#Both a warning to be nice and a threat

[roanofarcc]

WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom. 

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face. 

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them. 

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair. 

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them. 

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.” 

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences. 

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night. 

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you. 

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos. 

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds. 

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet. 

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people. 

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!” 

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?” 

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it. 

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes. 

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter. 

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast. 

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing. 

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk. 

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion. 

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run. 

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound. 

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?” 

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow. 

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey. 

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir. 

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances. 

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces. 

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you. 

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly. 

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap. 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?” 

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.” 

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.” 

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.” 

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.” 

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him. 

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest. 

Bonus! 

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt. 

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased. 

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.” 

[chalkscene]

tokyo revengers ⇢ YOU’RE TOO DRUNK TO RECOGNIZE YOUR BOYFRIEND

ft. manjiro “mikey” sano, ken “draken” ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani & shuji hanma

warnings: alcohol and a very hammered reader. the boys are more responsible than you <3

this is one of the rare occurrences wherein MIKEY actually shares his food. when you’ve finally given up on fighting him for the last bottle of alcohol, you start whining about your sudden hunger so he slides his plate of nachos over to you. he watches you eye it for a second before you drag your gaze up to him. “i have a boyfriend you know?” you tell him, your attempt to be menacing coming out pathetically as the attitude dripping from your tone is dampened by your slurred speech. mikey doesn’t need the club to be well lit. the strobe lights already illuminate your face enough for him to get a clear view of your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. “i know,” he confirms with a tinge of exasperation, “because it’s me. mikey. your boyfriend.” he emphasizes his last words, his last effort to knock some sense into you but you only let out a cackle which catches him off guard. “nice try but mikey never shares his food.”

“that’s enough.” DRAKEN snatches the last of your many drinks for the night before you can gulp it down. being the perceptive boyfriend he is, he can already hear the complaint that’s about to slip from your tongue so he’s quick to pull you by the wrist, up from your seat and out the door. “where are you taking me?” you ask as clearly as your drunken state can let you—not so much but enough for your boyfriend to understand. “home.” at his curt reply, you yank your hand from his grip with a strength that startles even toman’s former vice president. “what the hell are you doing?” draken hisses lest you make a scene in public. “i’m calling my boyfriend,” you warn him, “bet he can kick your ass.” “yeah? i’d like to see him try.” he dismisses your empty threat, reaching for you once more to guide you to the exit but upon hearing a few whispers from prying strangers who are clearly getting the wrong idea, he stops in his tracks and turns to no one in particular, no longer caring about whatever commotion he may cause as his voice booms over the loud music: “i’m the boyfriend!”

“let me go!” you relentlessly thrash around, yelling out threats of calling your boyfriend, while BAJI—the boyfriend in question—pulls you into an empty alleyway to avoid any possible public humiliation for the both of you. “fuck,” he huffs out a breath, “when did you get this strong?” some time in the night, he’s tuned you out telling him off, on a sole mission to stop you from drinking more than you already have. and he’s relieved he managed to get you out of the bar—that is until he hears a weird noise coming from you. “wh-” baji doesn’t get the chance to utter a single word as you begin to throw up. in a panic, he hastily puts your hair up with his spare tie before rubbing soothing circles on your back. your hair looks real messy, he notes, but that’s the least of his worries. “you feeling better?” he checks on you after a while, only to be met by more retching, making him grumble to himself, “and i get an earful when i drink too much.”

MITSUYA is helping you get on your feet—sweet boyfriend he is—but as soon as you find your footing, you give him a hefty shove. “i have a boyfriend, jackass!” you seethe, too drunk to recognize him, and all he can do is sigh as he regains his balance. “yes. me.” something clicks in your brain at his response and you squint your eyes to get a better look at him. “takashi?” “hi, love.” and just like that, you perk up, your mouth stretching into a wide grin. “taka,” you squeal, excitement coursing through your veins when you recognize your boyfriend, “hiiiii~” he laughs at the shift in your tone and takes the opportunity to slide an arm around your waist once more. “let’s get you home okay?” “mhm.” you wrap your arms around him and he lifts you with ease. mitsuya assumes you’re fast asleep until a few minutes later, you mumble something against his skin, “someone tried to flirt with me but i said no.” a chuckle bubbles past his lips as he adjusts his hold on you. “really?” “mhm,” you nod into his neck as you snuggle closer, “i only love you.” “i love you more.” “love you most,” you reply before soft snores fall from your lips and your breathing evens out.

you’re rambling about RINDOU to rindou himself, going on and on about the reasons that made you fall in love with him. and while you’re occasionally interrupted by your hiccups, he patiently listens to your every word then he hears a “but.” the ways you describe him next are less flattering, less romantic—how he tries so hard to act indifferent to your cooing as if the tips of his ears don’t instantly turn red. or how he has a permanent scowl etched on his face. and other things you already tell him even when you’re sober. “he’s really lucky he doesn’t have any wrinkles yet,” you add with a giggle. “you’re really annoying when you’re drunk, you know that?” rindou deadpans. despite the lack of lighting in the club, he doesn’t miss the shock washing over you, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “what?” your voice comes out shaky and your bottom lip starts to wobble, making rindou release another groan. “for fuck’s sake.”

in spite of your insistence to stay at the club, RAN easily managed to drag you to his car. this isn’t his first rodeo. as an older brother, he has had to deal with rindou when he was blackout drunk. “where are we going?” you mumble as you begin to stir in the passenger seat. “home.” “i wanna see ran.” your boyfriend throws you a quick glance—your eyes remain closed and the rest of your words are incomprehensible—before he focuses back on the road. amused by your drunken state, he plays along. “alright, we’re going to ran.” the stretch of silence that follows is cut short when you speak again, “i’m thirsty.” so ran makes a quick stop at a convenience store, coming back shortly with a bottle in hand. he unscrews the cap before he gives you the drink, “careful.” you take a big gulp, instantly grimacing at the taste and it elicits a snort from your boyfriend. “what is this?” “water.”

“want more,” you slur. across from you, HANMA watches as you clumsily reach for the empty shot glasses on the table, flipping them upside down as if more alcohol will magically appear. he’s not going to lie—he finds it funny. entertaining, even. and if the circumstances were any different, he would’ve even encouraged this behavior. but he’s your boyfriend now and if there’s one thing he truly cares about, it’s you. drunk out of your wits, you don’t notice when hanma slides out of the booth until he’s soon presenting two more glasses to you. even though the contents are the same, he asks you to choose, “which one?” “hmm… that.” before you can get your hands on your drink, hanma intercepts and downs it in one go. you’re about to protest when he throws you over his shoulder and chugs the other drink out of your sight before heading for the exit. “let’s go.”

[avatarchic]

— FOREIGNER

How the Karasuno boys would react to meeting Shoyo's foreign cousin.

— starring. karasuno boys x foreign exchange student!reader (separately), student teacher!reader in ukai's

— tags. fluff, first meetings, pining

— warnings. use of 'pretty' and 'cute' to describe reader, but no pronouns are used, you slap ryuu in his LOL, mild suggestive comment in ryuu's if you squint

— requested? yes! thank you so much for your request this was fun to write :)

— notes. some of these are longer than others sorry ADHKWH my biases are showing a lil // this ended up being a first meeting + how they act when they start crushing on you, but it they're so cute so i didnt wanna change it lolol

daichi is whipped for you from the start

he doesn't show it (or he doesn't think he does) but he's attracted to you the second he lays eyes on you

he's extra sure to be polite to you, too embarrassed too show his brasher nature in case it scares you off

he loses his backbone whenever you're around

he needs to scold some of the first years for goofing off, but you're standing there? he's all sunshine and rainbows

when he finds out that you're a foreign exchange student, he's over the moon

he subtly finds out your classes from shoyo, who of course doesn't realize his intentions as he blurts out your schedule happily

he checks up on you often, making sure you're adjusting well to japan because "what kind of captain would he be if he let his underclassman's cousin have a hard time?"

the team is none the wiser, except for maybe koshi who sees through his shit immediately

he has a habit of patting your head as a greeting, even if he's just passing you in the hallways even if you complain about him messing up your hair

overall, he's super soft with you :)

sawamura daichi! was annoyed when he met you. shoyo hadn't shown up to practice and wasn't answering his phone, which left the captain ready to send the orange-haired freshman to an early grave. after kei made a smart remark that he saw shoyo lingering near the school entrance, he was on a mission to give the boy hell.

kei was right, of course. when daichi made his way to the entrance, he saw shoyo right away. he stomps over, lips parting to lecture the younger male about responsibilities when his eyes ghost over you. he stops short, shoyo's name barely dropping from his mouth as he pauses.

when you both turn to him, daichi feels his breath catch in his throat. it was clear that you weren't from around here. your odd sense of dress stuck out like a sore thumb—not to mention he had never seen you before. but if anything, he thought you were pretty.

"you're late for practice," daichi states lamely, barely managing to tear his gaze away from you to glower at shoyo. "i ought to put you on cleaning duty tonight."

the threat fell on deaf ears, shoyo's large grin unfaltering as he wraps an arm around your midsection in a tight hug. "captain! sorry, sorry," he apologizes, though the wide grin on his face told daichi he wasn't serious. "my cousin texted me that they were here, so i had to say hi!"

at his words, you finally snap out of your stupor, offering daichi a small smile. "i didn't realize he had practice. i wouldn't have called him out if i knew."

daichi presses his lips together, feeling his ears warm at your kind tone. "it's okay," he says softly. "i'll let him off for now. it's nice to meet you—i'm sawamura daichi."

when you introduce yourself, he finds himself repeating your name in his head.

"oi," he clears his throat, turning to shoyo with a deadpan expression. "c'mon. we're late enough already." daichi turns to bow his head at you politely, quickly turning around before you can see the warmth in his cheeks.

your sweet voice calls out a goodbye, and daichi decides then and there that he wants to get to know you better.

"hey, hey—why are you so red?"

"you're gonna shut up now if you want to go home early tonight."

koshi didn't realize you were shoyo's cousin until after he got to know you a little

he couldn't help it—when he saw you he just thought you were super cute lmao

he fumbles a bit in front of you

he really really tries to be a cool, calm, and collected person but sometimes he embarrasses himself by saying odd things or staring at you a little too long

when he does figure out you're related to his underclassman, he takes the opportunity to get to know you better

and when he finds out you're in his homeroom? even better

the type to arrange study session together with you every weekend just to spend time with you

he actually invites you to watch their practices and games before shoyo does LOL

the whole team knows about his feelings and he doesn't even care, constantly throwing an arm over you shoulder and hanging around you during downtimes

wants to impress you, so he gives it his all (and then some) whenever you're there

his sets get more accurate and he even blocks more hits than he would've before

he really wants you to think he's cool

but if you compliment him, he's exploding on the spot

suguwara koshi! had no idea you were shoyo's cousin when he met you. you looked nothing alike and your personalities were completely different. despite you being a complete stranger, the lost look on your face amused him.

you met koshi when shoyo accidentally stranded you at the train station. you were supposed to take the same train to his house, but he didn't notice you weren't right behind him when he stepped into the train car. the last you saw of the tangerine-haired boy was the back of his head as the doors closed on you.

you were standing there in a panic, though no one stopped to check if you were okay. shoyo had you hold his schoolbag while he dragged your suitcase along, and when you tried calling his cellphone you heard it buzz in the bag that hung on your shoulder. for the life of you, you couldn't remember which stop to get off or which streets to take to get to his house.

"are you lost?" a gentle voice asks you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts.

your eyes meet and koshi can't help but think you're cute as hell. you look doe-eyed in your panic, rounded eyes and parted lips. when you don't answer right away, koshi's cool demeanor switches and he stumbles into an embarrassed frenzy. "wait, can you even understand japanese?"

thankfully, you do, having learned it from shoyo at a younger age. you blink away the remnants of your panic with a few hasty nods. "yes, sorry. my cousin accidentally left me here, and i don't really know how to get to his house..."

koshi calms down at your insistence, chuckling to himself. "do you know the address?"

you wince, "no."

"alright," he says in a way that he hopes is soothing for you. "i can keep you company while you wait for him to return, then. it'd probably be nicer than just standing here by yourself."

when you agree, he hides his smile. he asks you several icebreakers, such as your name and your favourite colour. with every passing second, he only thinks you're even cuter than when he first saw you.

eventually, shoyo does come back, panting and heaving as he runs up the stairs to the station platform. his bright eyes widen when he sees you together with koshi. "oh, sugawara? you've met my cousin?"

koshi meets your eyes with a grin. "i guess we'll be seeing each other more often."

honestly asahi doesn't even acknowledge you when you first meet

he doesn't find out you're shoyo's cousin for weeks, so you're really just another classmate to him

you don't even talk to each other until like a month or so after you transferred

and even then, your conversations are short

he's polite to you when you work together, but he doesn't really try to become friends with you

don't get him wrong! he thinks you're nice and pretty, but he is too damn shy to initiate anything with you

you kinda think he hates you at first, but after you realize that he's just not an outgoing person you relax around him

when he does find out you're related to shoyo, you end up seeing each other more often out of class

you show up to more practices, even if you're just sitting on the benches doing homework

shoyo even drags you along whenever the team meets up outside of school to hang out

as a result, you and asahi eventually grow closer and he opens up more bit by bit

he doesn't actually start crushing on you until graduation nears

he realizes it when he hears you cheering his name at one of their bigger games

he thinks his name sounds prettier coming from you

he doesn't initiate any skinship with you, but he's always asking about your day and checking on you in his own ways

will absolutely combust if you even so much as brush pinkies as you're walking together

azumane asahi! first met you in class. like koshi, he doesn't know you're related to shoyo initially. when the teacher introduces you, making you write your name on the board, you don't have the same last name as shoyo. he doesn't really pay much attention to you, minding his own business as he takes out his notebook and pens.

several weeks pass and your homeroom teacher announces that you'll be partnering up for a group presentation. your first real conversation with him goes as expected—you exchange contact information and go your separate ways when the bell rings.

he thinks you're attractive, but he's too shy to actually act on those thoughts and he just pushes through the project, interacting with you as little as possible.

it's only when shoyo forgets his volleyball uniform at your house that asahi figures out you're related.

he sees you first, standing in the gym entrance while you wait to be invited in. you look hesitant as your eyes cast over the several members of the volleyball club, your gaze landing on asahi. when recognition flickers behind your eyes, he thinks you're there for him.

he opens his mouth to greet you, but before he can even utter a word, an orange blur runs past him. you're almost knocked on your ass as shoyo tackles you, excitedly calling out your name. "what're you doing here?" he asks you, tilting his head as he releases you from his death grip. "you never come to practice."

"you left your uniform at mine," you explain quietly, pulling the clothing out of your bag.

there's a moment of silence, before all hell breaks loose. the others scream and yell at shoyo, yuu and ryuunosuke shaking him by the shoulders as they demand why they weren't informed about his girlfriend.

even asahi's jaw drops at the thought of you, his classmate and group partner, dating shoyo, of all people.

"we aren't dating!" you exclaim, shaking your hands in front of you adamantly as disgust paints over your facial features. "we're cousins."

as the club eventually quiets down, you meet asahi's gaze over the commotion. when you offer him a bashful smile, he can't help but return it.

as expected, yuu is also whipped for you the second you meet

he swears on his life that he has never met someone as perfect as you—not even kiyoko (which says a lot)

at first, his attraction to you is entirely physical and he doesn't hide it

he compliments you every time he sees you he even compliments your outfits even if you're just wearing the karasuno uniform

he practically begs shoyo to bring you to practice just so he has an excuse to ogle at you and profess his 'undying love'

you'd probably make good friends with kiyoko, bonding over the second years' unabashed feelings and loud professions of love lol

though he's completely smitten with your looks, yuu doesn't learn a thing about you until like two months after your transfer

he realizes it when koshi asks if he knows anything about you and no, the fact that you're pretty doesn't count as something

during a late night run to the nearest convenience store, he runs into you

you're dressed casually, and he realizes it's actually the first time he's seen you outside of uniform

he thinks you're very cute in your bunny pajamas

he approaches you with koshi's words in mind, and asks if you want to hang out for a bit

your hang outs become a common thing, and eventually it's your weekend tradition to meet at the convenient store after sundown

after really getting to know you, he realizes that he likes more than just your appearance

shockingly, once he figures out his feelings for you, he tones down a lot

he would stop confessing his love for you every moment he could, but he gets casually affectionate with you

he'd always stand close enough for your shoulders to touch and would absentmindedly guide you places by taking your hand

he's never had a real crush on anyone before, so he's feeling it out with you

nishinoya yuu! has hearts in his eyes the moment he meets you. shoyo brought you to practice one day, excited to introduce his favourite cousin to his teammates. he had all but dragged you to the gym by the wrist, ignoring your insistent utterings that you can walk on your own.

"this is my cousin!" shoyo announces the second he bursts through the doors in true hinata shoyo fashion. you were the last ones to show up, so the entire team was there to witness you getting dragged in by shoyo. "they transferred here from overseas."

yuu feels the world stop once he glances over at you after receiving a particularly harsh spike from tobio, freezing into his squatted position. his world becomes a romcom movie—he swears someone must be blowing a fan in your direction with the way your hair sways as you walk into the gym. he might even be seeing the air sparkle in your presence.

he's absolutely starstruck with you, and he makes no effort to hide it as he bounds over to you. he takes your hands in his, looking at you with wide eyes as he takes you in. he can hear someone groaning, maybe daichi, as they mutter something along the lines of "he's at it again."

"i'm nishinoya yuu," he introduces himself. "you're really cute!"

your mouth opens, but no words come out as you simply stare at yuu in surprise. shoyo had given you a brief rundown of his group members, and you realize that this might be why he warned you about the libero in particular.

even when daichi smacks the back of his head, apologizing to you quietly, yuu remains in his lovestruck gaze.

you stay to watch their practice, at both shoyo and yuu's insistence, and yuu makes a point to be even more extravagant than usual. you can't help but laugh at his boisterous rolling receives and the way he calls out ridiculous move names.

oh ryuu. typical ryuu.

the first words he ever speaks to you end up with him getting slapped

like yuu, he thinks you've been blessed by the gods with your looks and he makes it clear to you when you meet

he asks you to go out with him, only to blatantly check you out right after, which earned him a smack to the face

eventually, he does apologize for his behaviour, though you don't accept it right away

when you tell him that you hate guys who treat others like eye candy, he's sure to tone it down for you

of course, a man can't change overnight

he still flirts with you, and with other women—he can't help it ;( him n yuu are menaces

however, when he's not being an absolute pest, he gets to know you

he learns about your interests and hobbies, and finds himself indulging you in them (who would've thought he'd end up enjoying the art of bracelet making?)

when you become close friends, you become his person

he goes to you whenever he wants to talk about something, and he lends an ear whenever you need to vent

he asks you about your home country often, wanting to know more about your life before you came to japan

he'd even go out of his way to do things for you that remind you of home whenever you start feeling homesick :)

it's not until well after graduation when he realizes that he might actually like you

tanaka ryuunosuke! was mid confession when you met. shoyo had brought you to one of their games, and just as ryuunosuke was getting on his knees to ask kiyoko to marry him, his eyes fall on you.

it's almost astounding how quickly the second year moved from the glasses-wearing beauty to you, appearing in front of you in an instant. before shoyo can even introduce you, he stares you down with a steeled expression, his eyes narrowing.

"you're the prettiest person i've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on," he claims in his most serious tone. he takes your hands in his as he presses his lips to your knuckles. "please go out with me."

there's a collective sigh as the team turns away at his antics. you, on the other hand, feel your head pound in irritation. "excuse me?"

ryuunosuke doesn't hear the vexation in your tone, or chooses to ignore it, as his eyes trail over your features. even when you're staring at him in an angry disbelief, he thinks you're incredibly pretty. however, as his eyes drop lower and lower, his mind enters a less-than-appropriate headspace.

the feeling of your hand connecting with his cheek rips him out of his lewd daydreams. you didn't slap him hard, but the sound echoed over the loud chatter of the audience members anyway. "you pervert," you utter, gritting your teeth as you turn on your heel. you barely tell shoyo good luck as you all but stomp off to the bleachers.

ryuunosuke stares at your back, holding his reddening cheek in mild awe. yuu nudges his side. "don't tell me you're into that, man."

he at least has the grace to blush.

to be honest, you and tobio do not get along until much later

it's not because you're related to shoyo it is

he just genuinely has no idea how to talk to you lmao

you meet him on the first day of school with shoyo

the realization that he may be teammates with the very guy he had practically berated in middle school took priority over greeting you tbh

it's only after their initial fight when he realizes that you, a complete stranger, saw him yell at shoyo as harshly as he did (even if shoyo didn't have many nice things to say either)

he's kinda embarrassed abt it tbh

like?? you had to see him like that?? he's mortified

so when he joins the volleyball club and you're a manager, he avoids you like the plague

when he talks to you, he accidentally comes across as if he hates your guts (he doesn't, he just cannot properly converse with people to save his life)

your relationship is extremely terse for months, since you get pissed off at his behaviour and he doesn't know how to act normally around you

he doesn't warm up to you until one of their games later in the season, where the morale is low and the team is hanging their heads

you give them an uplifting speech, telling the team that they're stronger than they think

it's the first time tobio looks at you in a pleasant light, and he merely puts a hand on your shoulder to say thanks as he makes his way back to the court

slowburn as fuck tbh he might not even realize he likes you until you're about to graduate (cut him some slack he's only a lil slow)

kageyama tobio! barely acknowledges your existence when you meet. you had moved to japan before their first year at karasuno began, so you showed up with shoyo to the first day.

of course, tobio recognized shoyo immediately from their encounter in middle school. shoyo had dragged you to the gym to go with him to sign up for the volleyball club, insistent that you try to apply to be a manager or something. tobio was there, about to spike a volleyball.

the second shoyo and tobio lock eyes on each other, they're at it like cats and dogs, and you're left standing there in confusion. seeing shoyo as angry as he was is shocking to you and you wonder what the hell this other guy must've done to rile up your sunshine cousin so much.

tobio doesn't even look at you as he argues with shoyo, not meeting your eyes until after the fight has 'calmed' down. he stares at you quietly for a moment before averting his gaze, grumbling something under his breath as he leaves to retrieve the volleyball shoyo made him drop.

he doesn't say anything to you as you talk quietly with daichi about becoming a manager. he vaguely overhears shoyo introducing you as his cousin, but he's too annoyed to listen.

later on, when him and shoyo are finally accepted into the club, and you're brought on as a manager-in-training, tobio still ignores you.

you don't have your first conversation until a week later, when you corner him after practice. "what is your problem?" you demand, your hands propped on your hips. "i know you don't like sho, but you haven't said a single word to me since you joined the club."

tobio flushes in embarrassment as he stares at you. he doesn't mean to, but his eyes narrow into what could be perceived as a harsh glare. "i don't have anything to say," he says truthfully, his voice coming out colder than necessary.

when he rushes off to hide his growing fluster, you're left standing there confused.

you and kei barely interacted at first tbh

he had never seen you before and it was the weekend when you met so he had no reason to assume you'd ever talk again really

even after finding out you were related to shoyo, he didn't bat an eye

after all, he's not exactly going over to the orange-haired boy's house for sleepovers lolol

but to his surprise, you're in his classroom the next monday morning as a foreign exchange student

your classmates rush to you, overwhelming you with numerous questions about your hometown, and it's clear to kei that you're flustered

you meet his gaze over the crowd of people, and for a moment you're shocked to see him

however, before either of you can do anything, you get bombarded with even more questions

to your surprise and his, kei scoffs as he approaches your crowded desk

"can't you see you're bothering them?"

the gaggle of students dissipates with embarrassed apologies, leaving you and kei alone

your relationship with him from then on is odd

there's an unspoken agreement that you both don't like being bothered by other people, and you lowkey bond over it

he would never admit you're friends, but he comes to your rescue often

if you can't understand a phrase or if you don't know the answer to a question in class, he'll quietly help you out (but don't bother asking about it, 'cus he'll deny it vehemently)

when you start hanging out during practices, he ruffles your hair and rests his arm on your head regardless of your height

making fun of you is his love language (not that he'd ever admit he has feelings)

tsukishima kei! meets you when you're babysitting natsu. the team had been out getting ice cream (as per koshi's insistence—for team building), leaving kei in a sour mood because he would rather be anywhere than here.

