A shared stillness fills the car—like neither of you want to poke at the tender spot you've both just exposed.

Outside, the city hums to life. The early sun catches on glass windows and street signs, and your reflection in the window looks tired, but lighter somehow.

When Jungkook pulls up in front of the quaint little apartment building, tucked between a florist and a gallery, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t move to open his door.

You glance at him. “You gonna walk me in like a gentleman, or do I have to carry all my things like a peasant?”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s soft, fond. “You’re the one who always says you like to make a dramatic solo entrance.”

“Only when I’m wearing heels and carrying an attitude.”

He shakes his head, grinning faintly. Then, more seriously, “Hey. Go easy today, okay?”

You nod, hand on the door handle. “You too. Good luck with your hearing.”

“Thanks,” he says, then hesitates. “And... thanks for being honest with me. Even when it’s messy.”

You pause at the door, looking at him with something that lingers between affection and ache. “That’s the only way I know how to be with you.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just holds your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, “Go cook something that makes you forget the world exists.”

You smile, softer this time. “You say the most poetic shit when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, but the corners of his mouth tug upward.

You get out, closing the door gently behind you. As you make your way to the entrance, you feel the weight of his stare on your back. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

The engine hums back to life just as you unlock the door and disappear inside.

And just like that, the morning swallows you both into different lives—still tethered by a thread that neither of you are ready to cut, but both are too careful to pull on.

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1800-fight-me · 7 months ago

Text

Safety in Your Arms

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: M (Mature but as always-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Cursing, threats of violence, stranger danger i.e. stalking but don't worry Logan saves the day Word count: A bit over 2k Synopsis: Logan protects you from the unwanted advances of another man and shows protectiveness and care you didn't know he had for you. Author’s note: I'm thinking this might need a part two, let me know what y'all think- I hope you enjoy! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Logan Howlett Masterlist Main Masterlist

There was a cold panic that shot down your spine. Fight or flight, you’d learned the technical term, but now experienced it for yourself.

The five minute walk between your work and your apartment had never felt so long. It all started with a creepy customer- which was a regular occurrence at your job- but this customer took it far beyond creepy.

He tried to make too much small talk, stared too much, made a few too many over the line comments, and was entirely too pushy when asking for your phone number. Your one male coworker escorted him out and you thought that was the end of it.

Hours went by, you assured your coworkers multiple times that you were fine and you were safe, and eventually you were the last one left to close and lock up.

But only one block away from your workplace, you had the feeling of being watched- of being followed. And it was just your luck that your phone was dead and you’d forgotten your charger at home.

You changed your route, taking one that was a bit longer but also more well lit and populated. With a glance back you confirmed your worry, that it was in fact the same creepy guy from hours before.

Your heart pounded with terror as you contemplated every option for safety. Your apartment building required a code to enter, so you sped your walk, hoping if you slipped into the building and shut the door behind you that it would be enough.

“Hey,” the man’s voice called out, but you refused to look back.

Your apartment building was within sight, but the man’s catcalls and jeers were also getting louder and closer.

“Hey, c’mere pretty lady! I’ve got somethin’ for ya!”

Your whole body shuddered in fear. Your next door neighbor stepped outside of the front door of the apartment building and you nearly sobbed in relief.

“Logan!” you called out.

He looked up in surprise, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he saw the stress in your entire demeanor.

You practically ran to him and threw your arms around his torso in a hug he clearly did not expect. He hugged you back, but you felt him stiffen as he looked behind you.

That was one thing about Logan, he was extremely perceptive and quick to notice any form of danger.

“Hey bub, what can I do for you?” he said to the man behind you in a gruff tone that was not at all welcoming as he gently maneuvered you so that you stood safely behind him.

You gripped Logan’s strong bicep as you peered around his shoulder at the stalker.

“I was just-”

“Just nothin’. You better leave her alone,” Logan interrupted.

