#Clocking in at 37 hours

[roman-oh-no]

This came to me in a dream.

[soapgraves]

mr great saiyaman my beloved.

thought this pose was good reference so i used it.

[djarinova]

exactly so true 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　SLEEPLESS NIGHT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?

WARNING: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.

His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.

Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.

He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.

But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.

Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.

Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.

Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.

Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.

With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.

His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.

His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.

But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.

Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.

With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.

The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.

He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.

In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.

Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.

Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.

"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."

Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.

His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.

She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.

"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.

Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.

He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.

"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.

"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."

His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.

Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.

Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.

"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."

But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.

"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."

Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.

[shawtuzi]

omg i remember your peaches and coconut fics hows my fav couple especially daddy eren i hope as freaky as ever 🤗☺️☺️

they’re doing soooo good!! you remember that fat rock and big house he promised you?? well he was able to get them for you and much more. take a walk with me real quick babe—

this is 18+ so mdni thank yewww!!! cw include: black coded reader, eren being a dad, some talk about church stuff (not rlly), mentions of sexcapades w jean hehe (literally a whole ass flashback of reader giving them both head), oral m and f receiving, eren eating it over her panties, shoe humping, mentions of a lactation kink, unprotected sex, kinda public sex?? they fuck in a bathroom, creampie bc would it rlly be a fic by me if no one was getting nutted in? NOT PROOFREAD SAWRY </3

“ren? rennyyy,” eren’s eyes cracked open at the sound of your soft voice, quickly connecting with yours. you were sitting on his stomach, hands resting on his chest while your cute lil cross necklace dangled in his face. he shifted his head the tiniest bit to read the alarm clock—

6:37 A.M.

why were you waking him up so early?? it couldn’t be for sex…no…he fucked you back to sleep around two, he couldn’t hear any noise coming from your daughters’ baby monitor, he didn’t see your eldest daughter curled up next to him so what could it be??

“it’s sunday eren.”

fuckkkkk. “oh…right,” eren let out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes once more. it was sunday— which means church, which means seeing his father, which means making pointless small talk with your parents, which means hearing your daughters whine and cry about how tired they are and how they don’t wanna go to the church daycare.

“why don’t we just stay in this sunday hm?” eren said, voice laced with tiredness. he brought his hands to your hips, squeezing the soft flesh tenderly. you giggled, burying your face in his neck that still smelled of his body wash.

“very veryyyy tempting but i promised my mom we’d be there this week, plus we haven’t been in a couple weeks anyway,” you kissed at his neck, making him squeeze your hips harder.

unlike both your guys’ parents you and eren do not attend church every weekend and aren’t quite as religious, especially eren. the only reason he attends is because it’s what you want, and he’s not one to object anything his wife wants so he just sucks it up and goes.

“c’mere,” eren muttered, bringing his hands from your hips to your silky smooth thighs. you leant down and he was quick to capture your lips in a kiss, humming in content when you kissed him back. eren bit down unexpectedly on your bottom lip making you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

you laced your fingers in his soft, brown locks before giving them a harsh tug, breaking the heated kiss. “get ready we leave in an hour….and you may need to take a cold shower,” you giggled, giving his pouting lips one more kiss before making your way to your daughters’ room to wake them. eren glanced down at his semi and threw his head back in annoyance. a cold shower was indeed needed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“but i don’t wanna go!” your eldest daughter stomped her foot in protest, her big brown eyes welling up with tears. eren sighed, kneeling down to be eye level with her, “it’s just for an hour, see that clock up there? once the little hand is on the 9 mommy and i will get you and we’ll get something special for lunch! how does that sound sweet thing?”

she sniffled and slowly nodded, reaching her arms out to get one last hug from him before you left her with the church daycare. “that’s my girl. mommy, sissy, and i will see you in a bit okay?” he gave her chubby cheek a fat kiss, and wiped her tears before handing her off to the caretaker.