"shoyo! sho!"

the whole team looks over, seeing a little girl who is the spitting image of their short middle blocker running toward them. kei's expression drops even more, because there's two of them?

shoyo almost drops his ice cream cone with the way the little girl jumps on him. "what are you doing here?" shoyo asks, scrambling to catch his sweet treat. "where's—"

before he can finish his sentence, another figure comes running at them, out of breath. "natsu!" you scold airily as you make your way up to the team, hunching over and resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. "jesus, don't just run off like that!"

you look up at shoyo from your hunched position, letting kei get a good look at your face. you're flushed, sweat beading on your brow bone and lips are parted as you breathe harshly through them. it's clear to the blond that you've been running around for some time now, something that makes him snort into his strawberry ice cream cup.

"sorry, sho," you wince, practically dragging the little girl, natsu, to your side. "she ran off while i was paying for her snacks. she probably saw you through the window." you vaguely gesture to a nearby convenience store, holding up a bag of candy.

you talk with shoyo for another moment, before turning to the rest of the team. your eyes briefly meet kei's and he arches a brow at you. you apologize for interrupting them, but daichi insists that you're fine and that you and natsu can hang around since you're there anyway.

as a result, you and kei end up standing near each other as the group converses. kei had been hanging a little bit away from the others, minus tadashi of course. you end up near him by coincidence—you don't know the others, and the three of you end up quietly sitting in acknowledgement that you didn't want to talk.

my darling baby tadashi is a mess when you meet <3

he was practicing his volleyball skills when he accidentally whams you in the face

he'd feel guilty about it for a while (even if you insist you're fine) and would use it as an excuse to buy you drinks from the vending machines lol

"this is the fourth drink you've bought me this week??"

"i have to make up for hitting you somehow :((("

becoming friends with tadashi is surprisingly easy, given how shy he can be

it becomes a habit to meet you by the vending machines before practice

the time in the halls between classes and volleyball are spent getting to know you

he asks a lot of questions about what it's like in your hometown and the differences in your culture

i don't think he'd start liking you until after you also get close with kei though lol good luck

the first time he sees you joking around with the tall blond, he thinks his heart is about to beat out of his chest

you must be an angel, he decides as he watches you get along with kei

the three of you form a trio and you end up spending more time with them than shoyo LOL

kei absolutely knows about tadashi's feelings and takes every opportunity to tease him about it whilst you're blissfully unaware

he's so so smitten around you after he realizes he likes you

the type to look at you like you hung the stars in the sky yourself and to becoming maddeningly red whenever you so much as make eye contact with him

yamaguchi tadashi! hits you in the head the first time he meets you. he was in the gym alone, practicing his float serve. you pushed through the heavy metal doors just in time to get slammed in the face with a ball gone awry.

he feels his heart drop to his toes as he quickly rushes over to you, asking if you're alright and if you need to see the nurse. his panic only worsens when he realizes you're bleeding from your nose.

although the hit shocked you, you're left watching in amusement as tadashi scrambles to find something to stop your nosebleed with. when he eventually returns to you, having ran from the boys washroom to grab a wad of papertowel, he apologizes again softly.

"are you okay now...?" he asks when your nosebleed finally stops. he looks almost like a kicked puppy, his hair falling limply into his eyes.

even after you reassure him that you're fine, tadashi still wears his guilt like a crown. he offers to buy you something from the vending machines, and does so despite your insistence that he doesn't need to.

"you can accept it for my sake," he says sheepishly as he offers you the cold can. the two of you converse quietly, with you introducing yourself as a new foreign exchange student.

"oh!" he suddenly lets out, looking over at you. "did you need something in the gym?"

"i was looking for my cousin," you sigh. "he said he was in the volleyball club and i haven't been able to find him at all today."

he's shocked when he finds out that you're shoyo's cousin—the boy had talked about you earlier in the week when he found out you were transferring to karasuno. as you talk, tadashi thinks to himself that shoyo never mentioned how cute you were.

your first meeting with keishin is awkward

ltrly knocks you off your feet when he runs into you

he's kind of brash when he meets you, not caring if you think of him badly because of it

you don't have much of a relationship at first—your work pulls you to the classrooms after all, so he doesn't really see you around often

the next time he sees you, you're stomping into the gymnasium mid practice with an irked expression

he's about to tell you off for interrupting practice, but he quiets when he sees you make your way to your younger cousin

he only watches in amusement when you tell him off for his horrid grades

when shoyo turns to keishin for help, he only shrugs with a lazy grin on his face

"sorry, little man, you heard 'em. no volleyball games until you raise your grades"

to shoyo's chagrin, you and keishin make a terrifying pair for him (and the other three idiots lolol)

you only really start hanging out with him when you end up making a late night run at his convenience store

it's the first time he sees you in casual clothing and the case of beer in your hands makes him laugh

"you wanna share that?"

he becomes your drinking buddy every other weekend, and he grows to cherish the time you spend chugging back cans of beer with him

keeps his feelings on the downlow, but as time goes on even the boys realize that their coach has a soft spot for you

ukai keishin! bodies you the first time you meet. the man doesn't realize his own strength until he literally knocks you flat on his ass after he turns a corner and bumps into you. his eyes go wide when the books and papers in your hands go flying, falling around you in a frenzy.

"shit," he curses under his breath, bending down to pick up your things. "sorry 'bout that." his voice is gruff as he speaks, collecting your papers without much care. when he returns them to you, some of them are scuffed and crumpled.

as he's handing you your things, he finally gets a good look at you. you're dressed more formally than he is by a mile. he holds a hand out to help you to your feet, his brown eyes falling to the lanyard around your neck.

"you new here?" he asks, jutting his chin out to gesture to your nametag. student teacher is typed above your name and picture.

you nod deftly, brushing off any dirt from your dress pants. "i started today. and you are?" your eyes meet his, and he knows you're silently scrutinizing him. he's much too old to be a student, you deduce easily, but he's dressed far more casually than any other other teachers.

when your eyes drift up to his bleached hair, he snorts. "i'm the coach for the volleyball club," he grumbles. "i don't need to be wearing fancy shit like you."

he sees your eyes light up in recognition as he analyzes your face with crossed arms. "the volleyball club? you must know my cousin then. hinata shoyo?"

keishin deadpans at you. "you're the runt's cousin?"

©AVATARCHIC please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

[singmyaubade]

the greatest heist

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james's girlfriend decides to fuck with you, your only other choice is to fuck with her.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, wearing, jealousy

a/n: this story was an OLD draft and i kind of wanted to finish it so yeah. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

part 1 | part 2

THE sun peeked through the curtains of your dorm room, casting a warm glow that made your bed feel like the most comfortable place in all of Hogwarts.

You groaned as you felt someone shaking your bed, a voice calling out urgently.

"Y/N!” They yelled again, the bed shaking more forcefully.

“For fuck’s sake!" you mumbled, sitting up and squinting against the bright light. "What do you want?”

"Wake up!" Dorcas stood there, clearly annoyed. “We have astronomy in two minutes!”

That definitely jolted you awake.

You practically leaped out of bed, catching sight of Dorcas rushing to button her shirt. “Fuck!” you exclaimed, quickly slipping into your tights and skirt.

“Why did nobody wake us up?” you asked, frustration bubbling as you glanced at your roommates. It was a mix of annoyance at them and yourself.

“Bloody fucking twats,” Dorcas muttered. “I’m going to stick my wand so far up their arse once I get to that tower.”

“Count me in,” you replied, hurriedly putting on your shoes—still not fully laced—and adjusting your tie.

You grabbed your book bag. “Come on!” Dorcas urged, already heading for the door.

You both practically ran to the stairs, unready for the most strenuous workout of your life. You both huffed in frustration as the stairs moved.

You looked up at the seemingly endless flights of stairs, frustration boiling over. "These stairs are a fucking safety hazard," You hissed. "Do they not care if we die?"

Dorcas crossed her arms, panting slightly. “Dumbledore is definitely getting my letter of complaints,” She ranted. “I mean, I understand we’re young wizards and witches, but Merlin, are these stairs really bloody necessary?”

You chuckled as the stairs set in place and you both rushed to the top quickly.

You both huffed, clearly out of breath as you both pressed on, each step feeling like a small victory.

With a force of urgency, you opened the door to your Astronomy class as the entire class turned their heads to you. You could hear several students snickering, specifically the Slytherins as you flipped them off.

Professor Adair turned to you both with a sigh. “Nice to see you, ladies. May I gift one of you a watch for Christmas?” He asked sarcastically, prompting a few snickers from the class.

Desperately trying to catch your breath, you replied, “Apologies, Professor. I’m afraid my alarm didn’t go off.” You quickly took your seat next to Sirius, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“Mine too!" Dorcas argued, "And to be fair, I mean this class is pretty high.” She moved next to Dorcas.

Professor Adair rolled his eyes, continuing with the class with a mutter about the two of you.

“You know,” Sirius leaned into you, “If you need a proper alarm-“ He slyly said, hand almost touching your thigh.

You stomped on his leg as he groaned, touching the injured limb.

“Note taken.” He hissed.

You smirked as you started writing down a note in your notebook which you made into a paper plane, flying it over to Lily.

She looked at you hesitantly, opening it.

Why did you not wake me or Dorcas up?

She looked at you, looking confused as the angry look on your face never faded. She began writing down her response which she sent to you.

Emma told us all that she would wake you both up and when she came to Astronomy, she said she did.

A fuse blew inside of you, of course Emma was behind this. It makes sense that she would be the one to do it considering how she treated your entire friend group.

For context, Emma was all of your supposed “best friend” which would be a fine label if she didn’t sabotage anyone who she thought was a threat.

At first, she considered Lily a threat because of how much others loved her especially James Potter. So instead of asking Lily to put a good word in for her with the others and James, she started spreading horrid rumors about her.

And everyone being cruel teenagers believed her, berating her wherever she went.

It took the entire girl group and the Marauders to make people back off and debunk these rumors.

Although you and the rest of the girls knew that Emma had done this, she had gaslighted Lily into thinking that it was obviously some bitter Slytherin that were jealous instead of her and eventually, the situation turned boring and died down into nothing.

But that wasn't even the end.

Soon after, she considered Mary a threat due to how smart and confident she was and decided to get her absolutely hammered before OWL'S.

And it caused her to get a poor score which resulted in her not leaving her bed for weeks.

But again, Mary had blamed herself and told everyone that it was "her stupid decision" that led to this.

After that, it had been Marlene.

Then suddenly, it had been Dorcas.

And now you were clearly her new target for what reason? Merlin knows.

The only reason she didn't wake Dorcas up was because she knew she couldn't single you out. Emma knew you disliked her from the moment you met her and you weren't as nice about it.

Now, you may not know why she was targeting you at the present moment but the boy in front of you laughing with Remus could've been a huge clue.

James Potter.

Golden Boy, Heart-throbber, Fit, Kind, Funny, Brave, Determined, Bold.. I mean did you really have to go on?

The man that Emma had been in love with for years and had been dating for the present moment.

And not only was no girl allowed to approach James without dealing with Emma but she would pay hell for even making eyes at him.

Unfortunately for you, James had been struggling a bit for charms and enlisted your help in studying. At first, you had gave him a 'fuck no' before moving in order to not get his girlfriends wrath but when he pleaded and begged,

You forfeited.

You were hoping that he would keep it a secret but James being the dumbass he is mentioned how much of a good time it was to the entire group, Emma grew as red as a tomato.

You mentally cursed James, knowing that your life was already going to become a living hell.

Fortunately, you kept most stuff to yourself and never confided in Emma with anything.

There was nothing that Emma could do to incriminate you with but you just knew that she wouldn't back down and there was nothing you could do.

You did do your best to keep away from her but Lily couldn't stop hanging out with her which made the rest of your group completely vulnerable.

At the same time, you couldn't blame Lily for being so gullible and kind-hearted but it made her a pushover and Emma could guilt trip her way out of anything.

So if Emma was going to play this game, you were alone.

And you had to be the best player.

The bell chimed, bring you out of thought as you began packing up.

Emma came over to you, "Y/N! I'm so sorry that I didn't try harder to wake you and Dorcas." She hummed, "I thought you were fully up by time the time I left." She faked a sincere smile.

"Yeah Emma, I think it would be best if you never enlist yourself to such a task again, I'm afraid it requires a bit more of a brain hmm?" You sweetly said, leaving the conversation as she scowled towards you.

You rushed over to Remus, "Remus, please tell me you have the notes for this class." You pouted, grabbing ahold of his arm.

"Of course." He told you, beginning to grab his notebook out of his book-bag.

"Thank you so much," You gratefully said as you began walking with them.

"Wait, why didn't you ask me?" Sirius asked, pouting.

You let out a snort, "Have you seen your handwriting?" You derided as James and Peter laughed.

Sirius fake sniffled, "One day Y/N, you will appreciate my beauty and brains." Sirius dramatically hair flipped.

"You know there's nothing up there." James said, knocking on Sirius's head as Sirius swatted his hand.

You rolled your eyes as Remus handed over his notebook to which you thanked him with a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey! Wheres mine?" Peter asked, "I gave you the notes for potions."

You rolled your eyes again, giving Peter a peck on the cheek as well.

Your eyes locked onto Sirius, already knowing what he was gonna say, "Well, you just insulted me, I think you owe me one." Sirius said, tapping his cheek.

You clenched your jaw, pecking his cheek quickly as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Wait where's mine?" James asked as your eyes widened, "Don't wanna be left out," He fake sniffled.

"Your girlfriend will quite literally harvest my organs." You scarily said, putting the notebook in your bag.

"It's just a kiss on the cheek!" He argued as the whole group shook their head.

"Mate, I'm going to have to agree with her on this one," Sirius patted James on the back, "She will bloody kill Y/N and us for letting it happen." Sirius said.

There was a rumble of protest in his throat but a part of him knew that you both were right. He didn't want you to be faced with the fire on Emma based on his actions.

"Fine, guess you guys are right," He muttered as he dragged his feet.

You groaned, reaching over to James and pecking him on the cheek as he grinned.

“Everyone's been kissed now,” you sighed, your voice trailing off in frustration. “Can we just—” But before you could finish, a sharp voice sliced through the air.

“Y/N!” Emma screeched, her anger prominent as the group recoiled, hissing in surprise. She stormed toward you, her face flushed with rage.

You were begging Merlin that she hadn't seen the peck you gave to James.

“Did you just kiss my boyfriend?” She laughed harshly, her grip tightening on James's arm as he shot you an apologetic look, guilt written all over his face.

“Oh, maybe it was Sirius instead?” You quipped, trying to deflect with a joke, but Peter’s snort only deepened the tension.

“Real clever,” Emma shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she stepped closer, invading your space. “A good friend wouldn’t do that, Y/N. I don’t take betrayal lightly.” Her tone was sharp, a warning laced within it.

You matched her intensity, moving closer until your breaths mingled as you spoke, “And I don’t take threats lightly.”

“Okay, let’s all just calm down!” Sirius intervened, wrapping an arm around your waist while James did the same to Emma, but the heat between you and Emma crackled like a campfire, neither of you backing down.

“It was just a peck, sweetheart,” James cooed, wrapping an arm around Emma as you rolled your eyes, arms crossed in disbelief.

Emma pouted, “You know how protective I get about you.” She nestled into his chest, and the sight made your stomach churn.

“I know, baby,” he said with a smile, holding her close, while the rest of the Marauders looked on, barely able to stomach the scene unfolding before them.

“As entertaining as this little drama is, I need to get ready for the party tonight,” you announced, desperate for an escape.

"The party isn't until tonight!" Peter said, confused.

"Mentally prepare!" You joked.

“Wait!” Emma’s voice pierced through your thoughts just as you turned to leave, and you sighed, bracing yourself for her next act.

Her expression shifted, all sweetness now. “I’m sorry for misreading things with James,” She said, feigning concern. “I know you’ve never had a boyfriend,” She added, her tone dripping with condescension. “But, you can get a bit... jealous. But we’re friends, right? So I shouldn’t act like that.”

You clicked your tongue, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes even harder.

“And as your friend,” She whispered, pulling you into a tight hug, “I just want to warn you. If you so much as talk to James at the Gryffindor party tonight, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

She released you, her smile wide and disingenuous, and before you could even muster a response, she skipped back to James, leaving you fuming.

Fury coursed through your veins as her words echoed in your mind, the unfairness of it all burning like a fire inside you.

Ever since Emma had walked into your life, she had fucked with everything around you.

Your friends, your reputations, your social life, hell even your sanity.

And if nobody else was gonna put a stop to her.

You guess it would have to be you.

-----------

Are you really ready to wage war with her?” Dorcas chimed in from the closet, her tone skeptical.

“Dorc,” You began, frustration creeping into your voice. “Emma has been terrorizing us since third year. Are you seriously going to tell me that taking her down doesn’t sound appealing?”

She sighed, contemplating. “Okay, fine, you’ve got a point. But how exactly are you planning to take her on?”

A sly smirk crept across your face as you revealed the outfit you’d picked: a black corset paired with the shortest black skirt you could find, topped off with fishnets. Dorcas’s jaw dropped sarcastically. “So, you’re going to out-dress her?” She asked, incredulous.

“No,” You replied, rolling your eyes. “I’m going to use her worst fear against her. I’m going to seduce James.”

Dorcas nearly choked. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Listen, I would never usually even consider looking at another girl’s boyfriend, but this is different. James is the one thing that will shatter her, and honestly, it sounds cruel, but so is she!” You shot back, your resolve hardening.

“And if she tells the whole school what you’re doing, you’ll look like a homewrecker and be exiled,” Dorcas countered.

“Which is why it has to look like it’s all James’s idea,” You insisted, undeterred. “He’s been my friend since childhood; it’ll look innocent.”

“I don’t think this idea is as foolproof as you think,” Dorcas muttered, slipping into her red dress with an exasperated sigh.

“Dorc, trust me, she can’t hurt me,” You reassured her, the fire in your belly fueling your confidence.

“Well, if everything goes south,” Dorcas said with a reluctant smile, “I’ve got your back.”

You beamed at her. “What would I do without you?”

Just then, a loud bang echoed on your door. “Hurry up before all the firewhiskey is gone!” Marlene called, her voice a mix of urgency and excitement.

You and Dorcas shared a laugh, gathering your belongings and heading down to the common room, adrenaline buzzing in the air as you prepared to face the chaos of the night ahead.

The lively atmosphere of the common room was a familiar backdrop for you all; it felt like there was always a party, whether an event warranted it or not. You, Marlene, and Dorcas scanned the room and spotted your usual crew gathered around the couch. With a burst of energy, you hopped right next to James.

His eyes widened in surprise as he took in your outfit, but before he could say anything, Sirius swooped in.

“Y/N, have I ever told you how much I’m attracted to you?” He drawled, causing you to snort.

“Eyes off, Black,” You shot back playfully, just as Marlene whacked him with a pillow.

“Why do I even try?” He lamented, sinking dramatically into his chair.

Marlene grinned mischievously. “You know, I’d sleep with you, Black.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you pay me and wear a cloak,” She teased, sending the group into fits of laughter.

Sirius scowled at Marlene while Lily pinched his cheeks, only for him to swat her hands away with a playful glare.

“You do look good, Y/N,” James murmured, his voice sincere.

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Now what did I do to deserve a compliment from James Potter?”

He chuckled softly. “Well, after what I put you through this morning, I think you deserve more than just a compliment.”

“Speaking of this morning,” you leaned in closer, lowering your voice, “Where’s your girlfriend?”

James shrugged, a hint of frustration flickering across his face. “We got into a fight after you left. I tried to talk to her about her manners,” he said, his tone casual but the weight behind his words was clear.

“But you guys were literally snuggling when I left,” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized how messed up her behavior was. Jus'... embarrassing, you know?” He gulped down his drink, and you couldn’t help but notice the guilt etched on his face.

It twisted your heart, seeing him upset. James was your best friend, and the thought of anyone hurting him made your stomach churn.

You hated seeing him like this, torn between loyalty and the flaws of the person he cared for. It felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on both of you, and all you wanted was to lift it.

"Well," You spoke as he looked at you, "If you want me to forgive you, I think a dance would do," You said, standing up and extending a hand to him.

A goofy smile plastered on his face, James said, "Anything for M’lady’s forgiveness."

You scrunched your nose at his corniness as he took your hand and led you onto the dance floor. He twirled you around, making you giggle before pulling you back in to sway together.

"You’re such a dork," You snickered.

"And how many years have I proven that to you?" He shot back, laughter in his voice as you rested your head on his shoulder.

His fingertips grazed your back while you swayed, and he whispered in your ear, "I miss us hanging out."

Outside of Charms tutoring and classes, you never got to see James and it always hurt you. You both knew why you couldn’t and voicing it would only make it worse.

But it had been hard not having a proper hangout with just the both of you since third year.

You felt warmth spread through you, flustered. "I miss hanging out with you too."

Looking at him, you noticed how beautiful he looked—his messy hair and that infectious grin. There was always a gleam in his eye, and everything about him radiated warmth. It felt like summer when you were together, and butterflies filled your stomach.

You knew he was just your best friend, nothing more. And that would always be the truth, as long as you told yourself that.

Suddenly, James twirled you again, but this time you spun out of his grip and fell onto the suddenly slippery floor.

You fell with a hiss, "Shit!" you moaned, wincing in pain as James rushed over with the rest of the group, the crowd parting to give you space.

"What the fuck happened?" Sirius asked, concern etched on his face.

"I don't know!" James replied, kneeling beside you. "She just slipped!"

You hissed as you tried to stand on your sprained ankle.

"Let me see," James muttered, inspecting your foot as you groaned.

"Maybe it's her leg," Marlene added.