“C’mon, I was just inviting the pretty lady to have a good time. Does he speak for you?” the creep asked as he made eye contact with you. The malice in his eyes made your heartbeat spike again.

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” you said nervously.

He glanced between you and Logan as if uncertain.

“She just told you, she’s mine- so fuck off,” Logan growled. A different kind of shiver went down your spine.

“You live here?” the man asked.

“No,” Logan growled before you could even open your mouth. “But I do, and if I see you around here again it’ll be a problem.”

The man looked at Logan and finally seemed to take in the gravity of the situation, the danger that the large muscled man protecting you could pose.

He gulped and nodded, yielded a step back as Logan took a step forward- muscles tense and fist clenched.

The man turned and scurried away. You took your first full deep breath in several long minutes.

Logan watched the man until he was completely out of view before he turned to you. He placed a large comforting hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Princess,” he said in a gentle voice.

He pulled you into a hug as a tear fell from your eye and made its way down your cheek. You were enveloped in his warmth and woodsy masculine scent and finally felt safe.

“Thanks for pretending to be my boyfriend,” you said as you pulled back and wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Anytime,” he said with a smirk. Your breath caught and you bit your lip as you looked up at him and saw such care and concern on his handsome face.

“Who was that guy?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Some crazy customer from earlier today, my coworker made him leave, but I guess he came back and waited until I was leaving alone….”

Logan’s brow furrowed and he gritted his teeth. “That motherfucker,” he growled, “I’m walking you to and from work tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I do. And I’ll do it until I’m sure he isn’t gonna bother you anymore. And if he shows up again…” he trailed off as his claws extended from his fist in an action that seemed involuntary due to his rage.

A shiver ran down your spine. You had no idea Logan felt so protective over you.

“Thank you,” you said in a soft voice, “I appreciate it.”

This was not helping your ridiculous crush on your neighbor. From the minute he moved in with your friend Wade, you had heart eyes for him.

The Wolverine, he took your breath away without even trying. With his large stature, huge muscles, and handsome face- you were a goner. It didn’t matter that he was older, way out of your league, and generally altogether grumpy. You were head over heels for him, and you were certain he had never noticed you before, that he merely thought you were Wade’s annoying friend.

But you adored him, you adored the gentle heart you knew he buried under that gruff exterior, and displays of protectiveness such as this only proved what an amazing person you already knew he was.

“I’m headed to meet Wade at the bar, d’you wanna come?” he offered.

You nodded eagerly, not wanting to be alone after the stress of the day.

“Lead the way,” you said with a smile.

—--------

“Look who I brought,” Logan said as you walked behind him into the bar and approached a booth in the back corner.

He stepped to the side so your friends could see you. Wade, Vanessa, and Dopinder sat at the table, already laughing and drinking beer.

Wade gasped dramatically and exclaimed, “Princess Cupcake!”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrayed you and showed your amusement.

“Hey Wade,” you replied then greeted the others.

“What? No comeback? I’m hurt! What’s wrong?” he asked, speaking in that way too fast pattern that was his norm.

Logan placed a hand on your back and leaned down closer to your ear as he asked quietly, “You wanna sit down? I can get you a drink- what do you want?”

You smiled and sat down as you were told and told him your drink order.

Wade wiggled his non-existent eyebrows at you in a rather suggestive manner.

“What’s up between you and peanut? Did you finally fu-”

“No,” you interjected quickly.

“Wade, she’s clearly upset and Logan is helping her,” Vanessa said as she elbowed her boyfriend.

You sighed and explained the events of your afternoon. During your explanation Logan came back to the table with two drinks and sat next to you. His large form crowded you into the corner of the booth, but you didn’t mind.

“That motherfucker,” Wade said in anger at the end of your story. Vanessa gave you a look of solidarity, you knew she had experienced plenty of creepy men in her life.

“That’s what I said,” Logan replied, clearly somewhat amused.

“We should kill him,” Dopinder said.