“you’re such a good daddy,” you whispered in eren’s ear, giving the spot below his ear a soft kiss. eren cleared his throat, uttering out a small ‘thank you’. god you were going to be the death of him.

“let me carry this for you,” he didn’t wait for your response, taking the carrier that was holding your youngest. she was fast asleep and by the grace of god hopefully it would stay that way.

you and eren walked hand in hand into the chapel, immediately being greeted by people you’ve known since you were teenagers. you did most of the talking which eren was thankful for, oh how lucky he was to have married a certified yapper.

“y/n?”

you whipped your head around, your mouth dropping slightly in shock. “jean? oh my goodness how are you?” you giggled, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. eren kissed his teeth, choosing to skip the reunion and instead find your parents to sit with them. you rolled your eyes at him, giggling once more. six years of dating and four years of being married and he still was so possessive. you wouldn’t change a thing about it though.

“he hasn’t changed i see,” jean chuckled, scratching at the scuff on his jaw. you glanced at eren once more, just to find him already looking at the both of you, brows furrowed. “nope…still the same eren we all know and love.” love was an understatement to you though—eren was your moon and stars, your reason for breathing, he was everything to you. he had once told you before—while he was balls deep inside you that he wanted to claim you mind, body, and soul and you would say he definitely succeeded.

you and jean talked for a few more minutes before going your separate ways to find your seats before service started. the second you sat down eren wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. he nuzzled his nose in your hair, internally melting at the smell of peaches and coconut. after all these years it was still your signature scent, and never failed to make his heart beat faster and his dick jump.

“jean sounds like he’s doing pretty good….said he’s been doing a lot of traveling,” you spoke softly, resting your hand on eren’s thigh, leaning into his side. eren hummed, suddenly finding more interest in your sleeping daughter. she was the spitting image of you—absolutely perfect in every way.

eren tensed when he felt you squeeze his thigh, “you alright my love? you’re awfully quiet, you aren’t upset with me for making you come here are you?” you looked at him with those doe eyes and he immediately felt like the biggest asshole in the world.

“of course not baby i never mind coming here with you, you know that. it’s just that i wasn’t expecting him to be here. we haven’t seen him since…you know,” he trailed off, giving your hand a loving squeeze.

it was true—you both hadn’t seen jean since high school which was when your sexcapdes with him were at an all time high. since then eren has never let another man lay a hand on you sexually. you belonged to him and no one else and he belonged to you just as much.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the memories of the three of you messing around, bringing an amused smirk to eren’s face. as much as he was annoyed to see that man it definitely gave him an incentive to tease you a little about it.

eren glanced over at your parents and his mother who were immersed in their own conversation before leaning in close to you. “remember when you sucked us both off at the same time? you looked so pretty, especially with both our nut on your face. remember that baby?” you gasped at his language, elbowing him in the side making him laugh.

before he could say anything else the service finally started. about fifteen minutes into eren’s dad speaking you felt eren’s thumb begin to rub soft circles on your hip, giving it a firm squeeze every now and again. why oh why did he have to bring up those memories of you with him and jean—now it was all your mind could think about.

*flashback*

“a-ah shit! just like that baby,” eren growled at the way you choked around his dick, spit dripping from your chin and onto the new floral printed dress he’d bought for you. while you were using your mouth on eren your free hand was occupied with jean, stroking his dick in the best way possible.

every time you’d gag harshly around eren your hands would accidentally squeeze his tip a little too hard, causing a symphony of moans to slip past his lips—which also happened to have your cherry flavored lip gloss smeared across them. “sucking us so good baby mmh fuck—thank you. say thank you dickhead,” eren growled elbowing jean in the side. your pulled eren out of your mouth with a pop! quickly engulfing jean’s dick in your warm mouth.

jean’s head fell back against the wall, his adams apple bobbing. “t-thank you y/n, thank you so much,” his voice sounding whiny and breathy, and he might’ve cared sounding like that in front of eren if you weren’t making him feel so sooo good. you hummed around his dick, your tongue licking the underside of him to bring him closer to his orgasm.