"Well duh," Sirius shot back, earning a playful hit from Marlene.

"Can we just get her to Pomfrey?" Lily huffed, and the boys nodded in agreement.

Sirius tried to rush over to you, but James waved him off. "I got her," he said, lifting you bridal-style.

You winced at the jolt to your ankle, nuzzling into his neck as you caught a glimpse of Emma in the back of the room, her expression burning with rage.

You knew then that the games were just beginning.

[appocalipse]

hi amyyyy!! i just saw that your requests are open and i got sooo excited 🤭🤭 so if you're up for it i have a bucky request where maybe r is a little shy, sweet person and has been secretly pining after him ever since they both started living in the avengers compound, so she decides to cook dinner for him one night just to do something nice for him?? just a little fluff for our sad beautiful tragic super soldier

our man does deserve some loving 😭 thank you for your request, lovely! | 1.4k words

"What the hell are you doing to that poor tomato?"

You whirl around from the kitchen counter, heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected sound of Bucky's voice behind you. He's standing there with an arched eyebrow, broad shoulders barely fitting through the entryway to the kitchen in the Avengers Compound, dark hair damp and wavy from a recent shower. His metal arm gleams under the bright lights as he reaches up to push his hair back from his face. Oh, man.

You shoot him a stern look, heartbeat returning to normal, and raise your tomato-covered knife in mock threat. "Don't sneak up on me like that," you warn. "I could've cut myself."

"I didn't exactly sneak," Bucky protests. "The floor squeaks like crazy in here."

"But you move like a cat...maybe I should put a bell on you."

He grins at that, the flash of teeth so unexpected that it leaves you blinking for a moment, mesmerized by the way it lights up his whole face in a gentle way completely at odds with his hard-edged features. "You think you could put a bell on me?"

He probably didn't mean to make that sound as flirtatious as it came out, you decide. The man can't help it if he's naturally devastating.

"I could, you know," you maintain, recovering your equilibrium with effort. You're generally hopelessly enamored with Bucky Barnes, but you do have some self-respect and you intend to keep it that way. "If I wanted to. But right now, I'm fighting with this poor, defenseless tomato."

He takes this as an invitation (which it absolutely wasn't; your limbs seem to lose their ability to function when he gets too close to you, you've noticed) and strides over to peer at the cutting board like you're conducting a vitally important experiment. "Looks like it's losing," he comments. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Uh...no. No, I—actually, I was making something for you, but now I think you don't deserve it."

You take a step back from him and his broad shoulders before your brain can melt into a useless puddle.

He glances at you like you've grown a second head. "For me?"

"Yeah, I thought—well, I like cooking. And Steve told me that you used to really like his mom's spaghetti when you were kids, so I thought—what? What's that look for?"

Bucky's still staring at you like he's never seen you before. His eyes are very blue and very disarming. "I just didn't know you liked to cook."

"You, uh, you don't have to eat it or anything if—if you don't want to," you manage, unsure how to respond to this odd reaction other than with a dash of humor, which you tend to default to in awkward situations. "I won't be offended."

"I'm not saying I don't want it." He sounds genuinely taken aback. "Of course I want it, who wouldn't want it? I just...I didn't know you cared about what I liked."

You consider pointing out that you do, in fact, care very much about what he likes, given that you've been pining for him in your quiet, hopeless way ever since he joined the Avengers team and made every brain cell you own spontaneously combust...but that would beat the point of your silly, juvenile crush remaining a secret. "Well, there's lots of things you don't know about me," you joke instead.

"I'd like to know more," he says.

It sounds surprisingly earnest. You're not sure what to do with that.

"You're only saying that because I'm making you food," you tease, defaulting to the safety of flippancy yet again. If Bucky knew how thoroughly and embarrassingly you've lost your heart to him, things would get really awkward, really fast, and you'd be forced to quit your job and move to a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness to live in lonely solitude.

Bucky gives you a small (and, of course, unfairly disarming) smile and leans his hip against the counter, hands tucked in his pockets as he regards you from underneath a sweep of dark hair. "I'm serious."

Your nerves feel like they're vibrating. "I'm really not that interesting," you insist, quickly putting the chopped tomatoes into a pot on the stovetop. You've already got onions and garlic sauteing, adding to the scent of warm tomato paste that's slowly coming together. "You'd get bored of me really fast if we hung out."

"I doubt that."

Is it your imagination or is there a slightly suggestive undertone to his words? "Bucky—"

He shakes his head, as though to cut you off. "How can I help?"

You look at him blankly. He seems very tall, standing this close to you, and warm, and solid, and his eyes are bluer than the sky outside, and the smell of him—a clean, masculine scent with a hint of cedarwood—is making your thoughts get jumbled up and skip tracks.

"Do you want me to stir the sauce or something?" he asks patiently, not looking like he minds standing here staring at you while you drool over him. Maybe he's having fun, you think, under all that quiet solemnity.

You find your tongue. "Yes. I mean no, no, that's okay. You can sit down and relax."

"I don't really do relaxing."

"Everyone should do relaxing."

Bucky gives a small huff of amusement, something close to a laugh. You catch yourself before you can stare at him in gooey-eyed adoration and focus on stirring the sauce, which is just beginning to bubble in the pot, releasing a rich scent into the air.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be—to make you uncomfortable," Bucky says abruptly. "I'm not good at...small talk. Or conversation in general. It's been a while."

"Since you've talked to someone?"

"No, since I've tried to hit on someone."

Your eyes widen. Bucky seems amused at your reaction, although his expression is back to its usual quiet, watchful look, with only the tiniest glint of humor in his blue eyes giving him away.

You could be misreading it, though.

But you're pretty sure you're not misreading it.

"Doll, you're burning the sauce."

"Shit!"

You turn back to the stovetop and jerk the saucepan away from the burner. The bottom of the sauce is definitely sticking to the pot, charred and smelling smoky, a dramatic change from its formerly bright red, succulent state that it had been when you last checked it five minutes ago.

How long have you been standing here silently staring at the pot? "Dammit." You grab a spoon and try to scrape the charred sauce off the bottom of the pot, wincing at the scraping sound. "Dammit."

Bucky's quiet chuckle sends goosebumps over your skin. "Dammit?"

"This was supposed to be a nice gesture," you lament, looking forlornly at the ruined sauce. "I—"

He plucks the spoon from your hand with a deft twist of his metal fingers, his body so close to yours that you can feel the warmth radiating from him and smell the cedar scent of him again. "You're really adorable when you're flustered."

Your jaw drops. Bucky smiles at your expression, dipping the spoon into the pot of sauce to take a small taste, then reaching past you to add a dash of something from a bottle on the countertop.

"B-bucky, I didn't—what are you doing?"

He takes another spoonful of sauce and holds it up in front of your face, cupping his hand underneath the spoon so it doesn't drip onto the floor. "Here, taste."

"That's for you."

"Taste."

You reluctantly take a small taste, because it's spaghetti sauce and you have absolutely no willpower where Bucky Barnes is concerned. "I burned it."

"Only the bottom," he says, dropping the spoon into the sink with a clatter. When you blink at him, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, suddenly looking almost shy. "I, uh, I've learned to cook a few things when I was in Wakanda."

"I kind of feel like my self-esteem just took a massive blow," you murmur. "I tried—what? What are you doing?"

Bucky has spun you around to face the stovetop again, standing behind you and reaching over your head to stir the sauce again. The solid warmth of his chest is pressed against your back, and you have to lock your knees so they don't give out on you. He's really, really tall. And warm. And smells amazing.

"Helping," he murmurs, ducking his head to (oh God oh God oh God) speak the word in your ear, his breath ruffling your hair.

Somehow, you feel like it's much more than that.

[mournthebird]

Cold Metal.

summary: Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Bucky is still in the mindset of Soldat | Medical treatment | IVs & needles | Malnutrition/re-feeding | PTSD | Post!HTP | Brief mentions of past SA and abuse | Past S/H & Scars | Trauma | Roughly translated Russian, might not be accurate

a/n: Yeah so this turned into a lot, I wrote more than I expected to. This is also my first 'fic' of him wooo. I always had this hc that his arm gets cold and it hurts him. The scars being more sensitive to the cold and cause tension around his arm. So I thought something like this would be nice. He deserves it okay ;; wc: 3.6k

At first, it was hard. Harboring a literal assassin from the government was not an easy task, especially with one as unstable and deadly as the fucking Winter Soldier.

How you ended up doing this, you had no idea. Someone like him wasn't easy to just stumble upon, yet here you were. Maybe your heart was too good, but seeing him curled up in that alley a few days ago, shivering and soaked to the bone, a dislocated arm and bloodied from what you assumed was some kind of assault, you couldn't just leave him to the elements.

He had looked so scared, his eyes so full of confusion and apprehension when you initially approached him. He instinctively reached for a weapon at his side - a gun, a knife, anything - but found none, and the panic of a wild, cornered animal spread on his face. He even attempted to stand to fight you, like you bored any sort of threat to him. You just put your hands up in a manner to try to calm him, something as simple as standing caused him pain. He clearly had more injury than what your eyes could see.

You weren't sure how, but you had convinced him you were a safe person and that he could stay in your home. You were just trying to be a good person. He looked so scared, pressed into the wall of the old building and trying his best to look intimidating despite all the injuries that covered him more than the rain soaking his clothes. Ironically, you didn't know just who he was until you had began to delve into the news...a day after you let him into your house. Everything about him being wanted, his crimes, who he was. A sleeper agent, an assassin, the deadliest in the world. And you brought him into your home. Willingly.

Sure, at first you didn't know what to do, the fist of HYDRA sitting in the corner of your spare room, lashing out like feral dog if you came close, or god forbid even stand in the doorway. With how deadly the news made him seem...to you, he didn't appear that way. He just looked hurt and scared. His defensive behavior easily mistook for aggression.

But, none of it scared you away. You didn't care. You might've just been a regular civilian, but you were far from ignorant. You were sneaky, you knew a lot about both parties, SHIELD and HYDRA. You immersed yourself in research, learning as much as you could about HYDRA to get more information about this sleeper soldier.

Despite your efforts, you only scratched the surface.

Honestly, you didn't want to dig too far. You didn't want him to grow suspicious or think you couldn't be trusted for any reason. He already holed himself up like a hermit, it was literally like placing a feral animal inside a home and watching it search around curiously but anxiously, then hide away in a small, dark place for safety. Besides, what HYDRA had on him was disturbing enough.

He was quite aggressive defensive at first too, he didn't want you near him whatsoever. He had a lot of wounds and you knew he'd need to see a doctor, despite the physical ones you saw, you could also tell he was underweight and malnourished a little bit. You weren't a doctor yourself, and you didn't want to attempt to do anything without some kind of advice. Problem was, he was wanted. You couldn't just take him to see a doctor.

"Must things be so complicated with you?" You sighed as you spoke to him while he practically barricaded himself in your closet. You didn't mean anything serious, you were just a little stressed and frustrated, thinking of what you could possibly do to help.

In the midst of your thinking, you remembered you had a close friend who worked in the medical field. They might have done some...questionable things...but that's honestly what you need right now. Someone who wouldn't blabber, and all above and below, you kept some pretty serious secrets for them in the past. You didn't talk anymore, not very often anyway, but they were always down to help you out if needed. It would be much better than trying to drag him to an office where he'd be discovered and you'd have to wrestle him down, which would be a pathetic attempt to restrain him.

Long story short, a quick home visit pursued with stolen medical equipment and a basic check up, it was confirmed he was malnourished like you suspected. He wasn't terribly thin, but you could tell someone his stature shouldn't be so skinny, his ribs protruded too much for your liking. He was also dehydrated along with having an extensive amount of old and new injuries, an untreated dislocation, and some minor infections.

The soldier surprisingly didn't fight that much when he was getting checked out, his blue eyes glued to you the whole time, only averting to watch the 'doctor' as they moved around him. But nothing could be too easy, when the needles came out, he became a bit adamant and aggressive. He spoke in Russian, which you didn't understand. He shouted and sounded angry, backing himself into a corner as he prepared to fight like his life depended on it. His body trembled with adrenaline and he watched the two of you with an unblinking, cold gaze.

You realized it was bad. His treatment prior to you finding him. He acted like a needle was a raging hot blade about to cut his other arm off. Patience and waiting him out proved to be the best way to approach this. He was stubborn and stood his ground for two full hours before he slowly relinquished and he allowed the needle to go in for the IV. With a quick rundown from your comrade, some supplies, and promised confidentiality, they left you both alone.

You also learned how to place an IV, thanks to the instructions left with you and some YouTube videos, since you had to do it every day for two weeks so you could feed nutrients into his body. Everything he ate he just threw up, his body rejected food otherwise. Broths and mashed potatoes were all he could eat. Sometimes his body would tolerate bread and heavier, more filling foods like chicken. He eventually got to eating some veggies like soft carrots and zucchini if properly cooked too.

You still had to feed him carefully. Sometimes his body would still throw it all up and he'd get sick again. It was a grueling process.

You stuck it out and now he could slowly eat again, which was a relief. No IV necessary. He seemed glad about that too.

Besides refeeding, there was an array of issues that came along with being his unofficial caretaker. The Winter Soldier, or Soldat, as he referred to himself as, it was better than asset, was pretty difficult to care for. He was wary of just about everything, you specifically, he didn't know why you were so nice to him. He wondered if you had an underlying motive, his scrambled brain so torn apart tried to connect the dots.

Rewards came with good behavior, rewards being basic human decency and kindness. Good behavior meant pleasing his handlers.

You never wanted to be pleased. You never asked.

Was he supposed to do it anyway?

He watched you as you cooked something in a big pot on the stove. He saw you chopping carrots. He liked those. He liked the broth you made him too, and the potatoes. Good, this was safe food. Another reward? Was he supposed to do something?

You walked over to where he sat, his icy gaze watching you carefully. He was thinking behind them, you could tell, but he barely ever spoke besides simple Russian words that you learned either meant 'yes' or 'no,' or other things like 'please' and 'thank you.' While you set down a glass of water for him, he reached out and grabbed your waistband, leaning forward suddenly. The touch surprised you and made you bristle, your hand snatching his wrist instantly. "Soldat! No, no." you pulled his hand away, it nearly melted off you. Your sharp words startled him, her flinched back a little, his gaze still dull but now held a hint of confusion.

He tilted his head, frowning. "Позвольте мне служить вам." he grunted, his voice rough and raspy like he had swallowed broken glass, so unused, it was the most he had ever spoken to you at once. And you had no idea what he said.

"Don't do that, Soldat." you reasoned, speaking gently, you weren't angry, just a little shocked. The confusion on his face was clear, and fear that flashed in his eyes made you swallow the sudden lump in your throat. Why had he done that? He had never tried to touch you in any way before, in fact he avoided any kind of touch possible. Now he had tried to...you weren't sure. But the cool metal that hooked into your waistband made you shiver.

He leaned back into the couch, looking scolded and anticipating something, he was tense and stiff. You watched him, he said nothing else, his eyes glued to the floor, not daring to tear away from the spot on the carpet to look at you. He seemed scared.

"It's okay," you spoke up after a few silent moments, "You don't need to...do anything." You had a good idea of what he was trying to do, perhaps some sick mindset or conditioning had trained him to serving people before you. You knew HYDRA well enough, it wasn't a long shot to assume. The agents there were barbaric and inhumane.

He ate his food quickly and quietly, refusing to look at you the whole time, then retreated to the guest room like usual. He locked himself away most nights, you were fine with that. He was eating and sleeping, two things he desperately needed.

You sat on the couch watching a show you enjoyed, it was well into the evening by now. The bustling city now quieter and dark, the sun had set hours ago. The door to the guest room slowly opened, your attention drawn there and away from your show. Soldat nearly stumbled over his own two feet, he appeared visibly irritated, in pain somehow. It made you sit up, his expression wearing how he felt as obvious as day. "Hey...what's going on? Are you hurt?" You stood and padded over to him, to your surprise he hadn't backed away.

"Да..." he replied in a groggy, rough voice, the strain dominated the sleep and you felt more worried. For the most part, he looked okay, no obvious injury that you could see. You still tried to look him over just in case there was something he might be hiding, or maybe he hurt himself? He wasn't wearing a shirt, his skin looked fine, all old injuries as far as you could tell. Healing wounds and scars, nothing looked new or irritated.

His metal arm was cradled slightly, so you paid more attention to it. "Your arm hurts?" You asked gently, your eyes scanning it. You weren't entirely sure how his metal arm could hurt, but the tech was advanced so maybe there were some nerves somehow integrated in there. He gave a sharp nod, securing your suspicions.

"Okay...where?" You hoped maybe he'd give you more of an idea, but you doubted it. If he did speak, you didn't know Russian, it would be pointless.

He pointed to his shoulder, where metal met flesh. The nasty scars there were swollen, but that didn't look any different than usual. You observed the area regardless, looking over it for several minutes before you frowned and leaned back. You couldn't see anything that would give away any sort of pain. "How...does it hurt? It looks okay, is it internal?" You questioned slowly, hoping he would tell you, in English...

He shook his head sharply again, jerking side to side. His brows were tightly knit together and a hard breath huffed out of his nose. He reached up with his right hand, his fingers carefully touching the scars. He was so tentative, like the scars were scorching hot, or like he was afraid to touch them at all. "Холодный." His voice came out with underlying discomfort, he had to force himself not to wince.

You frowned. Of course not.

"Uh...-"

"Холодный," he repeated, his tone more firm this time like he thought repeating the word would make you understand. The expression on your face just made him feel frustrated, he grabbed your wrist with his right hand and pulled your hand up to his scarred shoulder. You weren't sure why you flinched or tensed like you expected some sort of pain, but you did.

Under your palm, you felt the stark contrast between the hot, irritated scars and freezing cold titanium.

Cold.

Was that what he was trying to say? That couldn't feel good.

"Is...your arm...hurting because it's cold?" You asked slowly, trying your best to read his face. He nodded once, grunting.

You felt stupid now. Damnit. "I see...okay, let me see what I can do." You pulled your hand off his shoulder, walking over to a small storage closet you had down the hall. Your eyes scanned the shelves until you spotted the heat blanket you had stored in there for the colder months. You grabbed it and walked back over to him, "Here, if you plug this in and drape it over your shoulder, it will keep you warm."

You offered the blanket to him, he stared at it for several seconds before he stepped closer to you, his hand around your wrist and pulling your palm to his shoulder again. You frowned a little and looked at him, "Your shoulder was cold...right? This will help, I promise." You didn't move your hand, you weren't sure what he wanted other than to warm up his arm. "The blanket will be warm."

"Нет." Soldat stared down at you with an empty expression, his eyes had heavy, tired bags under them and showed his clear lack of sleep. You weren't sure what he wanted other than the blanket, since he was refusing to accept it. Instead, he held your hand over his shoulder, sliding it gently down towards the front where his scar was deepest. You could feel his chest rise as he breathed evenly, his eyes almost closing completely.

Did he like how your hand felt?

You remained silent as he gently guided your hand along the length of his scar, where the unforgiving metal pierced his flesh and embedded itself beneath the surface. Your own breath hitched feeling it, the cold, rigid tissue gradually warmed under your delicate touch, responding to the gentle friction of your fingertips. As he continued moving your hand in a soothing motion, you noticed his tense features begin to soften, the lines of worry etched across his face slowly fading away.

The soft intimacy of the moment hung heavy in the air, you found yourself captivated by the subtle changes in his expression, each twitch and relaxation of his muscles didn't go unnoticed. Maybe he was finding comfort in your presence after so long. He had never been this vulnerable with you, and yet here he was, literally grabbing your hand and making you touch his most delicate wound.

"Do you like my hand there...?" The words escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible. Your eyes, fixed intently on his face, sought to decipher every nuance of his reaction. You watched closely, noting the slight parting of his lips, the flutter of his eyelids, and the almost imperceptible nod that followed your question.

He was so tired, somehow still standing. "Да..."

"Ah...I see. You like my hand there? Does it feel good to rub the scars?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes traced his features, taking in every detail as you gazed up at him. Those dark locks of his hung slightly in his face, creating a disheveled yet alluring frame around his eyes. His hair was messy and tangled, clear evidence of disturbed sleep. The dim light from the tv caught the stray strands, making them stand out against the dark.

He gave a quick nod once more, his body inching closer to you in a subtle yet deliberate shuffle. His eyes, filled with an unmistakable longing, conveyed that he desired something more from you - perhaps your touch, your warmth, or simply your continued presence. "You know," you reasoned gently, your voice soft and caring, "the blanket would help warm up your entire arm, much better than my hand. Plus, it would make you much more comfortable if you decided to rest in bed..."

Even with your logical suggestion, it was clear from his intense gaze and body language that he was far more interested in you than in any blanket or physical comfort you could offer. His focus remained fixed, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment.

You exhaled deeply, slowly withdrawing your hand from his body. A fleeting expression of panic flickered across his features before quickly fading. His gaze then fixed upon you, tracking your movement as you made your way towards the couch. You reached for the electric blanket's cord, plugging it into the nearby wall outlet. The cord snaked across the floor, a thin line connecting comfort to power. Your hand then moved to pat the cushion beside you, a silent invitation.

Maybe his earlier behavior wasn't rooted in discomfort or mistrust, but rather in a more fundamental human need.

Maybe he craved companionship, but it was hard to tell for sure, he was a stoic stature 99% of the time.

He approached with hesitation, his feet dragging across the floor as if each step required immense effort. His eyes darted around, scrutinizing the spot as though it were an elaborate trap waiting to be sprung. After a solid few minutes of tense silence, he finally lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his movements slow and calculated.

You opened your mouth, ready to suggest he cover himself with the blanket for warmth, but before the words could leave your lips, you found yourself gasping sharply as the heavy soldier unexpectedly collapsed against you.

His full weight pressed down, pinning you to the couch as he sprawled across your body. The shock of his ice-cold metal arm against your skin sent a jolt through your system, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Desperate for warmth, he burrowed his shoulder into your side, seeking out your body heat with an almost primal urgency.

The blanket, forgotten in his sudden move, lay crumpled beneath you both as he clung to you, his form trembling slightly as he absorbed your warmth through the layers of clothing between you. He certainly favored you over it.

"Ah, Soldat...-" You began to speak, but your words were abruptly cut off by a sound that was equal parts growl and whine emanating from him. His head found a comfortable resting place on your chest, and you could feel the gradual warming of his arm as it pressed against your body. He made it abundantly clear that he had no intentions of shifting his position anytime soon. Recognizing the futility of any attempt to move, you resigned yourself to your current predicament, secretly relishing the closeness.

Despite your newfound role as a human pillow, you still managed to reach for the heated blanket nearby. With careful movements, so as not to disturb his apparent comfort, you gently draped the warm fabric over his form. This additional gesture didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He sunk even further into the embrace, clearly content as long as he maintained his position pressed firmly against you. The combination of his body heat and the heated blanket created a cocoon of warmth that threatened to lull you both into a peaceful slumber.