“Calm down wannabe-vigilante,” you muttered which caused everyone to chuckle.

“Don’t worry cupcake, ole honey badger and I will make sure you’re safe,” Wade reassured.

You nodded and said, “I appreciate it, but I don’t think he’ll return. Logan can be pretty intimidating, it was amazing - I’m sure he scared him off.”

Logan grunted in agreement, although when you looked at him you could’ve sworn there was a tint of pink on his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

As the evening stretched on, you were thoroughly distracted from your troubles and amused by Wade’s antics and Dopinder’s stories.

“So, Princess Cupcake, any luck on the dating front?” Wade asked.

You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt- a nervous habit, and without looking up from the table said, “Nope.”

Logan let out a soft sigh of what your aching heart could only hope was relief.

“I’ve never asked, what’s with the nickname?” Dopinder asked.

You shrugged and gestured to Wade.

“When Blind Al and I moved into our apartment this sweetie pie here brought us cupcakes!” Wade explained.

“Good thing it was cupcakes instead of a pie because being constantly called sweetie pie would make me want to die,” you muttered and everyone laughed.

“What about the princess part though?” Dopinder asked.

“Just look at her,” Logan mumbled and you and everyone at the table looked over at him in surprise.

“She’s got that innocent sort of pretty you only see in big bright eyed animated Disney princesses,” Wade said.

Embarrassed at the attention you changed the subject immediately. Your constant filthy thoughts about Logan proved you were anything but innocent.

“But why is Logan’s nickname peanut?” you asked quickly.

Wade shrugged, “Just fits.”

Logan rolled his eyes.

You smirked and said, “I bet we could come up with a hundred nicknames for him that would fit better.”

“Like what?” Wade challenged.

You glanced over at the large handsome man sitting next to you as your face warmed.

Daddy was the first word that came to mind. Wade chuckled in a way that made you momentarily worried that mind reading was one of his mutant abilities.

The silence at the table stretched on, becoming a tad awkward, before you said, “Nevermind I’m not very good with nicknames anyways.”

“Yeah, it’s probably best to leave choosing nicknames to the professional,” Vanessa said in a joking tone to ease the tension. You shot her a look of gratitude and she winked at you before she effectively changed the subject all together.

Eventually, after enough drinks and conversation, you declared that it was time for you to go home.

“C’mon!” Wade protested. “The night has just begun!”

“I wish I could stay but I’ve got work in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Logan said in a soft but firm tone that left no room for argument as he stood and took a step back to give you room to get out of the booth.

You nodded in agreement and smiled in pleasant surprise as he offered you his arm. You wrapped your arm around his large bicep and linked your elbows as you followed him out into the cold winter air.

The city glowed in warm orange light that reflected on the wet pavement. Your breath was visible in frostbitten wind, and you shivered slightly which caused you to burrow further into your coat and move closer to Logan and the heat his body provided.

He then pulled his arm from yours, causing you to momentarily panic, but just as swiftly he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

You smiled and filled the short walk with endless chatter, you used to worry that your yapping irritated him, but the small uptick of his lips- the ghost of a smile- showed fond amusement and filled you with warmth enough to make you forget about the cold.

“What time do you leave for work in the morning?” Logan asked as you reached the door of your apartment- his apartment door only a few steps away.

“Eight o’clock,” you replied as you unlocked the door.

“But really, you don’t have to-”

“I’ll see you then,” he interrupted in a tone that indicated you would not win this argument.

Then he did something you didn’t expect at all, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead.

You grinned, your smile wider than probably ever before as you said, “Goodnight Logan, see you bright and bleary eyed tomorrow.”

He chuckled as he bid you goodnight and you walked into your apartment and shut the door only after he smiled at you again before disappearing behind his own door.

You shut your door and locked it before leaning against it. You muffled your squeal of excitement with your hand- all too aware how thin the walls are. The stressful events of the day completely forgotten.

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