You knew he had settled and probably wouldn't move from this spot, he had gotten too comfortable and he was asleep by now. His heavy eyelids having closed almost instantly after maneuvering into you like a demanding cat. His messy hair smelled like your shampoo, since that was all you had to use for him.

Since it was apparent that he wasn't going to get up from his spot anytime soon, you resigned yourself to sleeping on the couch with him for the rest of the night. His cold shoulder and arm were now buried against you, your body heat gradually warming the metal and soothing the sore scars he had accumulated over time. You let your arm rest gently on his back, a bit cautious at first since you weren’t sure if he was going to react, luckily he didn’t. Your head was supported by the arm of the couch, which was quite comfortable. You were happy and relieved that you had settled on the comfier set when you bought the furniture, it made the situation more bearable.

With the soft sound from the show playing, you let your eyes close and you both slept on the couch. Before sleep overtook your mind, you wondered if this was a one time thing, if he'd return to his usual behavior tomorrow, or if this would become a regular gesture he'd want from you. Had he been silently suffering from this the whole time? He's a little heavy...but he's sleeping and that's good. You're helping him sleep. You're helping his pain. If he began seeing you as a source of comfort, then so be it.

Better that than anything else.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

A/N: A new smutty one-shot. I tried. I don't think it's good. But let me know what you think.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Avenger female reader

Warning: smut

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 4200+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

Tony Stark had invited Charles Xavier and his X-men to an annual gala he held in New York. There were many reasons for that. The Avengers and X-men worked together during difficult missions and unexpected alien threats. Also, he wanted to prove to regular citizens and high-profile politicians that mutants were not the enemy. This was the perfect opportunity for both groups to strengthen their bonds and work relationships. 

That’s how Logan had found himself, in a fancy all-black tux, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. His glare could kill anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t fond of these gatherings, and yet here he was. His eyes were searching for any threat, ready to fight anyone who would seem too suspicious to him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” Hank chuckled when he approached Logan at the bar. “Nobody forced you to come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped on his whisky. “I know how important these things are,” he growled. “Charles wanted me to be here, so I’m here.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hank rolled his eyes. He ordered a drink. When the bartender had given him the drink with shaking hands, he had to chuckle. Some people were spooked by his blue fur and beasty look. “Isn’t it because you are waiting for a certain someone?” 

Logan sighed, defeated. Hank knew damn well that his friend had built some connection with a certain female Avenger. There was no denying he was waiting for her. “You really wanna go there, furball?” He tried to avoid the question. 

“Oh, come on, Logan. Everyone can see how you are smitten with that woman,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda nice.”

“I am not smitten,” he denied. Fuck, but even Charles constantly made comments and teased him about it. “By the way, shut your mouth, McCoy. I don’t want to hear shit from you. You’ve been eyeing that reporter from News 1.” 

That made Hank roar with laughter. He sipped his drink and turned to the crowd, watching people mingle around, talk and drink. “I’m not denying that. She’s pretty, we like to talk about science. You, on the other hand, keep denying everything. But we are not blind.”

Logan wanted to throw the drink at Hank. He would, if they’d be back in the mansion. He opened his mouth to snap back at him. But the energy shifted to the grand stairs. Logan’s eyes travelled there, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N walked down the stairs with linked arms. Both looked beautiful in their evening gowns and perfect hair. Yelena had a green satin dress. Y/N chose a sparkling black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit on her left thigh. 

Oh, if he could, Logan would drool like a dog. It was one thing when she wore that damn tight suit during missions, but this made him hard instantly. Fuck. Maybe this was the day he would have a heart attack. And she’d be the cause of it.

His blood started to boil when many men gave her attention. Once the women left the stairs, they were surrounded by testosterone. Yelena was a pretty lady, too. He had to admit that. Y/N was something different. She felt like a dream, a secret naughty fantasy that he wanted to come to life. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” Hank said. 

Logan drank the rest of the whisky in one go, eyes never leaving Y/N’s figure on the main floor. Hell, even her teammates danced around her. Where did this jealousy come from? 

He thought about the day they met. It was an accidental mission, where the Avengers were also present. While Charles and Captain Amerika talked after the finished mission, Logan’s eyes were focused on the woman who caught his attention. 

Their first interaction was amusing. Y/N tried to save his ass when a group of soldiers surrounded him. Logan was on the ground, guns pointed at every piece of his body when she came out of nowhere, shooting down the soldiers, snapping their necks with bare hands. Her kicks were strong, her punches were deadly. 

Once the threat was eliminated, she turned and looked down at Logan. “Are you done napping?” she asked him with a grin. 

He huffed. “I had it under control,” he huffed. He got up on his legs, the adamantium claws had already retracted back to his skin. Y/N watched it happen like a hawk but didn’t comment on it. 

“Of course. You almost got killed by ten men. Yeah, you had it under control.” 

“I can’t die, princess,” he squinted at her. “It wouldn’t be the first time a firing squad would try to kill me. In the end, it would always just tickle.”

Y/N tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Well, if you are done bragging, let’s move. There is still more to come and I would like to be in bed with a book in my hand by ten.” 

That was just their first interaction. And with that, something bloomed between them. Friendship? Or was it something more? Every mission became exciting. He couldn’t keep the dumb smile on his face once he saw her in the field.

Logan ordered another whisky. A grin spread on his lips when he thought back to their first meeting. He learnt her name later. First, it was just her last name. Rogers barked orders when he said it. Her first name came at a different time when they all shared the same coms for better communication. 

“She’s coming here,” Hank warned him, which brought Logan back to reality. 

With every step, he could notice more details about her. The material of the dress, how deep her cleavage was, how her breasts popped out, the red lips, the earrings, the fact that she was like a fucking angel. All she needed was wings. And, she was coming to him alone. Fucking finally. 

“Wolverine,” she purred his name. “I can’t believe you are here. Who put a gun to your head and forced you to attend this magical evening?” There was a teasing smile on her lips. 

Don’t look at her tits, he thought. Don’t look at the tits that want to spill out of that dress. Fuck!

“I heard there was an open bar,” he said. “So I decided to come and drink Stark’s liquor.” 

She licked her lips, suppressing her chuckle. “No other reason?” I raised a brow. “See your friends, swoon ladies or play pool with the boys?”

See me?

He kicked in the rest of the drink and put the glass on the bar. His eyes noticed the crowd gathering in the middle of the hall. A slow music started to play, inviting everyone to dance. Logan’s hand reached forward. It was now or never. “Or I came here to dance with ya, princess.” 

One second and her hand slipped into his. “Oh, so you dance, you say? Lead the way.” 

Logan proudly walked her into the crowd of dancing people. One hand rested on her lower back, other held her right hand. He knew what he was doing. After all, this was the first dance of his life. Y/N was impressed by that. They started to dance to the string music. 

He sniffed her sweet perfume, the shampoo she used. That woman would be the death of him, Logan was sure of it. They kept dancing, not talking. His eyes were on her, locked in a gaze. He had been close to her before but not like this. She was like a magnet, pulling him closer to her. Her lips inviting, her touch soft. 

The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to spill out what was going through his mind. “You look beautiful tonight,” he admitted. “Fuck, you look beautiful every time I see ya.”

She chuckled. “Even in my suit during a fight?” she raised a brow. 

“Hell yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Princess, when you walk to the field in that suit, fighting fearlessly, I have trouble focusing. Once you did a trick with your thighs, choking an enemy with them, I almost lost it there.” 

Y/N’s hand left his. She brushed it up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, so that’s the effect I have on you, eh?” she teased the Canadian. “Care to say more?”

Logan’s hand joined the other on her lower back. He pressed her closer to his body. The height difference was evident between them. Even with her high heels, she was shorter than him. “Fishing for compliments?” 

“From you? Yes,” she smiled. 

He moved closer to her, leaning. In his mind, he was ready to press his lips against her. He needed to kiss her like he needed to breathe. This was his chance to taste her.

A third hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, Logan,” they heard someone say their names. The moment was ruined. He wasn’t able to kiss her like he wanted. On the other hand, he wanted to slash anyone who interrupted them.

With a growl, he pushed away, eyes finding Captain Rogers, accompanied by Hank. “What?” he asked them grumpily. He didn’t care it was rude. They ruined something special. 

“We need you in the conference room,” said Steve. “We have a situation.” 

Y/N sighed, stepping away from Logan’s hold. “What’s going on?” she switched to a work mode. She gave Hank a polite smile to acknowledge his presence. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted us about Trash industries,” said Steve. “Come, we’ll show you.” 

“Charles?” Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank. 

“Already with Stark,” he said. 

All four of them walked together from the grand hall. Yelena and Sam joined them on the stairs. The blonde woman was yapping about being taken away from a cute woman and a fine drink. 

“I just fucking got here. Already some shit is happening,” she kept cursing under her nose.

Logan kept close to Y/N. He missed her body being so close to his. He hoped they'd be able to continue. The conversation was intriguing. He remained by her side while walking through the hallway and to the upper levels of the compound. 

Her fingers brushed against his hand. It wasn’t an accident. No. Her fingers purposefully stroked the top of his hand. Instantly, his fingers moved. His pinkie hooked around hers for a second. It was a mutual sign. 

The group entered the conference room, meeting the rest of the Avengers and Charles. One by one they took a seat except Logan. He stayed on his feet, a step away from Y/N’s seat. A hologram appeared in the middle of the table. 

“We got a new location on Trask Industries, but this time, these fuckers had decided to work with some Hydra scums,” Tony started to talk, showing footage they managed to get from satellites. “Or so it appears. we are not quite sure.” 

“The public wouldn’t like that,” Charles commented. “They try to present themselves as a serious robotic corporation. Why would they jeopardise their public status if they start working with a public enemy?”

“That is trying to hunt down mutants and annihilate them,” Y/N commented. “Don’t want to imagine what’s going on behind closed doors. It can’t be nice.”

“Is it really Hydra?” Natasha asked. 

“It appears,” Steve chimed in. “Or something adjacent.” 

“So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for more details?” Logan scoffed. “The longer we wait, the more work they get done. I say to strike and kill them all.” 

Y/N licked her lower lip and grinned under her nose.

“We need a strategy, Logan,” said Charles.

“Not everyone can get sliced and heal with a snap of fingers,” Tony added sarcastically. “Chill, wolvie. Besides, we’ve sent Vision to have a look at the place. He’s a droid, a powerful one made out of vibranium.” 

Y/N turned her head to Tony. “That doesn’t mean he’s indestructible in this world,” she frowned. “New weapons are being developed every day to destroy mutants, to stop the Avengers. I hope Wanda went with him. They are stronger together.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’s with him. Do you think I’d be able to stop her? I’m not crazy.” 

“Trask Industries are still working on the damn sentinel program,” Hank stepped into the conversation. “With Hydra’s help, who knows what they’ll be able to create together. The thought alone is scary.” 

Tony ended the hologram. Steve took the word. “I know we are supposed to be here at the gala, but I suggest a good night's sleep and be ready. If you’d like, we have spare rooms in here for you. You can stay here for the night if we need to leave.” 

When Steve said that, Y/N gently turned her head to the side, wondering what Logan would say to that. 

“I’ll gladly accept the offer,” Hank smiled. “At least I’d get to talk to Bruce for a little while and have a look at his labs. I’ll also alert the others at school.” 

“Howlett?” Tony raised a brow. 

Logan’s eyes moved from Y/N’s exposed shoulders to Hank and then to Tony. “Sure, why not? At least I don’t have to drive from place to place.” 

“I guess we are staying,” Charles smiled. “Thank you for your accommodation.” 

The meeting ended. Natasha and Yelena went back to the gala. Y/N talked to Hank for a few more minutes while he was waiting for Bruce. Steve and Tony took Charles back to the grand hall. Logan waited outside the conference room. Because no one was present, he took a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up. Three puffs later Y/N stepped out of the conference room with Hank. 

“Already smoking?” Hank sighed. 

“So what? Got a problem with that, bub?” 

“Always the charmer,” Hank shook his head. “Nice evening, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” he said once he saw Banner approaching the group. 

The moment Logan and Y/N were alone, they faced one another. “Are you heading back to the gala?” Logan asked. 

She hummed, thinking about it. “I’m not feeling like going back there. Honestly, those fancy parties are not my cup of tea. Wanna grab a drink in our lounge room? Stark has the fanciest shit there. You’re gonna love it.” 

Logan smiled at her. “Lead the way, princess.”

. . .

The lights were dimmed in the lounge room. Logan was nursing an expensive drink Y/N poured him. He made faces, eyed the liquid, humming and nodding. “This is some good shit,” said after a while. “Wealthy people can afford stuff like this. Also, Charles prohibited any alcohol at school.” 

Y/N chuckled, sitting in an armchair with her drink. “It makes sense. It’s a school. Of course, he doesn’t want any alcohol there. Does he let you smoke?” 

He huffed. “That he ain’t gonna do shit about it. No matter how much he threatens to turn me into a six-year-old girl.” 

“Aw, that’s adorable. I’d like to see that,” she put a wide smile on her face as she sipped her drink. “Maybe I’d brush your hair, put pink ribbons in it.”

Logan kicked the drink in and stood up from the couch. His eyes noticed a few photos around the place - from parties and group shots to professional photos of the team. They were like a family. What mostly caught his attention was Y/N. She was an Avenger, part of a superhero team. He huffed. Fuck, she was a damn Avenger. 

“What?” she questioned. A second later, she was by his side, eyes on the same photo of the team. “That was after Ultron almost annihilated the whole world. We celebrated our survival. Stark puked into his helmet,” she laughed. 

“Disgusting,” he frowned. “I must say, you look like one happy family,” he commented. 

Y/N hummed. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “I love them all to death.”

“But?” he raised a brow. 

She shrugged. “Will I sound ungrateful if I say I hate being in the spotlight?” she made a face. “I can’t do photoshoots, the damn galas and shit forever. I hate attention. I’d rather be like you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Teaching mutant kids, living life out of the spotlight. Even though it’s not easy, in my eyes, it’s simpler. Not have to deal with this shitshow.” 

Logan’s fingers found her hair. He brushed them away from her face. His mouth opened, ready to say something - anything - but instead, he grabbed her by the neck, pulled her closer to his body and crashed his lips against her. It was like an invincible string, pulling them together. He couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t slow, gentle. Quite the opposite. Logan’s tongue explored her mouth, tasting every corner he could reach. It was hungry, possessive. One hand held her tightly around her waist while the other slipped from her neck, down her back until it reached her ass, taking as much of her cheek into his palm. 

Both arms wrapped around his neck. A moan escaped her lips when the kisses moved to her jaw and down to her exposed neck. 

“I need to have you,” Logan growled between the kisses. “Fuck, pretty baby.” 

“My room,” she sighed. “We can’t give Stark or Rogers a heart attack if we do it here. Although, it would be funny.” 

Logan pushed away, staring into her eyes. He went back for her lips, only to bite her lower lip, pulling at it. “Lead the way, princess,” he growled. “And hurry, or I will take you here, where anyone can see us.”

Y/N grabbed him by the hand, taking him away from the lounge room. Logan moved her to his side and kept a hand on her smaller back. He needed to feel her, to be sure she was real and not a damn dream.

It took them a good three minutes to get to her room on the upper levels. The moment she closed the door, her hands were on Logan’s jacket, taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. Both of them stepped on it, not caring. His lips smashed against hers, all tongue and teeth. Grunts and moans echoed around them as they moved closer to the bed. 

“I wanna rip this dress off,” he said, hands grabbing both of her covered breasts into his palms, squeezing them. 

Y/N undid his tie. “No,” she chuckled, unbuttoning his white shirt. “Too fucking expensive. Here,” her fingers quickly found the zipper on her left side. She pulled it down and the dress loosened. That was Logan’s sign to pull down on it. 

“Fuck, princess,” his eyes rolled when she stood there in nothing but a black lacy thong. Her breasts were on full display, nipples stiff, just for his eyes. “Fucking perfect.” 

Before he could latch onto her hardened nipples, she forced the white button-up down off his body, hand grabbing onto his muscles, fingers brushing over some of the hair on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes to find his lips in another hungry kiss. 

His tongue dove into her mouth, caressing hers in the process. He felt her hands moving down to his belt, unfastening it. “Impatient?” his voice hoarse.

She pushed him onto her bed. He fell with a loud thud. The adamantium bones almost broke it in the process. “Shit, sorry,” she gasped, forgetting about his weight. But instantly, she climbed on top of him. Y/N pressed her breasts onto his chest as she needed to kiss him again and again. 

Logan switched it up, rolling them so she was under his body. “Now, let me ravish you before I give you my cock,” he said, lips already trailing kissed down her chest, over her breasts. His mouth took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, biting it. Her other nipple was teased by his thumb and index finger. 

“Fuck, Logan,” she whimpered. 

His mouth then travelled south. His tongue left a wet trail down her stomach to the hem of her thong. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, taking her leg up in the air, kissing it from the thigh up to her ankle. “I should leave these heels on, darlin’. So fucking sexy. Fuck, and I will.” 

Y/N huffed. “Logan, please, I want your mouth on me.” 

“Ah, already begging. I love it,” he grinned. He put her leg on his shoulder. His fingers brushed down down her leg to her clothed pussy. With two fingers he brushed her over her hidden folds and clit. She practically purred. “Pretty sound.” 

“Come on, Logan, do something.” Y/N was becoming frustrated. He kept teasing her, rubbing circles over her clit. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Not now.” 

A dark laughter escaped his throat. “Patience, darlin’.” He moved the thong to the side, exposing her pussy to the cold air. He saw her clench around nothing. “What a pretty pussy, princess. So wet and ready for me.” And he buried two fingers inside her heat. 

Y/N moaned once his two thick fingers penetrated her. “Shit. Ah.” 

He pulled them out and put them straight into his mouth, tasting her. “Delicious,” hummed. “I’m gonna feast on you. Not now. Now, I need to feel you around my cock, princess.” 

Logan grabbed her thong and pulled it off her legs, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes. He made sure to leave those heels on. “Fucking gorgeous.” He stood up to get rid of his pants. 

The moment he unzipped them, she knew he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Shit, Logan, commando?” she raised a brow. His length was already hard, ready for attention. The tip of his cock was angry red, already leaking precum. 

She was ready to reach for him, take his cock into her mouth and guide it into her mouth. Logan was faster. He pushed her back on the bed, shaking his head. “No, no, darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you now. And next time, I will let you have a taste of me.” 

“Next time?” she smiled. 

Logan leaned closer, his head above hers. “You think this a one-time thing? Oh, pretty girl. No, no.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Good,” she gave him a bright smile. 

He pumped his length a few times before he positioned his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inside until her hungry pussy took him all in. He cursed, groaned when her walls clenched around him. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N sank her nails into his chest, leaving red trails down to his belly button. They immediately disappeared, healed.

“Feel so good, princess. So tight,” he moaned as he started to move. At first slow, enjoying every stroke, watching her face like a hawk. He loved how her eyes rolled, how she gasped for air with each thrust or how she squeezed her breasts. She was fucking perfect. 

His thrusts fastened. He watched her breasts bounce as she kept fucking her. His grunts were louder, more vocal. Logan’s right hand found her neck. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it. And that move made her clench hard around his cock. “Shit, Y/N,” he called her name. “Keep doing that and I will fucking cum inside you.”

Logan’s other hand sneaked between their bodies and found her clit. He started to rub it slowly, changing the movements. 

“P-please,” she gasped. “I need to cum, Logan.”

He smiled. “Yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum around my cock?”

Y/N nodded, moaning and shaking under him. “Please, please,” she begged. 

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock. Squeeze me with your sweet pussy,” he demanded. “Wanna feel you when you cum. Shit… Ah… Fuck…”

A few more flickers of his finger was what she needed to reach her peak. Her mouth formed a perfect O, her voice suddenly gone when the wave of pleasure hit her body like a train. Her back arched as he helped her through her orgasm. 

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted. “Milk me dry.” 

A few more thrusts and he spilt inside her. His hot cum painted her walls. He growled like an animal, trying to prolong his climax with every movement. His body shook and then he stopped, panting. 

His eyes found hers. There was a post-orgasmic haze in them. A smile played on her lips. She was perfect, beautiful. Logan quickly leaned down and stole a kiss from her.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckled. “Such a good girl.” 

Those words made her clench around his length again. He grinned. “You like it when I call ya a good girl? Good to know.” Slowly, he pulled her semi-hard cock out of her and rolled next to her, catching his breath. 

Y/N rolled to him, resting her leg over his body. Her fingers drew patterns on his chest, moving through the hair delicately. “This was fun,” she smiled. “It’s been a while since I had a good orgasm.” 

He raised a brow. “Next time, I’ll make you cum on my fingers,” he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips on her fingers. “Then on my tongue and around my cock,” he hummed. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

She grinned. “Is that a promise?” 

“Fuck yeah, princess.” 

[hayleythesugarbowl]

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.4k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

     The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

     “7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer  Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

     “What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment. 

     “Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.  

     You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

     “No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

     Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

     “Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

     “Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from. 

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

     “Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

     After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

     Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer. 

     So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him. 

     You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible. 

     But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more. 

     “There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

     Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off. 

     You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford. 

     “Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man. 

     The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops. 

     “Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

     The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground. 

     “The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important  thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

     “Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

     The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands. 

     “Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life. 

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

     The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop. 

      “Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms. 

     “No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

     You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

     He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

     No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

     “Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

     “Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

     Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it. 

     Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

     “Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

     “That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

     He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     “What the hell was that?” 

     You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him. 

     “Sorry, I—”

     “‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

     Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

     You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

     He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying, 

     “I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

     You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

     “Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?” 

     You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

      A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital. 

     You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

     Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

     “Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio. 

     And so much for not talking about this now.

     “Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

     “You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you. 

     You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking. 

     “Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.” 

     Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

     “It’s—a long story,” you told him. 

     “Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

     “Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

      He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body. 

      Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you. 

     “If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

     “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

     “Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat. 

     He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

     “Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

     “Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

     You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

     “Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station. 

     “—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

     Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

     “But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

     You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life. 

     But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed. 

     “It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

     You were both silent for a moment. 

     A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

     “Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

     “And the guy back there?” 

     You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

     “I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

     Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

     “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

     Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

     The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.” 

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

     You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

     “Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

      Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

     “You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you. 

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

     “Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

    “Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

     You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles. 

     Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall. 

      “The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

      “So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms. 

     “I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

    “Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

    “But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

     “Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

     “Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

     “That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

      Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

     “Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

     “Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.” 

     They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing. 

     But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

     He’s out and he’s coming for you.

     Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

     Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time. 

   “We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul’s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

     “Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?” 

     You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier. 

     “No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

     “Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away. 

     You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so. 

     You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

     “Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him. 

     “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

     “Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

     “Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

     “And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

     “Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head. 

     “Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

     For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference. 

     “In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

      You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.��

     Tim stayed silent. 

    “Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

     You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room. 

     You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure. 

     “So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

     “Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking. 

     You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—” 

     “Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

     You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it. 

     “No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

     “We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

     “How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends. 

     “Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

      The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

     “What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them. 

     “I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

     Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

     “Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

     “Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

     And with that she walked out of the room.

    “Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

     Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie. 

     “Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

     “Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.” 

     You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

     “And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

      With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

    “Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

     “I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

     She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

     You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

     You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later. 

     When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout.  You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

     Funny how things could change so fast.

     Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot. 

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

     You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

     You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

     “Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

     “That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

     There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him. 

     You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.  

     Tim started the engine. 

     “If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

     “You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

     “What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

     “Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

     “Take a left at the light,” you guided. 

     Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys. 

     “Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

     You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

     “You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?” 

     “Tim—”

     “No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

     “No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

     “I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

     You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

     When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

      “How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked. 

     “Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said. 

     You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

     “Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

     “Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

     “If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

     “What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

    Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

     “Is that really needed?”

     “I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor. 

     Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

     “See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim. 

     “Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

     “I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

     “You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

     “Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

     “Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

     “Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

     “You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

     You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

     “Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called. 

     “There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

     “Ginger ale it is.”

      Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. 

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

     “What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

     You smothered a laugh.

     “Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered. 

     “Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

     “So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

     “Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

     “You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…” 

     You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

     “Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

     “Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

     “One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling. 

     “Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

     “You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

     “Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

     “That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

     “No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

     “Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

     “I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

     “Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

     Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

      You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

     “Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

     “Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

     “Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

     “Tim—”

     You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so. 

     She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him. 

     “I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

     You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails. 

     “Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.  

     But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

     His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

     But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

     You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

     It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock. 

     You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

     You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely. 

     “Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft. 

     “Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

     “I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

     Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you 

     “Listen, Boot—”

     He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound. 

     You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same. 

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

     “Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

     If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you. 

     He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following. 

     “Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

     The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet. 

     You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom. 

     You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

     Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth. 

     Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

     Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut. 

     Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you. 

     “Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand. 

     You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man. 

     “I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

     Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

     Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

     You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

     “Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you.  I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

     You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

     You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

     “Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

     You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

     Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

     “And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat. 

     Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

     He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

     Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

     Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting. 

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

     “You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

     “Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you. 

     You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

     Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

    You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs. 

    “So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

     “Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

    Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

     “Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground. 

     “You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

      He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

     “That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

     Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

     Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody. 

     “And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

     With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

     “Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

     “Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

     Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

     Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position. 

     “What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

     Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

     Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

     “Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully. 

     How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened. 

     “I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

      Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat. 

     “I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

   �� “No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

     “This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 4.”

      Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

     You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples. 

     Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter 

     Images flooded your senses. 

     The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

     He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

     You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

      Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

      You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm. 

      You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears. 

     You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

     The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head. 

     You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

     The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

     You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

     I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

     You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body. 

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

     “Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice. 

     “Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open. 

     “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

     “Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

     He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

     “Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

    “Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

     “And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

     Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

     When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

     “L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

     “Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

     You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

     Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

     “In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

     “I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

     You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal. 

     “There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

     “Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer. 

     “For what, doing my job?”

     You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”  

     “Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

     “So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

     Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

     You nodded again, looking at the floor.  Tim sighed, reaching an arm out. “Come here.”

You took a step towards him and then you were in his arms, his embrace strengthening you as he rubbed your back. You stood there like that, not wanting this to end. Not wanting to put distance between you again. Finally, he pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze weighted, before taking a few steps towards the door. You looked over Tim’s shoulder.

     “Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He is never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

      You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

     Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

     You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

     Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

     You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in. 

     And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that. 

    “So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence. 

     Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

     You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory. 

     You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

     “Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

     “Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

     You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

     You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself. 

     “Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch. 

      Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming. 

     “Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

     “Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

     You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational. 

     “I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

     “I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said. 

     “You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall. 

     A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work. 

     “Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

     “Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

     “I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him. 

     Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed. 

     “Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

     “Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.” 

      You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

     “No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

     You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change. 

     “We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room. 

     “Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

     “Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

     Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

     “Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

     The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down. 

     You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by. 

    “Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

     “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

     He paused. 

     “Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

     You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

     “But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

     “I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

     You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

     “I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said. 

     Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.   

    “You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

     Tim didn’t speak.

     “It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

     “Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears. 

     “Tim?”

     You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat. 

     “Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

     And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

     But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him. 

     Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

     And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back. 

     His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

     It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

     “Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

     You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

     You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt. 

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

     “Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered. 

     “I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

     You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

     “Boot—”

     “If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said. 

     “I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

     “But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

     “Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

     “It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

     You knew he was right. Of course he was right. 

     “But is it—what you want?” 

     “God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

     “Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

     Tim looked at you. 

     “Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

     “I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

     “What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

     “Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

     You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

     You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

     And the decision seemed clear.

     “Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

     He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

     “You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

     You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

    “What’re you doing?” You asked him.

    “Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious. 

    “Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

    “I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled. 

     You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

     You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.     

    “You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said. 

     “I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

     “We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said. 

     “I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed. 

     “And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up. 

     “Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

     You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

     Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face. 

     “What?” You asked.

     “You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

     “Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

     “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

     You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up. 

     “I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

     Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

     You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

     The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

     But for now, this was enough. He was enough. 

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

     You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

     “Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face. 

     “Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

[thewritetofreespeech]

Steak & Blowjob Day

Mark Grayson x gn!reader

plot: I'm a devote feminist, but this boy needs a break. [smutty nonsense]

-------------------------------------

Mark tipped his head with a loud moan as [Y/N] took all of him down their throat again. Thank God they were at their place tonight.

When [Y/N] asked him to come over for a date night earlier in the week, Mark was of course excited. They tried to see each other as much as they could, but with their schedules and threats to the universe not really keeping an accurate time piece, they’d had more cancels than successes recently. Tonight, Mark made sure everything was covered and that he could spend time alone with his partner.

He even showed up super early. Which he knew was lame but he was just so excited to see them. When they opened the door for him Mark immediately stepped in and wrapped them in his arms. Breathing the first sigh of relief he felt like taking in weeks along with the scent of their shampoo.

“Happy Steak & Blowjob Day.” They told him as they hugged. To which Mark pulled back with a laugh as he asked them ‘what?’, and they responded with an eye roll, “Rex told me about it.”

They both knew not to take everything Rex said at face value, but [Y/N] told him that, just for today, they’d stick with tradition.

Mark insisted that they didn’t have to do anything for him. He didn’t want them to feel pressured into giving him anything, unless they wanted to. But, [Y/N] insisted that they wanted to and, “you’ve been working so hard and had so much to deal with.” It was honestly just nice to be acknowledged for that. “Let me pamper you for a change.”

Which brought them to where they were now. Mark seated at the table, his shirt pulled up towards his pits with his belt and fly open, and [Y/N] on their knees in front of him. The suction around his cock felt amazing! They were pretty active now at this point in their relationship, but still every time [Y/N] sucked him off he saw stars. And he had seen actual stars now.

“Fuuuck baby…” Mark groaned as he reached out to touch their hair.

They moan and take him in faster. Bobbing their head up & down over his cock. “Oh fuck!” He wheezed. “I’m gonna--!” He tried to warn them but the change in friction caught him too late and he came in their mouth. Luckily [Y/N] didn’t seem to mind.

They pulled off his cock, still hard and wet, and looked up at him from the floor. “You want your steak rare or medium?”

“Uh…mid rare?” Mark was embarrassed to admit that his cock jumped a little when they asked that. He liked to consider himself a modern, evolved man but god that was hot.

[Y/N] smiled and kissed his knee before standing up and heading to the kitchen. Maybe they should listen to Rex more often, Mark thought briefly. No. No. That was probably a bad idea. This time was good though.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙮, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮

summary: looks like a cinnamon roll, can kill you.

characters: mattheo riddle. bunny! reader

warnings: none other than a bite

word count: 504

a/n- thank you all so much again for 500 followers again!!! bunny! reader won (but don’t worry frat bro! mattheo will be coming soon!) i hope you all only this little drabble!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

The late afternoon sun bathed the grounds of Hogwarts in golden light, casting a soft glow over the Black Lake. Mattheo sat sprawled on one of the worn stone benches near the water’s edge, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up, his tie long forgotten somewhere in his bag. His usually sharp expression was softened by quiet contentment, fingers lazily stroking the soft fur of the bunny curled in his lap.

You.

In your bunny form, you sat tucked into yourself like a little cinnamon roll-round, fluffy, and deceptively innocent. Your twitching nose and heavy-lidded eyes gave you an air of peace, but your ears stayed slightly raised, always alert. You didn’t trust the world when it came to Mattheo. He was yours, after all.

Mattheo let his head fall back against the bench with a sigh, letting the breeze toy with his curls. “You’re so dramatic when you nap,” he muttered under his breath, watching you loaf harder as though you were trying to become one with his lap.

Then-

“Mattheo?”

The sweet, overly chirpy voice made both your ears stand straight up.

He didn’t move much, just cracked one eye open and groaned, “What?”

A girl in Ravenclaw blue stood just in front of him, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. Her lips curled into a practiced smile as she took a step closer. “You’ve been impossible to find lately. Ditching your adoring fans?”

You stilled completely in his lap, gaze narrowing. Fan? No. Pest.

Mattheo raised an unimpressed brow. “Didn’t realize I had any.”

She laughed, fake and fluttery, and let her eyes drop. “Oh my god-is that a bunny?” Her voice went up an octave. “I didn’t know you were an animal person!”

“She found me,” he replied flatly, stroking your back once in warning. Be nice, it said. Try.

The girl leaned in, hands on her knees as if speaking to a child. “Can I pet her? She’s so cute-look at those cheeks!”

You didn’t blink. You didn’t twitch. You were ice-cold stillness wrapped in soft fur.

Mattheo opened his mouth, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think that’s a good-”

Too late.

Her fingers reached out, aiming for the top of your head like you were some fluffy stuffed toy. Her nail grazed your fur.

CHOMP.

“OW! WHAT THE-” she yelped, snatching her hand back and clutching her finger like you’d severed it. “She bit me!”

Mattheo didn’t even pretend to be surprised. He leaned back again, nonchalant, lips quirking upward. “She does that.”

“She’s vicious!” the girl snapped, glaring at your still-loafed form with wide, offended eyes.

“She’s… selective.” He let the word hang in the air as he brushed a finger behind your ear, where no one else dared touch.

The girl looked between the two of you, scoffed, and spun on her heel with a muttered “whatever.” Her stomping footsteps faded toward the castle.

Once she was gone, Mattheo looked down at you, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even flinch,” he murmured, sounding both impressed and amused. “Didn’t thump. Didn’t growl. Just went straight for the kill.”

You puffed your cheeks a little and nestled deeper into his lap, ears finally relaxing now that the threat had passed.

He chuckled, thumb running along your spine in soft strokes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You snuggled closer with a quiet snuffle that, if he listened hard enough, sounded just a little smug.

[pittrabbit]

warning: explicit content, mostly soft smut, mentions of a massage, p in v sex, not proofread!!!

"you're going home already?", the words were suddenly mumbled against jack's shoulder, eyes glued to the screen which he was currently finishing up his charts on. you took a look at your mostly empty surroundings for a second before turning back to him. after figuring there'd be no harm in your next move, you pressed a quick and soft kiss to his sleeve.

this caused a small smile to make its way onto his face. your quiet insistence in showing him affection at all times had that effect on him. it was nice, unexpectedly enjoyable for him. he wasn't one for pda, but he felt comfort in your quiet and subtle affection.

he hummed, "yeah. robby's been bugging me about overworking myself. no more extra shifts for me for a while," he said as he set down the tablet he'd been charting on, now turning to face you.

usually jack was insistent on working an extra shift after his own eight hour night shift, wanting to take advantage of the overlap between your hours in order to head home with you at the end of your workday. it meant overworking himself, but he was adamant about time spent together.

your hand came up to lay on his chest, affectionate but not too over the top. as long as you behaved, no one appeared to have any issues in the two of you making your relationship known while on the clock. jack still liked to keep it at a minimum, but he was always perceptive of you regardless, accepting every touch you offered him with content.

"no fair," you pouted, hand patting his chest, "you're leaving me here?"

he shook his head, chuckling, "you're the one who insisted on taking the morning hours, honey," he began to walk over to his backpack with you trailing closely behind him, swinging it on his shoulder before heading to the hallway that led towards the lockers, now finding yourselves in an even more private setting.

now alone, you latched onto him, interrupting him from grabbing his things from his locker and even causing his backpack to drift off his shoulder. once more, he simply chuckled at you, aware that your tiredness was likely the cause of your sudden clinginess. naturally, his hands fell to your hips, squeezing amorously and pulling you closer, backpack damned.

"maybe if you weren't so stubborn, we could both work the midday shift," he scolded lightly, chin lifting up in mock challenge at you.

your faux annoyance always made it worth it, so did the way you locked your hands at the back of his neck, tilting your own chin to make a face at him before retaliating, "i'm stubborn? midday means staying til two in the morning! some of us need sleep, abbot."

he lifted his eyebrows, "oh, it's 'abbot' now?", you nodded defiantly, "i hope you remember this attitude by the time i get you alone," it was his turn to give you some sass.

you bit your lip at his threat, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, "i'm counting on you putting me back in my place as soon as i get home, doctor," you continued to tease.

he chuckled as he looked down at you. jack's eyes bore into yours in that way they always did. it was intense, yet his gaze held that same softness usually only reserved for when he was reassuring the newbies at work. but you were the only recipient of such look who could summon it on command. it always made you take a step back, gulp and reassess the feelings behind those eyes.

this time, though, it held something else. it was that sheer want that only you ever saw. that look that told you that there was some carnal need brewing in that mind of his.

you'd detected it in him earlier that morning when you kissed him goodbye before heading back to bed until your own shift began. you'd detected it when he welcomed you at work a few hours earlier, pressing a few more kisses on your jaw than usual when he walked you in from the parking lot. it was even present during those ten minutes earlier in the day in which he pulled you aside for a five minute lunch break by the entrance. that look was still there, and you'd been thinking about it all day.

leaning in close, he trailed his lips by your ear, making you shiver, "i'm going to go home, regain some of my energy, and by the time you' get there, i'll fuck this brattiness out of you, okay?"

it was a rhetorical question, yet your neck still tilted back, begging for some attention on it as you nodded dumbly.

he separated himself from you after that, grabbing a few things from his locker before beginning to head out. but before he actually did, he turned back, grabbing onto your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

"have a good rest of your day at work, honey. i'll be waiting for you," he chuckled once more at how gone you already looked for him, only sticking your tongue out at him in defiance when you realized he was actually leaving.

you loved to watch him leave, so you did so before turning back and heading to the nearest bathroom to splash your head with water before going back to work.

only a few more hours to go.

౨ৎ

after many grueling hours of never-ending emt's leading in new patients, you were finally done for the day.

dana was always good at getting you out the door, insisting you go back to 'your husband' with a suggestive wink before you jokingly shoved shoulders with her in faux annoyance. but happily, you followed her instructions, practically running to your car before heading over to your house.

it was still relatively early, but the time didn't really matter with a job like yours. jack probably knocked himself dead asleep as soon as he got home, meaning you'd have to wake him up if you needed him to take care of the problem he'd caused.

on any other occasion, you would've felt badly about waking your tirelessly hard-working boyfriend, but this time it felt like the perfect revenge.

once you arrived home, you quietly made your way to your shared bedroom, finding a sleeping jack on your bed. that salt and pepper hair laid against the pillow, facing away from you while his body rose up and down with a calmness you loved to see from him. it made you re-think your plan.

your needs could wait if it meant jack got at least a good four or five hours of sleep. it was rare to have him sleep for a long period of continuous time, so you simply shrugged to yourself, instead heading towards the bathroom connected to your room and quietly closing the door before beginning to decompress in there, brushing your teeth and doing any other self-care you could without making too much noise.

in your quietness, you didn't hear your boyfriend open the door and manifest himself into the room, only realizing he was there when his hands landed themselves on your hips, making you jump mid-way through putting on your pajamas.

burying his nose in your hair, he hummed, "don't put them on. i'm going to be taking them off anyway," his nose trailed down, finding your shoulder and pressing a few pecks there, soft but affectionate.

"jack, you're supposed to be sleeping," you were a hypocrite in saying this as your head tilted to the side, sighing when his lips instinctively followed along, kissing down its length. his hands wrapped further around you, circling to your front and pressing you fully to his back. that's when you felt his hardness, humming at the familiar feeling.

he was wearing some plaid pajama pants and an old t-shirt from his service overseas. it felt soft against you as you stood in nothing but your bra and panties, having been interrupted from throwing them off in lieu of some fresh clothes. they weren't matching — they rarely were. but jack liked you like this, was actually a huge fan of any and every set of bra and panties in your closet. he was very vocal about it.

even now, his hand reached north, finding your breasts and cupping them greedily as he continued to hum in satisfaction. feeling up the blue cup with lace accents, he trailed one of his hands back, snapping the hooks off with a practice eased he'd always been quite confident in. you aided him in letting it fall to the ground, now enjoying his touches without that extra barrier.

"you sore?" he asked as he began massaging your boobs, pulling out a groan of relief out of you, "want a massage?"

still leaning against him, you chuckled when you looked down and took note of his prosthetic still on, realizing he must've kept it on in order to welcome you home.

"i should be the one offering a massage," you offered, "you didn't take off your prosthetic, jack? you must be sore," you couldnt help but pout a bit at the statement.

you felt him shake his head behind you, "i took it off when i got home. i put it back on when your shift ended. fell asleep waiting for you, though," he turned you around, hands settling on your waist before kissing you, "i'll take it off again when i get you in bed, promise."

that was all you needed before walking him backwards and towards the adjoining bedroom, hoping to lay him down on bed and have your way with him. but as per usual, jack was a quicker thinker than you, turning you around last second and laying you down at the edge of the bed. there, you responded to his victorious smile with a pinch at his thigh before scooting up so you could give him space to tower over you.

he made quick work of his leg, setting the prosthetic aside before kneeling above you and straddling your body with his own, hands reaching his back and proceeding to throw off his shirt and leaning closer to you. below him, you watched happily, top teeth sinking into your lower lip as you enjoyed the view, even receiving a teasing remark over it from the man above you.

"i'd ask if you like the view, but i already know the response will be filthy," he huffed, lowering himself.

your hands, never shy around him, reached towards his crotch while your eyes remained on him, continuing to express your lust through your gaze. undoing the lose fabric around his hips was easy, prompting you to pull down his pajama pants low enough to pull his dick out of his boxers, already beginning to work on it.

"you like it when i say those things, though, don't you?"

you always challenged him, and despite his half-hearted complaints, he loved your bratty behavior towards him. kept him young and on his toes.

one hand of his went south while the other went north, now supporting his weight on his knees as he dragged a knuckle up and down the thin layer of your panties and applied pressure on your cunt. his other hand was further occupied by tracing your jaw, thumb gracing your lower lip and freeing it from your teeth, clicking his tongue when you followed his silent command to take it into your mouth and suck.

"love your filthy mouth," he said after a beat or two of silence. there was a special intensity in his eyes as he looked down at you, gaze locked on your lips as you sucked at his fingers. meanwhile, your own eyes were driving him crazy — completely empty as you looked up at him with furrowed brows, an unadulterated lust brewing in them at your current situation.

you hummed, sound muffled by his fingers. shaky hands still occupied with his cock as you shuffled under him, positioning yourself as close as possible and using your thighs to wrap around his waist, hoping to get him as close as humanly possible.

"so demanding."

it was an hollow complaint from him, adorned with a chuckle of disbelief at your silent pleas for him to fuck you. but he took mercy on you, removing his hand from your mouth and using it to replace your own on his dick. he jerked himself a few times before dragging it up and down your cunt, making a quick stop at your clit to circle it with his damp tip. this was accompanied by a whine from you, head thrown back against the bed at your sensitivity.

"that good, baby? want me to put it in?", that usual cocky smile was on his lips.

"jack ..."

with his free hand, he caressed your cheek, mockingly pouting at you, "i know, sweetheart. i'll give it to you now."

that was all that was said before he slipped in with a groan. he always loved how you felt after a long workday. it was so domestic to him, to be able to go home and find you waiting for him to fuck you, to distress you (or vice versa). today it'd been him waiting for you at home, but truly this had been on his mind all day.

"so fucking warm, baby," he grunted, starting a steady rhythm as his hips hit the back of your thighs.

the sound of skin slapping filled up the room while you lost your breath at the feeling. his grunts were almost too low for you to hear, but your cries of his name were too loud anyways. your noises were always the protagonists between you and jack, something which he was not shy in expressing his love over.

"worked so hard today, baby. my badass, sexy resident, shit," he continued, groaning when you tightened at his words.

"jack, fuck, i-"

"i know, honey. it's so good, huh? tell me it's good, baby."

he lowered his face, pressing his forehead to yours as he stared you down with that intense gaze, causing you to melt inside out.

"i-it's so good! so good, fuck," you managed.

"yeah?"

and you nodded dumbly, eyes glued to the proximity of his lips and chin tilting up to entice him into a kiss. he hummed at this, providing you with your silent wish and kissing you.

the kiss quickly became erratic, filled of tongue and knocking teeth as his pace sped up. your own hips attempted to match the movements of his own, hands holding onto his strong biceps before trailing all the way to his back and dragging down your nails down.

he hissed into the kiss, biting your lip and slightly pulling it before tutting at you in a faux reprimand.

"jack, i- i'm gonna cum," you warned after a few moments, gasping when his hand immediately went between your bodies, finding your clit with the precision of a well-trained man.

he had a technical expertise on your body, moving and doing things to you before you could even mutter a plea for it. the thought made your back arch, weak at knowing jack was yours and knowing how imperative your pleasure was to him.

"cum, baby. i'm right there, okay? do it for me," he encouraged in between broken grunts. his hips were practically slamming against you by then, head dropping to your neck and kissing and biting at it.

you gasped when your orgasm finally took over you, receiving a harsh bite to your shoulder when jack joined you in the bliss. you felt like a teenager at how giddy his marks made you feel, but the sensation only fueled your high.

jack was insistent on continuing to fuck you through your shared orgasms, uncaring about how sensitive either of you felt up until your weak hand attempted to push at his chest with a sensitive whine.

once more, he chuckled at it, kissing your chest once, twice, thrice before letting himself fall on his back beside you. with an exhausted grunt.

you laid side by side with heavy breaths for a few moments before jack broke the silence.

"that felt like another eight hours of work," he paused, turning to you, "worth it."

"you're going to render me out of commission. robby's not gonna like that," you joked, sitting up and beginning to guide jack to lay back, huddling the blankets so you could lay in bed together.

"mentioning another man when i just had my dick inside you? i think i forgot to fuck all the brattiness out of you," he huffed, reaching your hip and pinching it in defiance.

you yelped with a giggle, "calm down, doc. i need to be intact to clock in to work tomorrow," you warned in jest before sitting up against the headboard, causing him to sit up in tandem.

"c'mere, baby," you gestured at him to scoot closer, "i'm going to give you a massage whether you like it or not, so lay on your stomach," you instructed, "i'll start with your back and get your leg last," you saw him open his mouth, which you interrupted with a lift of your hand, "no objections allowed, get your laid down and ready for me," you demanded once more.

this provoked a laugh from him, a hearty one. those were rare with jack, usually slightly stoic, sticking to close-lipped smiles a majority of the time. but he followed your instructions, offering you a 'yes, ma'am' before pecking your lips and laying down with a grunt.

you straddled his back, putting most of your weight (but not all) on his butt before leaning down to caress his back, smiling to yourself when he immediately moaned with relief.

"fuck, you're a fucking angel," he said, muffled by the mattress beneath him.

and so you continued, pleased with yourself at getting the workaholic to relax for once.

[hotchnerwrites]

I loved your fic Warmth!! You write caretaker Hotch so well, I would love to read more cute or caring moments where Hotch is looking out for a shy reader!!! Little things like giving his jacket, watching closely on cases, the sweet stuff!! you killed it

Soft Spot

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, no use of (y/n), no continuous plot it's fragmented stories tbh

A/N: Thank you so much!!! So very glad you enjoyed Warmth <3 I spent all day indulgently dreaming of the things he'd do OMGGG anyways this is the product. It was supposed to be a 5+1 but i think a headcanon-inspired style suited this story better where you kinda see fragments of their daily interactions. I hope you like it and it's what you imagined!!! Enjoy reading, mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Send me stuff :)

You didn’t want to be a burden. You liked putting people first. It felt good to be in a caretaker role yourself. You liked bringing Reid his coffee loaded with ten packets of sugar. You liked bringing Garcia collectables for her desk. You liked giving Rossi your chair if the room was one too short. It didn’t matter that it sometimes came at the cost of your discomfort. You’d never liked being the centre of attention anyway.

But perhaps that begged the age-old question— who cared for the caretaker?

●・○・●・○・●・

The first time it happened was on the jet. 

It was a late-night flight, nothing new. But the AC in the cabin must have malfunctioned that day. It was brutally chilly, and since you were returning from a case in Florida, you had nothing but summer clothes. Your tea wasn’t doing much, so you occasionally walked the length of the cabin, trying to be quiet so the others could sleep. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to ask for something as simple as a jacket.

But Hotch saw. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork— he just held it out as you passed his seat again. His arm barred you from dodging past, so you reluctantly draped it over your shoulders. Just five minutes, then you’d return it.

Maybe he heard your thoughts because right then, he said, “Keep it on.” It wasn’t a polite request; he had already decided for you.

But it’s Hotch so you listen.

No one questioned where you got the jacket from when the jet landed. But you catch JJ’s faint smile from the corner of your eye when she sees the jacket hanging from your desk chair the next day.

Hotch never asked for it back.

●・○・●・○・●・

You’re a great agent in terms of fieldwork. The whole team trusted you. Of course, you wouldn’t be there if they didn’t, but it felt nice to realise that nevertheless. 

But blind trust didn’t mean Hotch wouldn’t watch you like a hawk.

It was probably just a coincidence. You always ended up paired with him when heading into dangerous situations. He never hovered or anything, he always let you do your thing. But it was the way he positioned himself slightly ahead of you when clearing rooms, a silent wall between you and any potential threats,

And then there were the crime scene situations. You could hold it together; your poker face an acquired skill. But some cases hit home. You never let it show too much, but Hotch noticed when your fingers curled into tight fists, shoulders going rigid.

He never called you out on it, or put you on the spot.

Instead, his voice came through the comms before you and Morgan breached a suspect’s house. “Be careful.”

He said it to both of you, but somehow, you knew it was meant for you.

And later, when the case was over, and you were sitting on the back of an ambulance with a shallow cut on your arm from a scuffle, he was there.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “No. It’s fine.”

He didn’t argue, but he sat next to you long after the paramedic finished patching you up.

●・○・●・○・●・

You didn’t even realise when it started.

One morning, you had walked into the bullpen, and there had been a steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk. Just the way you took it. You blinked at it, confused, but you assumed Garcia was behind it.

But it happened again the next day. Then the day after. And again the following day.

It was never a big thing or a grand gesture. Just a simple takeaway cup with your order etched into the side. When you finally thanked Garcia, she looked utterly bemused.

“Oh, sugar. That’s not me,” she’d said, a grin stretching across her face.

No way.

So the next time it happened, you glanced towards Hotch’s office. Sure enough, he was already looking at you. But he never said a word. He didn’t even smile. He just looked down at his files and kept writing.

You sipped the coffee at your desk slowly, savouring every sip, willing it to last longer. The warmth spreading across your chest had nothing to do with the drink.

●・○・●・○・●・

The rain had been terrible all week. Sick of fighting your way through public transport where everything was slippery and wet, you had treated yourself to an Uber. You didn’t have an umbrella while you waited, so you stood under the awning in front of the building. You’d make a run for it when the car showed up.

As you scanned the road in front of you for your designated car, a black umbrella swung open over your head.

You turned, startled, only to find Hotch standing behind you, holding it up without a word. His coat was getting wetter, but he didn’t look like he cared.

“You’ll get soaked,” you said, noting how he had angled it more over you than himself.

“I’ll be all right,” he replied simply.

And that was that.

He waited till your car came, and then he helped you get in, ensuring not a drop touched your head as you bundled yourself into the backseat. 

It wasn’t until you were almost at your front door that you realised— he’d never had an umbrella with him when he came to work this morning.

Hotch had taken the time to find one— just for you.

●・○・●・○・●・

The Denver case was a disaster. 

Too many close calls. Too many what-ifs.

Sleep was difficult that night. You stared at the ceiling of your hotel room, letting yourself dissociate. But a buzz from your phone snapped you out of your reverie. When you checked your screen, there was just one text message.

You did well today. - A.H.

You stared at those four words for too long. No over-the-top reassurances, no unnecessary fluff. Just an acknowledgement.

You never responded, but the next morning on the jet, he caught your eye and nodded, ever so slightly. Like he knew you saw the message. Like he knew it helped.

And maybe, just maybe, it had eased your worries a bit that day.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[mortaldreams]

breathing room (m ver.)

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers

word count: 5.9k

warnings: sexually explicit content (MDNI), swearing, arguing, non-explicit descriptions/depictions of violence, tension of both the general and sexual sort, heeseung is a Talker

note: this is an extended (and explicit) version of my sfw story breathing room, which can still be found on my main blog stllmnstr. but this one has, you know, smut. enjoy!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

In your mind, Lee Heeseung is nothing but a thorn in your side and an obstacle in your path as you struggle to fight your way way up the ranks in combat training. But even with your knife against his neck and flames in your eyes, he finds a way to catch you off guard.

or,

heeseung doesn't need a knockout. he just needs an in.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung is having a hard time breathing. 

Partly because he’s pretty sure he just got the wind knocked out of him. A little bit because of the year-old rib injury he had neither the time nor patience to let heal completely. 

And mostly because there’s a blade being held to his throat. 

Yours, to be exact. 

It’s a nice one, all things considered. Despite its lethality, it’s small, delicate almost. From this angle, he can just make out the detailing on the hilt. A series of vines wrap around each other intricately, forming kaleidoscopic patterns that extend all the way from the blade to where your fingers are wrapped around the hilt, knuckles white from the way your hand is straining. 

Jesus, he thinks. If it takes that much concentrated effort for you to not let the knife press any harder against his skin, draw any blood, then maybe he should start taking the threats you throw his way like extra change a little more seriously. 

Lazily, he lets his eyes trace a line from your fingers to your face. Skipping over the rather boring details of the plain black training shirt you wear, he directs his attention to the way your brow furrows in concentration instead. 

Under usual circumstances, a knife to the throat would encourage all of his senses to narrow in on the sensation of metal against his pulse point. Would spur his brain to work a bit faster through all the biological fight or flight mechanisms in a last ditch attempt at survival. 

But these are not usual circumstances. In fact, ever since the two of you were split into separate training cohorts a handful of months ago, this has become a rarity. And the only thing Heeseung wants to do is enjoy it a little more. 

Without his self-preservation instincts kicking in, his brain has plenty of room for other things. The forgiving surface of a training mat beneath him, slightly soft where he lets his body relax into it. The unusually warm air of the training room, courtesy of a busted air conditioner that no one has gotten around to fixing just yet. 

The way your hair falls around your face as you lean over him, chest still heaving from your recent bout of exertion. Your eyes are pure fire, embers and ashes and every stage in between as you sit atop his ribcage, knees on either side of his torso where you pin him to the mat. 

But even as the lead trainer adds another tally underneath your name for another sparring match won, your gaze doesn’t soften. Doesn’t brighten in the afterglow of victory. 

After all, victory only tastes sweet when it’s earned. Judging by the way your lips twist above him, Heeseung thinks the victory he just handed you on a silver platter must be horribly bitter. 

Slowly, he raises his hands in mock surrender. There’s a half smile that looks a little too much like a smirk tugging at his lips when he says, “I concede.”

“No fucking shit.” You flick a strand of hair out of your face. Your knife presses a little tighter against his throat. “Did you even try?”

Heeseung maintains eye contact. “I think I’m doing us both a favor by not answering that one.”

Narrowing your eyes, annoyance makes itself the most prominent of your visible emotions. “Interesting choice of words from someone with a knife to his throat.”

Heeseung all but rolls his eyes. “What are you gonna do? Kill me in front of everyone?” The way he wraps sarcasm up in every syllable is almost as infuriating as the way he just let you win without putting up any semblance of a fight. “You’ve got a mean streak, princess, but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

The pressure on your blade increases, and Heeseung fights a wince as he feels it break the barrier between his skin and blood. It’s a miniscule cut, surface level at most, but he hears the threat all the same. “It’s like you want to die,” you marvel. 

Heeseung’s eyes betray nothing, other than the fact that they can’t quite seem to stray from your own. Does he? No matter how deep inside himself he searches, the answer is always a resounding no. Despite the effort he put into this particular spar, or rather lack thereof, his survival instincts are still kicking. His pursuit of life is still alive and well. 

So no, he doesn’t want to die. Quite the opposite in fact. But if he were to explain in plain terms that he never feels quite as alive as he does in the moments when you’ve got a knife on his throat and hatred in your eyes, he has the distinct feeling you might well and truly make good on your frequent promise to send him to an early grave. 

And it’s not like he means to do it, not really. Heeseung might be a glutton for punishment these days, but there was a time when he tried to get your attention in all the regular ways. As he quickly found out, sweet words did nothing but make you roll your eyes, and his skills on a sparring mat were only as impressive as they could be used to hone your own. 

He was a tool in your eyes. A means to an end as you did your best to work your way up the ranks. 

You never looked at him, the person behind all the hand-to-hand combat training and advanced levels of weapon artistry. 

At least not until he started annoying the ever-living shit out of you. 

Back then, it had been easy. As new recruits, you were in the same training cohort, which meant you had the same daily schedules. As long as Heeseung had the chance to beat you to the last piece of toast in the dining hall at breakfast or tie the laces of your training boots together the night before an early morning, he was guaranteed at least one of your signature glares and a few choice words that would make his grandmother blush. 

Granted, he knows that one-sided hatred is not a very stable foundation to build anything solid on, but he thinks of it in the same way he thinks of sparring. 

He doesn’t need a knockout. He just needs an in. 

A little bit of breathing room. Something that will have his partner lowering their guard, weakening their defenses just enough for him to strike. Once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the match is won and victory rests on his square shoulders. 

Heeseung’s in this for the long haul, and he’s come to find that he doesn’t really care how many bruises he picks up along the way. 

Across the room, the lead trainer heaves a long sigh. 

“Alright, ___, that’s enough. You’ve earned your tally.” The most of anyone in today’s group. But you’re still glaring at him, and he knows it isn’t enough, not for you. “Heeseung, get it together. I expect better from you next time.”

You scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

Expectations are only met when people are held to them, and you doubt Lee Heeseung has even become acquainted with the concept of a consequence. 

Releasing one final, sharp exhale, you pull your knife away from his throat, tucking it back into the sheath on your upper thigh in one fluid motion. Swinging your leg over his torso, you remove your body from his own, give your anger some space to breathe. Without looking back, you let your strides eat up the distance between you and the exit. 

Someone – you think it must be Jay, or maybe Jungwon – tries to catch your attention on the way out, asking about a maneuver you pulled in the middle of the match. A tricky bit of knife work you’ve been perfecting over the last few weeks. 

Something that looked stupid as Heeseung did nothing but stand there, as if your blade was nothing but decorative. Made you look stupid as he stood and watched with nothing but a mildly amused expression on his face. 

You hate him for it. Want to show him just how pretty your knife can be stained with the deep crimson he must bleed as surely as anyone else. 

Lips pulled in a taut line, you unsheath the blade at your thigh once again, this time sending it spinning with deadly accuracy towards the line of trees that skirt the outside of the training facility. 

You don’t miss. You never do. 

It still feels like defeat. 

…..

Heeseung notices when you’re not at dinner later that evening. Despite the fact that you no longer train together, the inter-cohort spars have shifted this week's schedule. You should be here, sitting next to Jay and Jungwon, probably, pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

But you’re not. And he can only think of one other place to find you. 

The training hall is dark when he arrives, but Heeseung is no fool. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees you soon enough. Silhouette dark against the empty expanse, he has half a mind to intervene before you shred yet another punching bag to irreparable pieces. Instead, he just watches for a moment longer. 

He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that start to simmer, that always linger. Doesn’t know if it’s admiration or longing or something far worse. 

But he wants to. Wants to examine them until he knows them as intimately as the back of his own hand, until he can recite them by name and express them in ways that don’t make you want to press a knife against his neck. 

And he wants to keep watching, keep looking, keep noticing. 

Even from a distance, even in the dark, he can read the frustration in the set of your shoulders, sense the exhaustion in the way your legs move just behind the rest of your body. 

You need a break. 

He needs an in. 

Across the room from you, Heeseung clears his throat. 

Startled, you nearly fall on your ass mid-kick before you turn to the source. It’s dark, but you know it’s him. Who else would it be? 

Chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, you finally catch your breath well enough to tell him, “If you’re not here for a rematch, then you have exactly ten seconds to get out of this building.”

A beat passes. 

Another. 

Heeseung exhales. “And if I am?”

Bathed in the dying glow of moonlight, you go still. “Then you better put in your best fucking effort.”

Heeseung is across the room before you can release another breath. It’s ridiculous how quickly he disarms you. And you’re caught off guard, yes, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Your knife in his hands, he throws it to the corner of the room. And then it’s just the two of you. 

Heeseung spares neither time nor effort knocking your legs out from under you, sending you careening towards the mat. Screwing your eyes shut, you brace for the impact of a training mat that never comes, the back of your head cradled in a hand that serves as a barrier between you and the ground below. 

It’s a complete reversal of your earlier roles as he lets his legs fall to either side of you, face inches from your own. There’s no knife on your neck, and he was gracious enough to break your fall. 

But suddenly, you find your breath a difficult thing to catch regardless. 

Above you, his eyes are dark. Your noses nearly touch. “This is what you wanted?” he breathes, and you feel his words as much as you hear them. They dance across your cheekbone, your lips. Have your bones feeling molten, all your hard edges malleable. “You want me to fight you like I mean it? To really fucking spar with you?”

You’ve rehearsed your answer too long to deviate, even as your mind screams with sudden uncertainties. “Yes.”

Heeseung doesn’t spare it a second thought. “Too bad.”

“Why? You have no problem f–”

“I was there, you know.” Unbidden, the hand that doesn’t hold your head falls to the bottom edge of your black training shirt. Heeseung pauses there for a moment, lets his fingers trace the seam. Something in the air shifts, tightens, waits. 

Despite the way he has you caged, your hands are unbound. You could stop this, if you wanted to. Stop him. 

You don’t. 

Slowly, his hand begins to track an upward journey, taking your hem with it. The air of the room is warm, choked with summer heat and the odd sensations that simmer just beneath your skin, but you suppress a shiver anyway as a sliver of skin is revealed. 

You know what he’s after, where his eyes fall to. It’s his fingers that hesitate. Dangle with uncertainty a hair's breadth from the scar that sits just above your hip bone. 

Heeseung inhales, eyes returning to your own for a moment. They’re searching for permission you won’t give and boundaries you won’t set. If he wants to walk this tightrope, he’ll have to navigate on his own. 

It’s a challenge he rises to. On his breath out, Heeseung lets his fingers find a home on the bare skin of your stomach, trace the jagged line that’s a shade paler than the surrounding area. 

It’s a scar you hardly think of, one you can’t believe he remembers. Gifted to you in your early days of training, when a fellow recruit thought the best way to better his ranking was to discard the strict sparring rules set by your superiors and draw blood as a last ditch attempt at victory.

You’d still won, even with a fresh stab wound on your lower abdomen. And he’d been shown the door, like all recruits that break protocol. 

“So what?” Your voice doesn’t come out nearly as biting as you intend it to. You curse the waver in your words. “I get one scar and suddenly I’m delicate?” 

Heeseung glances up, something sincere in his eyes when he matches your gaze. His hand is still on your skin. “We’re all delicate. And we all have the scars to prove it. I’ve just developed a particular… aversion to seeing evidence of it when it comes to you.”

You’re quick to school your features into neutrality. At least on the outside, you won’t give him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Apparently not,” Heeseung counters. “Since I’m not the one begging for a fight.” He holds your gaze when he adds, “And I have to say, princess, if you wanted me to put you on your back, there are much easier ways to ask.”

It’s as if you’ve been submerged in hot water, as if you’ve been burned, when you push him off of you with a speed that’s almost comical. And from the way heat rises in your cheeks, you just might have been. 

Your voice is dangerously low when you tell him, “You have three seconds.”

“Until what?” Heeseung knows better than to be hopeful. 

“Until I find my knife and put it to good use.”

He knows better, yes. But what are limits for, if not to be pushed? 

Heeseung looks up at you from where he still lies on the mat. Propping himself up on one hand, he lets his gaze trace you from head to toe. Lazily, like he has all the time in the world and none of his inhibitions. “Is that a promise?”

You do your best not to squirm underneath his wandering gaze. But evidence of your embarrassment still stains your flushed skin. And from the way his lips start to quirk upwards, you can tell that he’s enjoying this. 

You’re flustered, and he loves it. Loves that when you stutter a bit, start to trip over your words, it’s by his doing. 

Standing above him, your scowl is unconvincing. A stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in your cheeks and the way you can’t quite match his eye. “What is wrong with you?”

“Several things.” Below you, Heeseung bites back a smile. “Would you like an itemized list? Or would you prefer the details of my depravity in essay format? Or I could–”

“Stop it.” Your face is still flaming, but your voice has changed. It’s not shy or breathy or even biting. It’s just… frustrated. A little bit pathetic. Pleading in a way Heeseung wasn’t prepared for. 

“Just stop it.” On the training mat, Heeseung goes still. “God, you do this every time. I come here and I work my fucking ass off every day, and all you do is sit there and mock me for it.” The fire is draining from your eyes. The fight is draining from your shoulders. It’s wrong. It’s not what he meant. But it’s spiraling and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Is this…” you trail off. Deciding your pride is already torn to shreds, you ask, “Am I some kind of joke to you?”

Heeseung is standing again before you can catch your breath. Crowding your space. Or at least, he tries to. The backwards step you take maintains a steady distance. 

“No.” Now he’s the one that’s scrambling, lost for words. “No,” he repeats. “Fuck, ___” he cards a hand through his hard, pushing it away from his face. “You have to know that’s not what I think of you.”

You scoff in exasperation, but your eyes are starting to shine. Reflect the unshed tears of frustration that have begun to gather in your lash line. Heeseung’s fingertips twitch with the urge to wipe them away. “How would I know that? You always do this.” Your words are coming out too fast, spilling from parted lips in the most painful river of honesty he’s ever gotten from you. 

“You don’t take me seriously. You won’t fight me. You won’t do anything but lay there with that stupid fucking smile.” You’re angry. Clearly. But you’re not getting in his face, not forcing your words down his throat by invading his space. 

No, instead, you’re closing in on yourself. Eyes trained on the ground, you won’t even look at him. Arms wrapping around your torso, it’s as if you want as many barriers between the two of you as possible. “All you do is tease me, because you know it makes me…” Shaking your head, your words die on your lips. 

Heeseung can’t let it go so easily. “Makes you what?”

Slowly, you drag your gaze back to his. There’s no sound here, in the expanse of a barren training room. Just the mingling of your breath with his. The quiet remnants of your anger. You won’t answer his question. You can’t.

Instead, you whisper “I hate you.”

Heeseung takes a step closer. This time, you don’t retreat. He shakes his head. “You don’t.”

Feet planted, you have to tilt your chin to look up at him now. “I do–”

“You don’t,” he interrupts. “You don’t hate me, and you have no idea what to do about it.”

A spark flickers through your eyes again/ This is the kind of sparring match you’ve become familiar with when it comes to him. “Typical,” you bite, voice low. “And so fucking presumptuous, to assume that you know me better than I do.”

Heeseung presses into your space further. You can feel the heat that radiates off of his skin, that threatens to consume you whole. “I tease you, yes,” he admits. “But you’ve never been a joke to me. I take you as seriously as death, princess.”

“Don’t call me that–”

“And don’t act like you’re any better.” Features slackening, your eyes widen as he doubles down. “You want to talk about taking people seriously? Fine.” There are flames in his eyes now, raging through his dark irises. “You never looked at me twice. Never thought of me as anything but a stepping stone to make yourself better. You want me to fight you? You want to use me to test out all your fancy little tricks and improve until you’re the only one at the top?”

He’s close. He’s so fucking close. 

“Fine. I’ll give you what you want.” Fingers sliding beneath your jaw, he cups your chin with a light, but demanding grip. Forcing your gaze upwards, you have nowhere to look but his eyes when he demands, “But look at me while I do it.”

In the span of seconds, you’re on your back again. Trapped beneath him as he pins your hands above your head, both of your wrists entrapped in the grasp of a single hand. Knees on either side of your torso, you’re effectively trapped. 

Frantically, without any of your usual finesse, you begin to thrash, desperately trying to free yourself. His only response is to close his knees tighter, restricting your movement further. 

Fuming, nearly immobile, you bring one knee up in a well-aimed jab. But Heeseung hasn’t been fighting all these months. Not really. 

He predicts your movement with a practiced ease and stops the blow in its tracks. Spare hand wrapping around the back of your thigh, he shakes his head at you. 

“Ah, ah,” he scolds, voice dangerously low. “I thought I told you to look at me.”

Beneath him, your chest heaves. “As if I’d ever listen to you.” But your eyes lock on his anyway. As if you can win this sparring match through sheer will alone. 

Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Hardly so much as blinks as his hand wraps around your thigh a little more firmly. And then, he’s adjusting it. 

Dragging it upwards with a scalding touch until he guides it to wrap around the base of his hips. Again, his touch is light. Something you could break free from if you really wanted to. All of his command lies in his eyes, his gaze that still burns into yours. 

The space just above your cheekbones is flaming again. But this time, for a different reason. 

You feel it more pointedly than you ever have, a sharp, pulsing tug that snakes down your spine and settles just beneath your navel. 

You’re warm there, too. Too warm.

The clothed expanse of your inner thigh, just above your knee, rests against the outside of his hip. But it’s not enough. Does nothing to soothe the building ache, nothing to ease your mounting desperation for friction, for something.  

It’s too much. It’s almost involuntary, the way you start to squirm again,. But this time, it’s not freedom you seek. 

Overwhelmed with sensations you have no idea what to do with, you screw your eyes shut. 

Your body feels like one big muscle, drawn taut, fraught with tension. And it’s so warm, so unbearably hot. 

Shrouded in darkness of your own making, it’s almost worse. You can feel everything. Every desperate pulse that throbs in time with your heartbeat. Every shallow breath that scatters across your overly warm skin. 

The gentle, light pair of lips that ghost over the space between your brows. That brush against the side of your tightly shut eyelid. That comes to rest along the shell of your ear, inspiring a fresh round of shivers down the length of your spine. 

He feels it too. You can tell by the way his breath shudders against you. 

His lips part against your earlobe, touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. “Please,” he begs, and you think you might actually die. If this is what defeat feels like, you’ll hand him his rightful victory. “Look at me.”

You’re still sparring. You’re sure of it. Giving into his demands would feel like defeat. But so does hiding, lying immobile and shying away from sensation as if you’re afraid. 

You are. Afraid, that is. But you’ll die before you let him see that. 

So you obey his command. Eyelids fluttering open slowly, you’re met with the sight of him. Hair falling over his forehead, his nose nearly touches yours. There’s heat in his cheeks and his gaze and his skin. 

Something in him sings with desperation, too. 

Still, there’s a hint of something else. Something softer. Something that almost sounds like fondness when he matches your eye and whispers, “There she is.”

You feel molten, pliant beneath his touch. Again, your hips shift of their own volition as you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape. 

Heeseung is so intricately attuned to it. Every miniscule movement. Every shallow breath. He notices, feels it too. 

And he’s always held a certain love for this. For the chase. For the build up. 

But his patience can only stretch so far, and he won’t leave you hanging for long. 

You expect it to be bruising, desperate, angry. Everything that’s it’s always been between the two of you when he finally brings his lips to yours. 

It’s not. 

Heeseung’s lips drip with desperation, but they’re slow where they begin to move against your own. Slow and deep and searching, like he’s looking for something he never thought he’d find. 

Late summer heat washes over your skin, and this time, you can’t hide the whimper that drips from your tongue. That he swallows with a renewed vigor. 

It’s as if a light has been ignited. The hand, the one that still cradles your thigh, doubles down in its grip. Drags your leg up further. 

Until he’s just as trapped within it as you are beneath his body. The action brings him closer to you, touching in places that send a fresh wave of shudders radiating from the cradle of your hips. 

“God,” he pants, the syllable sliding past your open lips. “Fuck, ___.” 

He moves his hips again, this time in a more deliberate way. A repeated motion that has you seeing stars. That quells the rising ache in your core just as much as it expands it. 

“You feel that?” he breathes. “Feel what you do to me?”

You shudder beneath him, body slack to sensation. A live wire under his touch. “Please.”

But patience, restraint, are old friends of Heeseung’s. He wants to hear you say it. “Please, what? Use your words, princess.”

You’ll give it to him, whatever he wants. But words are difficult to come by. You can’t form them with your tongue, can’t push them past your lips. You can’t think. “I don’t… It hurts–”

Heeseung might have patience, but the sound of you begging erases what’s left of his self-control in one fell swoop. He’ll finish the words you can’t quite work out. “Yeah? Need me to make it better? Need me to make you feel good?”

But he does want at least one thing from you. With his hand on your jaw, he forces your gaze to his again. “I’ll do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.” It’s a promise. One that bleeds with sincerity. One that’s just as evident in his eyes as it is in his words. “Just need you to tell me.”

In the scant inches that separate your lips, you whisper, “I want it.”

Heeseung is hanging on by a thread. “Want what?”

You unwind it just as quickly. With starlight dancing over your features, half shadowed by his body over yours, you tell him, “Want you.”

And you can feel it, the way his facade of composure starts to slip. The way desperation starts to become his only driving force. 

Even still, you’ve always been something he chooses to treat with care, and this will be no different. 

Slowly, he releases his grip on your hands above your head. 

With movements that soothe as much as they ache, and gestures that feel a little too much like love, he pushes a stray strand of hair away from your heated forehead. 

And then, once again, his hand falls to the hem of your shirt. There’s less hesitation, even if his fingers still shake slightly, as he begins to drag it upwards. Inch by agonizing inch, the expanse of your stomach is laid bare to night air and the wandering intensity of his gaze. 

Your ribcage follows. It’s not cold, but you shudder all the same. 

He stops, fingers suddenly immobile as they trace the top of your ribs. Uncharted territory. A final barrier between the two of you. 

But you’re getting better at this, too. With a firm grip, you bring one hand to grasp his wrist. Looking him right in the eye, you tell him in a heated whisper, “Touch me.”

It’s all he needs. 

Hesitation sizzles against the open air everywhere it bleeds from his fervent touch. 

His hands are on your skin, and his mouth is back on yours. It burns in a way that’s distinct from hatred. There’s no bitter aftertaste, no sharp sting, even as his teeth catch on your bottom lip. 

There’s little grace here, even as he takes his time with you. 

Here on the training mat, it’s a far cry from romance, even if your head swims with dangerous thoughts all the same. 

His breath, his body, his touch are all tangled in yours. As his hips find a home in the space against yours, it feels less like sparring and more like a dance. Careful choreography that your bodies already know. 

Again, he moves against you. The sounds that crawl from your throat and drip through his open lips are obscene. Would be hopelessly embarrassing in any other context, but his touch soothes your anxieties as much as it stokes them. 

Lying beneath him, skin bare to his gaze and his touch and his intentions, you suddenly feel like a novice. An easy opponent. The nervous holder of the lower hand.

But Heeseung never wanted to best you, and this is no exception. Gentle fingers dance across the band of your training trousers. Plain. Utilitarian. Designed for function. 

Your sudden insecurities aside, he doesn’t want to best you. He doesn’t want to win. 

He tells you as much. “Relax,” he coos against your feverish temple. “Just gonna make you feel good.” It’s an iteration of an already established claim. A promise he’s already made. 

But here, trapped beneath his body, consumed by a touch that soothes as much as it burns, you decide that would feel like losing, too. 

“You, too,” you insist, finding the fragmented remnants of your voice. It’s a whisper that lands on his collarbone. He shudders with the insinuation. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Pulling back slightly, he pauses his ministrations. Looks you right in the eye and asks, “Are you sure?”

He might have spurred this, might have brought you here, but you’re burning with it now, too. The desire to see him come undone. Fall apart by your doing. 

You bring one hand to his temple, and he relaxes into your touch like he’s familiar with it. His head cradled in your palm, you say for the third time, “I want to make you feel good.”

He shudders, and for a moment, everything is still. The room around you holds its breath, his gaze locked on yours. 

And then, without breaking eye contact, he rolls his hips again. Slowly. Surely. 

Watches as you struggle to keep your eyes open against the sudden onslaught of sensations. Marvels at the small, desperate sounds he’s dying to swallow. 

It’s still, until it’s not. Until his fingers find their mobility again and the rest of you is laid just as bare as your torso. Until long moments later, your hands are the one to make him follow suit. 

Sweat sticks to your skin, makes every movement, every motion, feel all the more sordid. 

But when he guides your other leg around him and whispers against the shell of your ear, “You feel so good,” something between the two of you feels sacred, too. 

There’s little finesse to the way he finally guides himself inside of you. Little grace to be found in the way your bodies connect, breath and body and soul combining and colliding into one. 

There’s too much sensation, too many months and weeks and hidden dreams for it to be perfect. Too much care and pleasure and feelings for it to be anything but. 

And Heeseung…

Heeseung is seeing fucking stars. 

He’s always found you beautiful, but this is new. This is different. This is just for him. 

Every desperate sound he drags from your throat, every involuntary movement of your hips as you beg for relief only he can give you. It all belongs to him. 

His own pleasure is lost somewhere behind clouded eyes as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open under the intensity of his touch. He chases something bigger, something far more dangerous than the pathways of his own baser desires. 

He needs it. Burns with the urge to watch you drowning in pleasure for him. Because of him. 

The only thing you’ve ever shown interest in him for is his prowess on a training mat, and he’s desperate to show you that he’s worth more than that. That he can serve you what you need on a silver platter and predict what you want without you having to say a word. 

He’s a quick study. He watches, observes the way your skin flushes with every filthy, adoring, sweet nothing he whispers against your ear. With every inch of pleasure he forces you to swallow. 

You’re shaking beneath him, practically vibrating with the intensity of it all, and Heeseung wants nothing more than for it all to last just a little longer. Stretch into a slighter bigger pocket of infinity that only the two of you are privy to. 

But even slivers of forever have their inevitable ends, and Heeseung senses this one in the way your whimper drags out, in the way the last remaining bits of tension drain from your shoulders while you clench around him. 

He’s no better. In the moments that follow, he crowds himself impossibly further into the heat of your body while he follows suit. Makes good on your wish that he finds his pleasure, too. 

And when it’s done, and the only thing left in the afterglow is exhaustion, he hears you whisper, “Heeseung?” 

It takes him a moment to find his voice. He’s never heard you say his name like that before. All hesitation, no trace of venom. His throat feels scraped raw when he hums against your collarbone, “Mm?”

Your hands are in his hair, a gentle repeated motion that soothes. That has hope surging in his chest. 

“I don’t…” you sigh, fighting against the urge to swallow your less combative words, even now. “I don’t hate you,” you finally admit. Like it’s still a secret. Like he can’t read the truth in the way you wrap strands of his hair around your fingers, in the way you let him rest against your skin. 

But it’s not easy for you to admit, even if it’s obvious, evident in everything that’s passed between the two of you. It still takes no small amount of bravery for you to whisper it to him in the dead of night in an abandoned training room. 

Bathed in the fading remnants of deep seated pleasure and the dying glow of distant moonlight, it almost makes him want to smile. 

“I know,” he whispers. Leaning a little further into your touch, he repeats, “I know.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: this was for YOU heeseung girlies ♡♡♡ it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything with actual smut, so I hope this reads alright! let me know what you thought, and as always, I hope you enjoyed ♡

[multicohn]

summary: isack thought that being brought into formula one meant that he would have a new teammate and potential mentor. what he didn't expect was to be adopted by yuki and his girlfriend

warnings: cursing ( duh ), violence / threats ( in a joking way )

pairing: fem! reader x yuki tsunoda ( romantic ), fem! reader x yuki tsunoda x isack hadjar ( platonic )

genre: smau fluff, comfort, established relationship ( reader x yuki )

face claim: no one in particular, just random couples off pinterest

author note: i miss them so much

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youruser

seen by landonorris and more

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user: MY PARENTS ARE FINALLY REUNITED

user: mama y papa

user: WE MISSED YOU IN THE PADDOCK QUEEN

landonorris: drop the location 👀

| youruser: they have a tank full of fish.

| landonorris: IM MOR SCARED OF FISH I JUST DONT LIKE EATING THEM

| youruser: yeah okay

yukitsunoda0511: shayla?

| youruser: it’s a tiktok thing, i’ll show you later

| yukitsunoda0511: okay

| yukitsunoda0511: and i missed you too baby 💖

| youruser: 🥹

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youruser

liked by pierregasly and others

youruser: home is where the heart is or whatever this say

( tagged: yukitsunoda0511 & isackhadjar )

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user: THEYRE SO CUTE

user: yuki is so bf coded

| youruser: I KNOW I START TO CRY OVER HIM but then i remember that i can cry TOO HIM

| user: you’re so real for that

francisca.cgomes: favs ❤️

| youruser: i luv luv u

user: MY PARENTS FOR REAL

isackhadjar: it was nice meeting you

| youruser: it was nice meeting you too!

user: not isack being a third wheel LMAO

liamlawson30: thank god i don’t have to see you’s acting all lovey dovey anymore

| youruser: kys

| liamlawson30: ON THE MAIN ACCOUNT????

yukitsunoda0511: my love

( see translation )

| youruser: love when you whip out the japanese

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youruser

seen by redbullracing and more

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redbullracing: max would like to have a word about that…

| youruser: swear at him

| redbullracing: i fear of being fired

| youruser: tell him to message me himself

| redbullracing: 🫡

user: ISACK BEING YUKIS FRID KIDNOMG 😭😭

yukitsunoda0511: really

| youruser: LOOK AT THE WAY YOURE LOOKING AT HIM

| yukitsunoda0511: i was looking at you actually

| youruser: oakansk

user: tbh, now im kinda glad they didn’t promote him cause i would’ve missed out on this duo

maxverstappen1: 🤨

| youruser: you’re just using them as test dummies.

| maxverstappen1: THIS IS DEFAMATION

| youruser: aw max i didn’t know you knew such a big word 🥺

| maxverstappen1: give him back

| youruser: YOU HAVE 5 OTHERS

| maxverstappen1: I HAD 6 TO START WITH

| youruser: GO AWAY

| youruser: IM TELLING KELLY ON YOU

isackhadjar: 🥹

| youruser: 🫂

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youruser

liked by visacashapprb and others

youruser: JAPAN I LOVE YOU

( tagged: yukitsunoda0511 )

view all comments

youruser: MY BABY GOT P3

youruser: HE WAS ON THE PODIUM

youruser: MY YUKI

youruser: SOBBING STILL

youruser: ALSO ISACK P5 🥳🥳👏 congrats isackhadjar

user: yuki tearing up while being up there and then seeing y/n crying her heart out got me

user: it was long overdue

user: YODIUM

user: AND IT WAS AT HIS HOME RACE

user: y/n is so real for mentioning isack

| user: THIS HE DROVE INCREDIBLY

user: isack and y/n hugging while celebrating yuki — THATS HIS FAMILY UOUR HONOUR

yukitsunoda0511: i couldn’t have done it without.

| youruser: MY PODIUM DRIVER GUYS

| youruser: i love you so much

isackhadjar: thanks y/n! hopefully we can be on the podium together at some stage

| youruser: you’s definitely will! hoping it doesn’t take that long

| isackhadjar: you and me both 😅

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youruser

seen by visacashapprb and more

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user: 3 RACES??? LETS GO

user: please don’t separate them 🙏

user: wonder if isack is with them

| youruser: he is!

| user: THATS SO CUTE

maxverstappen1: no thank you?

| youruser: for what

| maxverstappen1: FOR USING MY PLANE???

| youruser: THIS IS CHARLES’ PLANE WTH ARE UOU ON ABOUT

| maxverstappen1: we share planes

| youruser: that’s probably one of the biggest loads of bs ive ever heard

| youruser: YOURE NOT GETTING ISACK BACK SHOO GO AWAY

| maxverstappen1: you’ve been warned

| youruser: if you make yuki dnf ill drag you out of that car and beat you in front of everyone

| maxverstappen1: i’ll like to see you try ☺️

| youruser: 🔪

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yukitsunoda0511

liked by liamlawson30 and others

yukitsunoda0511: few pics of the last few days since she leaves me soon :(

( tagged: youruser )

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user: just fell in my knees in my kitchen

user: NO YOURE LYING

user: WHAT ABOUT ISACK ???!!?!!!

maxverstappen1: finally

| kellypiquet: max please

| youruser: GETS HIS ASS KELLS

pierregasly: alone at last 👀

| yukitsunoda0511: 🫢🫣

| francisca.cgomes: this means i get y/n for the next few weeks 🤭🤭

| yukitsunoda0511: wait

| youruser: we were supposed to keep this private kiks 😪

| francisca.cgomes: im sorry my love but i just couldn’t take it anymore

| pierregasly: it seems ive made a mistake

youruser: im going to miss you so much

| yukitsunoda0511: :(

isackhadjar: i already miss you 😭

| youruser: ISACK MY SON 😭😭

| youruser: im going to miss you the most

| yukitsunoda0511: ⁉️

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youruser

seen by visacashapprb and more

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user: OH MY GOD 😭😭😭

user: yuki and isack CAN NOT be separated now

| user: i will throw hands dont even test me rn

visacashapprb: we have so many tiktok ideas

| youruser: idk if i should be happy or scared

| visacashapprb: you’ll see ☺️

| youruser: 😨

maxverstappen1: im suing you for emotional distress

| youruser: im actually going to block you

| maxverstappen1: GUVE HIM BACK

| youruser: NO

kellypiquet: max is having a breakdown

| youruser: ARE YOU SERIOUS

| kellypiquet: very

| youruser: idk if i should apologise or laugh 🧍‍♀️

| kellypiquet: neither

| kellypiquet: it’s quite funny

| youruser: LMAO

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youruser

liked by isackhadjar and others

youruser: my boys <3

( tagged: yukitsunoda0511 and isackhadjar )

view all comments

user: lowkey thankful that yuki didn’t move or else we wouldn’t get this

| youruser: same honestly

user: vcarb should do the “just you and me and us and your friend steve” audio

| visacashapprb: 👀

lilymhe: why can’t i have a grid kid?

| alex_albon: we use to have two…

| logansargeant: USE TOO??? i see how it is

| alex_albon: wait no

user: i love when drivers and their gfs take care of the younger drivers

| user: the fact that yuki isn’t even that much older than isack is taking me out 😭

maxverstappen1: 🕳🚶‍♂️

pepemartiofficial: can i be adopted too?

| youruser: MY NEW SON

| isackhadjar: MY NEW BROTHER

| yukitsunoda0511: oh

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[tulpanya]

you have something on your lips— mine!

includes : (mouthwashing) anya, curly, daisuke, swansea.

summary : the tulpar crew & kisses.

warnings : gn! reader.

ANYA

Kisses so softly, as if she's scared to hurt you

Her kisses are pretty chaste, especially in public (she gets flustered very easily with pda)

Her lips are usually chapped because of how often she bites/licks them. On the bright side, she loves wearing flavored chapstick.

"Hmm, is it sundae?" Anya's eyes widen in surprise at your answer, which is astonishingly correct. She touches her lips, before eyeing you suspiciously.

"Did you see me apply it?" She asks, wondering if you've begun to cheat in your little game of 'guess-that-chapstick!' but you just puff out your chest in pride, chuckling to yourself as if the answer was obvious.

"My dear, dear Anya, are you that surprised? I just know you that well, I've memorized all your chapstick flavors by now~"

She buys a new chapstick flavor to mess with you next time you kiss her.

Anya is a total sucker for forehead kisses, if you kiss her forehead she'll melt instantly!

It's also a quick way to calm her worried thoughts or to lure her away from the stress of her work. Just one peck on the forehead and she's better!

Of course one of her favorite way to kiss you is by kissing your boo-boos better.

Perhaps you even get (minorly) injured on purpose, just so she'll have an excuse to kiss you.

"It's just a papercut." Anya says as she inspects the thin slice on the tip of your pointer finger. You huff, shaking your head.

"But it huuurts!" You complain, amping up the dramatics to see her roll her eyes at you. She sighs, turning to fetch her first aid kit. She comes back with a bandage.

"I guess I'll have to patch it up then." She says, wrapping the band-aid around your finger. You wiggle your finger, impatiently waiting for the final part of her treatment. She bites back a giggle as she presses a kiss to the band-aid. "How's it feel now?"

"Much better~"

CURLY

Kisses you like it's the first time and last time every. single. time. he's so passionate about his kisses with you- it's all or nothing!

Cups your face with both hands, kissing your nearly breathless, and when you pull away he always chases after your lips.

That being said, he's also painfully shy about pda, and get's a little flustered if you ask for one in public- but he definitely won't say no! He'll just plan a little revenge ("revenge" being an attack of kisses when you both get home).

"Honey," You coo, the sickeningly sweet pet name catching his attention like a dog being told it's time for a walk. You two were out walking around, shopping, when you decided to tease him a little bit. "Can I have a kiss?" He blinks a few times, before swallowing thickly.

"Right now?" There was already a flush on his ears, slowly creeping down to his cheeks. When you nod in confirmation, he'll take a step towards you, gently cup your face and press a kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, the blush has reached down to his chest. "Was that okay?"

Curly was answered by your giggles, and that's when he realized you did it just to tease him. He groans, "Laugh now, 'cause I'll be getting my revenge later." A lighthearted threat that you're sure will end just as sweetly as his kiss earlier.

Curly is a big fan of a good ol' back of the hand kiss too, especially when you two are out on a date or he's feeling particularly sappy.

One of his favorite things is when he's let his scruff grow out nicely, and you get tickled by it.

He's literally a menace, the second a giggle escapes you and he's reminded that it tickles you it's game over, good luck~

"P- Please!" You wheeze, begging, for a chance to breath, but Curly is having the time of his life hearing your laughter. Nuzzling his scruff against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

"'m just kissing you," He murmurs against your skin, "I don't understand why you're laughin'?" However when you threaten to take away kissing privileges he quickly pulls away, although a small pout on his face.

You'll have to push his face away, or else those baby blues will definitely make your defenses falter. "I... I'm serious, don't try anything else, 'kay?"

DAISUKE

One word: Addicted. Daisuke is addicted to your lips and he'd gladly let your lips suffocate him!

Will literally whine if you pull away, please just a few more- what? you two have work to do? just... just one more? He'll use his ultimate weapon: His big brown puppy-dog eyes!

Has a bad habit of murmuring praise about your lips when you two kiss.

"Your lips are so soft," Daisuke mumbles against your lips, lost in pure bliss at the feeling of your lips against his own, "how are they always so soft," he shudders when you let out a annoyed sigh.

"Daisuke," You try to interrupt, but he just keeps on murmuring your praises, doesn't even notice that you've pulled away and are now watching him babble on about how sweet you taste and how soft your lips are and how he loves how you let him kiss you and ho-

"Huh? wait-" He finally blinks his eyes open only for you to bite back a laugh at his confused expression. Composing yourself, you give him a pointed look.

"Daisuke, stop talking."

"O-Oh, yeah, okay," he nods, breathless, before gladly continuing the little makeout session.

He tastes like mango, perhaps it's his chapstick or perhaps he just eats a lot of mango but he 100% taste like mango!

Here is a little warning: Daisuke is weak to your kisses, and if you ever offer a kiss as a reward for him doing a task or something...

Well let's just say you'll have one eager man running around completing tasks and doing errands and showing up in between each one for a sweet kiss as a reward~

"Daisuke, this is getting out of hand," You say more to yourself than to him, looking at the monster you've created. He is currently trying to fix a pipe (much to the dismay of Swansea) in hopes of getting a kiss.

"Hm? What'd you say?" You wave your hand dismissively, offering a sympathetic smile.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," You might have to slowly ween him off your kisses.

SWANSEA

Claims he "doesn't need" such affections, but whenever you forget to give him a 'good morning' kiss he is 10x more grouchy throughout the day.

Won't accept any form of PDA, but in private he is actually such a sweetie, and loves giving and receiving affection.

Especially in the early mornings or right before bed, he'll gently kiss the palm of your hand, then your wrist, before capturing your lips. This is an essential part of your routine.

Swansea is relaxed on the bed, grumbling about what a hard day he had, when you enter the room. The stressors of the day slowly melt away from his mind as you approach the bed. "'m sorry you had such a bad day," You cup his cheek, but he shakes his head, leaning into your warmth.

"'s fine, with you now," he mutters, turning to press a kiss to your palm, before moving his lips to your wrist. His eyes flutter open, and it's clear he's hungry for more- he wants your lips. His hands find your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

No words are said as your lips meet, no words are really needed for the rest of the night.

(On the Tulpar) If he's being grumpier than usual, any of the crew (but particularly Daisuke) will find you and beg you to "talk" to him. You'll go into the room, and come out a few seconds later, and it's like Swansea is a different person. (Literally one kiss smh)

Likes when you kiss his cheek, secretly makes his heart beat a little faster. He'll grumble you're not good for his heart when you sneak up and kiss his cheek.

Actually he does get nervous sometimes because it can't be normal to still get heart palpitations from little kisses like that.

It was a simple kiss in passing, on your way towards the kitchen to prep for dinner, a quick peck to the corner of his lips, but it was enough to make him freeze at first. It takes him a second to recover, before he's clutching at his chest.

"The hell..." He grumbles, before looking up, his eyes following your figure. "Ya gotta warn a guy before you do somethin' like that!" He hollers, but you just wave your hand dismissively, a smirk on your features.

"Yeah, yeah, old man- when'll you get used to it, hmm?" Probably never, but he hopes that doesn't deter your future attempts.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[bakugoushotwife]

a/n: omg heyyy i make my grand return with my humble offering to @ohkento 's reddit theme collab!! i also have a piece for shouto coming up next, but here is the first one!! i took a while off after kinktober so if this is bad....lie to me!

warnings: dark content. nsfw. no minors. yandere theme gojo, no physical harm to reader, baby trapping, threats (not to reader), female reader, breeding, pentration, oral (fem!receiving), reader is kinda dumb lol.

summary: STORYTIME: I (28M) CAN'T STOP BREEDING MY GIRL BEST FRIEND (28F)!! it's a serious problem...i'm really reaching my breaking point here. i've been in love with this chick since high school and she keeps chasing other guys...but fucking me when the dates go wrong, help!

it’s been his dirty little secret since his years at tokyo tech. you’ve always been a looker, never were you short on attention from lesser men that aren’t worth your time—and yes, that includes when geto crushed on you all through the second year of school. but they never were quite what you were looking for, and every night of passion or attempt at a meaningful connection always ended the same—dialing up your closest confidant satoru to come console you and stuff your cunt full and wipe your tears–to make it better, like best friends do. 

satoru was all too aware of your little predicament, because he had struggled with the same issues–except he realized his fate years ago and was determined to have it. you are his and his alone, no matter how many scrubs that try to take you from him. if only you would open your eyes. you were obviously hopelessly in love with him, of course—that’s why no one could compare! and that’s why you always turned your teary eyes and pretty pussy to him after yet another date gone wrong. he knew he was the only cure, and he’s given up on hoping you’d see the truth for yourself. 

he tried to play the patience card, licking your tears off your face as he pounds his love into you, telling you that you’re worth so much more than those guys you keep letting break your heart. he tried being the nice guy that holds you after yet another promising prospect never texts you back–buying you dinner and bouncing you on his cock until you were crying from pleasure instead of heartbreak. each time, he buried his load in your womb until it was spilling out around him—hoping to give you no other choice but to pack your bags and move onto his estate to further the gojo clan with the very man at the head of it, but it seems your ovaries were just as stubborn as you are. he didn’t know how much more of this he could stomach—just waiting to be your knight in shining armor while laying in bed at night, staring at the pictures of you, both lewd and cute alike while wondering just how long it would take to have you laying beside him in his bed instead of the pixels on his phone screen. 

he’s had enough. it’s clear his plan isn’t working as designed. you must be on birth control—which is both irritating yet complimentary to him. of course you wouldn’t let these bums knock you up. is it insulting that this applies to his seed too? of course, but then again the whole dynamic was rather insulting wasn’t it? fucking other men and crying to him about it when they aren’t the perfect man for you. no shit—no man will ever know you like he does. none of them could ever compete with the life he could give you if you would just face the music. he doesn’t get it either. why bother? why look elsewhere? obviously you’re attracted to each other—so why won’t you make the next natural jump and stop it with the drama-packed weekly bachelorette episodes?

that’s okay. it’s really fine. satoru is such a good friend that he’ll help you, like he always does. he would simply help you to the conclusion that he wants and then everything can proceed according to plan! it shouldn’t be too difficult anyway, you’ll be calling any moment now! you had a date with yet another sure disappointment that gojo knows will desert you as soon as the date is finished. he’ll be dry and boring after the promising conversations you had in the days leading up to the date—you’ll be confused yet again—and the guy won’t pay either, set for split-bill city. gojo knows all of this because he’s ensured that’s what happens, of course! and this is the thirty-sixth man he’s had to pay off to show up to the date and forget about you. a price he’s more than willing to pay no matter how high, though it’s definitely added up over the years. and you know what—now that he thinks of it, none of them deserve you because their weak nature and corrupt morals. he’s been proven right every time, each one of these bottom feeders would take the money no questions asked—maybe that was due to his threats of horrific death if they so much as answered a text message from you again, but who could be sure? 

this one was especially easy to pay off, too. he didn’t even think twice about taking the money. it almost makes gojo mad. he clearly wasn’t heartbroken to walk away from you, and god you deserved so much better. you deserve a man that is willing to pay off any and every suitor that comes into your life just to make you his. you deserve a man so crazy about you he can hardly recognize himself. you deserve…well, him. he’s devoted himself to you for over a decade and it’s time for that to pay off.

your unique ringtone gets him out of his own head to answer, and of course, you’re crying and asking him to come over. pretty girls like you never learn, huh? that’s all forgiven though, as he is a teacher and it’s his passion to help you understand. 

“of course sugar. i’ll be right over. mhm–don’t mention it. that’s what friends are for.” he hums to you over his end of the phone, picking up his car keys to make it to you in record time. you’re your same beautiful self as you answer the door and welcome him inside, though he can see the tear tracks staining your face. it makes him pout a little at the sight no matter how used to it he is. he hates that you let these cretins upset you like this. 

“hey baby.” he pouts sympathetically with you, ducking under your arm to gaze around your familiar living room for any signs of a man he hadn’t yet heard about. he exhales a deep sigh when he finds none. he’s got his hands in his pockets, lips tightened in a knowing grimace. “so what was it this time? no—let me guess: split the bill and then he let you walk home in this weather?” 

you close the door after he’s entered with a heavy sigh. your bleary eyes fix on your hand still clasped around the doorknob, “yeah.” you tug your lip between your teeth and turn to face him. you didn’t have to answer him, for he already knew. it was borderline routine at this point and you were already embarrassed enough. you draw your arms around yourself to feel your own warmth, shaking your head. what was wrong with you? you used to be pined after, wanted—and now you couldn’t even get non-sorcerers to call you back. you haven’t had a second date in years, nor had an orgasm that wasn’t satoru’s handiwork. but even he didn’t want you permanently. you were a good friend and an even better fuck, that’s all. you knew it was pointless to yearn for him, sure he felt nothing other than his ever-present sense of duty and loyalty every-time he took your pain away–no matter the lies that poured out of his saccharine lips to do so. your sad eyes fix on his face, letting your plump bottom lip bounce out from your teeth’s trap. he smirks softly, cock rising because it knows exactly what that look means. 

but unfortunately for you, he won’t just hold you in his arms and promise that you’re worth so much more than you let yourself believe. tonight, he’s going to take what’s rightfully his—and his plan is already working beautifully. you never look away as you walk from the door to him, bracing your tiny and ineffectual hands on his chest. “what’s wrong with me, sato?” you pout, batting your long lashes up at him. his heart could stop just from that look alone. the comfort of his large hands covering yours soothes you already, making the tension drop from your shoulders. 

“you’re naive.” he answers, eyes as bright as ever as they glow like fireflies in your living room. if you were going just by the expression on his face, you’d think he said something kind or even funny, the way he grins softly and blinks his white lashes down at you in wait of your reply. you’re sure you misheard—every other time you asked this question he always said, “maybe you’re just too pretty, huh? ever thought of that, sugarplum?” 

“huh?” you tilt your head to one side, watching his expression shift to amusement. “naive? wh-what do you mean by that?” 

“well, if you weren’t so naive, you’d know, now wouldn’t you?” he pokes his tongue between his teeth, tucking his hands behind his back while you still lean helplessly against him. he likes feeling the weight of your body on his, and he’ll like it even more when he knows it’s a permanent thing. “you’re on birth control.” he states, and your confusion sets in even deeper. your brows furrow, but you nod. 

“yeah? what about that makes me naive?” you posit, used to his antics for the most part. you’ve been around him far too long to mistake his bluntness as an attack to you, even if it stings just a touch. though you did ask, and you have used him as your sexual relief and shoulder to cry on for years now. maybe he’s fed up with lying to save your feelings. 

he looks around for a second, humming. “where is it?” 

you also know better than to question him. if he’s asking you these questions it has to be for a reason—and you don’t have to understand him in the moment. just do what you’ve always done and trust him, support him on and off the battlefield–and never hesitate. it could be the difference between life and death. you learned that on missions together years ago. 

“in my nightstand?” you tilt your head to the other side. he has to admit your astonishment is adorable. he smiles down at you, cupping your cheek lightly. his fingers are so long that his thumb rests on the corner of your lips, fingertips brushing back your hair. 

“go get it for me.” he says as if he asked you to pass him the remote. you narrow your eyes to really study him—and then you see it. the teeming rage, the simmering crazy behind his eyes as they look at you. he is the most powerful man in the world, even if you were scared, there was nothing you could do but obey. but you trust him. and you nod. you turn to pad off to your bedroom and the clicks of his expensive boots follow. you’re used to the butterflies tickling your stomach as you lead him to bed, but you know something’s different this time. you feel like you’ll puke butterflies. but nonetheless, you pull the drawer of your nightstand open and fetch the little foil pack out of it, only a few pills missing from this month’s prescription. you turn to face him with it, mind racing on what he could possibly be doing. knowing him, he’s toying with you–trying to make you as nervous as possible and all this worrying is for no good reason. 

he sits at the edge of your bed, seemingly watching you with interest. he’s happy that you’re humoring him, that’s for sure. not even the faintest hint of protest. maybe you’re not as naive as he thought. in fact, your effortless obedience has his the crotch of his loose hakama’s tightening quickly. your heart jumps in your throat at the sight of him as it usually does—satoru gojo is far too beautiful to be in your house, supposedly telling you why you couldn’t keep a man. the black compression shirt was nearly criminal when it was wrapped around his perfect body. 

“good girl. now flush ‘em down the toilet for me.” he beams, blinding white teeth baring to smile at you. it was a simple request, really. he needed you to stop taking that poison and to stop entertaining the idea of other men. 

“why?” you swallow harshly, voicing your underlying suspicion. 

“don’t you trust me, baby?” he replies with a quickness, tilting his head to mirror yours. he’s doing well to keep himself together–you don’t understand his love for you yet, but he’ll take care of that. he’s a teacher, remember? “that stuff’s not good for you.” 

you hum. the side effects have been brutal, but you’re hardly in the spot for a baby. you can’t even get a boyfriend, much less a baby daddy. “yeah…i know. sucks taking it. guess i could get an iud or something instead.” you think aloud, voice becoming distant as you turn your back to him and dump your pills in the bathroom attached to your small room. you really undersell yourself. you could have been his bride eight years or so ago and been living large. but he’s going to fix it now. his jaw clenches at that declaration, and you feel him watching you the entire time—the doorway a straight shot from the spot he sat in on your bed. 

“no.” he says simply, the lightheartedness gone abruptly. it sends a shiver down your spine, makes your brain alert to the changes within him as he stands and cages you into the bathroom, broad arms stretching to block off the doorway. 

no? he doesn’t want you to protect yourself in any way? that seems a little ridiculous, but maybe he had a good reason. “satoru…i can’t get pregnant right now.” 

“why not?” he asks, looking over your little body nearly trembling from the darkness of his cursed energy growing more oppressive, nearly sucking the air out of the room. your heart pounds, more confused than you were at the start. 

“because i’m…single?” you try carefully, not sure exactly what you were dealing with here. satoru has always been so happy-go-lucky, even when he shouldn’t be. you remember begging him to talk out his stress so that he didn’t explode right after suguru left. so this anger you see set in his features shocks you, his bright and clear sky-colored eyes are clouded and murky, more cerulean than you’ve seen before. his brow is set and you can see the muscles twitching in his jaw. but he’s still smiling, and that for whatever reason is still real. 

“there’s that naivety again, princess.” he licks his teeth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. you look like a deer in the headlights, and he’s giddy at the rush that gives him. you’re finally in his grasp. “you’ve never been single. not since hmmm let’s see, march fifteenth, 2006.” he grins at you–”which makes all this dating real offensive, sweetheart.” 

you want to laugh, but decide against it considering his unpredictability. you shake your head instead, backing yourself to the wall. “what on earth are you talking about? we’re friends–”

“friends that fuck!” he laughs a strained snicker, straightening his posture. “and make sweet hot love, of course. friends that cuddle on the couch and have sleepovers. come on. we’re both adults, don’t insult me. you love me! which is great, because i love you too. i love you so much i’ve made sure that no one could steal you from me.” 

your brows must reach your hairline at that. “stop, satoru. don’t say that! you can’t mean it–fuck, you’re supposed to be married to a kamo or zen’in girl so you can keep making powerful gojo’s right? isn’t that what you always said in school?” 

“you’d give me powerful gojo’s.” he smirks, breaking the barrier of the bathroom’s threshold by stepping closer to you, leaning down to be on face level. “i was only trying to make you jealous sugar! just like this whole stunt you’ve been pullin’, dating around to try to find someone that makes you feel like i do? tch, hahahaha—it’s impossible!! just stop it, be mine and be happy like you should be.” he grasps your chin with a surprising gentleness given his unhinged and maniacal laughter, smiling down at you with something you recognize as his power-trip going off the rails—but. 

but you’d be lying if you said you were scared. he’s declaring his love for you in the most profound way possible, however crazy it–and he–may be. and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t absolutely see right through you. he has the six eyes after all, you should have known he knew what you were trying to do. you were trying to numb the pain of never being his…but you were actually manufacturing that whole scenario. you’re the only girl he’s ever seen, and it’s clear from the desperation mixed in with the insanity—he needs you. 

you reach back and flush the toilet, letting the little white pills circle the bowl and disappear entirely. satoru gojo has always been insane. you’ve seen it firsthand on many missions and battles against curses and sorcerers alike. it just surprised you to see him turn that look upon you–but now you know it was just to get your attention. 

though you don’t doubt what he’s capable of, you have no intention of pushing him to find out.

his eyes go from crazy to ravenous in seconds. you’ve accepted his proposal with hardly any effort and he intends to show you the difference between his sweet hookups and his passionate need to claim the woman of his dreams. 

“so you…scared off all those guys?” you ask, raising a brow as your face still rests in his clutches. he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, nodding vigorously. 

“sure did, princess. i was trying to let you figure it out on your own…” he sighs, brushing your hair back behind your ears as his eyes scan over your body again. he needs to feel you. “but you’re not a quick learner, hence why i’m on plan b.” he winks, scooping you over his shoulder moments later. he puts you on your bed, the short walk made shorter by his teleportation. he’s just too impatient, brain swelling with the flashing images of you in traditional wedding attire and round with his heir. it all feels within reach now, and he has to try it out now. “gonna show you how bad i love you–you’ll never go anywhere else.” he mutters, lanky frame swallowing up your body, hips pinning yours to the bed beneath you. “you’re gonna give me a gojo and you’re gonna look so fucking good doing it.” he mutters, lips attaching to your neck reminiscent of the way they have a million times. though this time, there’s intention behind it—or well. this time you’re aware of the intention behind it. 

in all your times together, his dirty talk has been contained to praising your body and how good you feel to him. his incantations to knock you up has your heart beating funny and wetness pooling between your legs. you make a soft gasp sound for him, elongating your neck to let him leave real marks of possession where you’ve previously resisted. your body writhes and twists under his as his teeth knick and nip bruises into your skin. he’d spell his own name with them if he could, even a ring and a baby wasn’t enough in his eyes. he needs the world to know you’re his, that you’ll always be by his side, that you were born to be his. 

“that pesky birth control’s gonna have to wear off though–so we have time to get married before you get pregnant–if that matters to you.” he moans at the idea, hands sliding under your top to push it over your head. his mouth moves to suck the swells of your tits once they’re exposed to him, humming out his satisfaction at the warm skin. your head digs back into the mattress—mind absolutely drunk on his affection and devotion. it’s all you’ve ever wanted and now it’s right here, and from the man you’ve always wished you could have—how could you ever deny him again? 

your hands pull at the fabric on his back, hips bucking up for a source of friction. he breaks away from marking up your chest to bare his to you, throwing his t-shirt into some corner of your room to be forgotten about until tomorrow. this wouldn’t be your room much longer anyway–you’ll be moved into the estate within the next two days, he wouldn’t be able to live without you now. then he’s pushing you up towards the headboard, ripping off your lounge shorts to reveal those cute panties he knows you wear when you’re trying to impress him. color him fucking thrilled at your puffy pussy lips indenting the fabric around them, making him groan at the sight. he thumbs at your clit through the cotton, sparkling eyes flickering between the growing wet spot in your panties and the adorable scrunches of your nose and the pinch of your brow from the pleasure he’s dishing out before he’s even really touching you. you’re so cute he can’t pace himself, needing to consecrate your importance to him in the best way he knows how. 

you help him get you out of your underwear, shamelessly spreading for him after hundreds of rendezvous—you’ve lost your shyness and he loves it, loves seeing your neediness for him in the glaze of your pretty doe eyes and the way you swing your hips around to beg for his attention. “tell me you love me.” he hums, nosing apart your pussy lips. his cock throbs at the scent, and you feel goosebumps break out across your skin at his command. 

“you’re the one for me, sato. i love you.” you whisper so intimately he can feels his cursed energy pulsing like the rest of him. he groans, submerging his face in your cunt with a genuine pleasure you’ve only seen from him. he loves eating you out, loves the taste of you on his tongue—loves how your noises only rile him into fucking the bed, whining and grunting with his own neediness that he could only unleash once he’s properly readied you for it. 

“you taste so fucking good baby…so sweet down my throat. get loud, i don’t care it’s an apartment. you’ll be moving out soon anyway.” he smirks, latching onto your clit to make your legs jolt like they always do. it makes him giggle every time, and the vibrations feel even better against your sensitive bundle. he rolls it around his tongue, letting his index finger explore the wetness he’s helping you create. he pokes into your entrance, knowing how violently you craved something inside. his thoughts are confirmed by the way you clench around the digit, whining and bucking into it for more. he’s more than happy to oblige, finger fucking you with two long and thick fingers while his tongue works overtime on your clit. he loves watching you at this part, enamored by your face as your hips involuntarily jump from the bed, smacking your clit into his nose instead of his skilled tongue. 

your entire body is warm, jerking like you’re receiving electrical shocks from the pleasure satoru reigns down, gasping and sputtering on the edge of orgasm just a few minutes after he started. it’s always like this with him–though this time was special because you knew your life was changing before your very eyes—that satoru’s energy was growing so rapidly because he’s letting go of all kinds of stress and pent up frustration and anger. “please—wanna cum please sato–”

“daddy. i’m daddy now. ask daddy nicely.” he chuckles as he leans his head against his free hand, curling his fingers into the spot he knows so well just to watch your mouth drop and eyes widen in absolute blissful shock. you nod–brain fuzzy from his constant teasing and his new nickname. 

“daddy!! yes—daddy! please, oh my god—daddy let me cum!” you sound so good when you say it–it’s all he ever wants to hear for the rest of his life. he can’t wait for you to make him a real daddy. 

“oh missus gojo can do anything she wants.” he coos as if he didn’t make you expressly beg for permission, lowering his face to your cunt again with precise licks, shoving your hood back to absolutely abuse your sensitivity. your legs develop a mind of their own and you’re spiraling over the edge before you can understand what he’s doing. floating balls of color cover your vision and you scream his name just as loud as he wanted. he grins in satisfaction, hands resting on your knees so he can push himself forward for a sloppy kiss; slick covered lips sliding against yours so you could taste your own essence via his tongue shoving its way in your mouth with a hearty moan. you match his eagerness, making out with satoru with more passion than ever before–because you both have the security of knowing it’s real this time. he maneuvers his hips until his leaky tip catches on your hole, his breath shaky as before he shoves in like he always does. you squeeze him so tight it’s not hard to believe why he lost his fucking mind over this pussy. he truly would do anything to make you his, thank god you didn’t put up a fight. 

“fuuuuck–” he whines a little, finding it nearly impossible to even move in the first place. you feel the burn of his fat and lengthy shaft parting your walls like they routinely do, mouth dropped wide open in pleasure. satoru hovers inches away from your face, so close that the ends of his hair tickle your forehead as he picks your legs up—holding you by the back of the ankles before he sets a brutal pace. his nuts clap into your ass from the way he moves, length curving just right to fill you to the brim. he doesn’t even have to try all that hard to bottom out against your cervix, finding the way you moan and twitch so adorable. “this is why you have to be my wife—i need you for life, sweetheart.” 

your eyes widen at that declaration–though you already realized that satoru would never let you out of his clutches again. you knew he would marry you as quickly as possible based off of his desire to also knock you up as quickly as possible—but hearing him call you that, first missus gojo and now his wife, it all felt so real. his cock slamming into you only drilled it in further, his eyes glowing brighter than you’ve ever seen. the air also grows its own electric field, suffocating and thrilling all at the same time. your eyes are glued to him, entranced by the feral look on his face. you try to hold onto him, but he’s moving so punishingly you can’t even get your hands to work, mind and body on cloud nine. “you’re so beautiful. i’ve been in love…with—you–for years now.” he says in between deep breaths, trying to contain all his focus into drilling you unconscious. 

you shudder, feeling that was completely in the realm of possibility. his balls ache, the need to breed you just as heavy as all the other times you’ve come to him to clean up every mess of yours ever since he’s known you, the need to make you his in a way no one else would be allowed to—it’s carnal. he can’t stop until you’re full of his seed and it takes. he needs to see your breasts heavy with milk to feed his baby from. he needs to see you struggle with the weight of your belly so he can urge you to rest and let him serve you like you should be. he needs to see what the combination of your love looks like; what these last ten years of hard work would become. he’s painting your insides white and still pumping just as fast as before, watching your face tick and jerk with the pleasure you’re experiencing as you tip off of your own peak. he grins, shoving that cum as deep as it will go. he stops when he knows your body can’t take anymore, cuddling you to his chest until you fall asleep safe and sound. he has the whole world in his hands, and that’s never been enough. now he can sleep with a genuine smile on his face. he knows your body will regulate in a few months off the birth control—but that doesn’t mean he can’t get plenty of practice until then. after all, he has a problem! he has to breed his pretty little girl best friend turned future wife.