your jaw was aching and the whole lower side of your face was covered with spit and their pre but you were as content as could be. the way you squeezed your thighs together didn’t go unnoticed by eren, so him being the sweet boyfriend he was gently nudged your thighs apart before pressing his shoe against your pussy. you wasted no time humping his shoe, your little mewls and moans making shivers crawl up jean’s spine.

eren nudged jean, a devilish smirk on his kiss swollen lips. “see the way she’s humping my shoe like a little slut? you fucking wish huh?” he chuckled, his head tilting back in pleasure when you began to play with his balls. jean’s nostrils flared as he took in the way you desperately ground your pussy against eren’s shoe.

“she’s so wet—fuck how is she so wet just from this?” eren let out a breathy laugh because jean did sound genuinely astonished at how soaked you were. “see the way her panties are sticking to her pussy? she’s soaked,” eren pressed his shoe harder against your pussy, snickering at the way your hips stuttered.

it was too much for jean. the way your plump lips suckled on his tip, the way your hand squeezed his base just right, and worst of all—the lewd wet noises coming from your pussy just from humping on eren. “i’m not g’nna last s-she’s gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me cum y/n—”

“not in her fucking mouth you aren’t, how ‘bout we finish on her face? would you like that baby?” eren gripped onto your hair, pulling your off jean’s dick with the tiniest bit of force. your chest heaved up and down as you licked a your swollen lips. the way you looked at him—oh he could’ve taken you right there jean watching or not.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and nodded, the sweetest smile now gracing your lips. “yes—please finish on my face,” your hands began to stroke both of their dicks once again, your pussy throbbing at the way they both twitched and throbbed in your hands.

jean was the first to let go of course once he saw you open your mouth, tongue sticking out of course. eren was quick to follow, both of their cum landing on your face in quick spurts. “what a fucking sight this is” eren bit his lip, running his dick over your lips, a chill running down his spine when he felt you suckle on it.

*flashback over*

you felt a particularly harsh squeeze on your side breaking you out of your thoughts. “you’re awfully quiet, i bet you were thinking about it huh? dirty little thing,” eren let out a low chuckle, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. “didn’t we fuck you at the same time that day too? poor thing you were so sore afterwards having two dicks in that little pussy—”

you gasped at his foul language, catching the attention of your parents. “you alright y/n?” your mother asked making you even more flustered. you looked up at eren, then to your mother before standing up. eren’s brows furrowed in confusion when you reached your hand out to him, but he gladly took it anyway.

“my chest is feeling a little sore….i think i just need to go pump or something. do you guys minding watching her for a minute? we’ll be super quick thank you!” you didn’t give them much time to respond before you were dragging eren out of the chapel.

eren pulled you back, stopping you in your tracks, “do you really need to pump? i don’t think i brought the machine with me but i don’t mind leaving to g—” eren was cut off by your lips crashing against his, your hands clutching onto his dress shirt for dear life.

“m’fine ren *kiss* jus’ need you *kiss kiss* really bad” you words were muffled due to your lips never leaving eren’s, but he understood you just fine.

eren grabbed your trembling hand and led you to the nearest bathroom, ushering you into the closest stall the second you entered. “when’s the last time i fucked you here?” eren asked quietly, pushing your front against the stall door. you whined at the sloppy kisses he began to leave on your shoulders and neck, your backside pushing against his growing erection.

“u-um i think it was years ago when—hah! w-we were teenagers,” you let out a breathless laugh at the memory of you both crammed in this same stall, your legs thrown over both his shoulders while he devoured your pussy. eren began to kiss down your neck, then your back until he was kneeling down, face to face with your dress covered backside.

he slowly lifted up your dress, his big hands roaming all around your ass and the fat of your thighs. “m’glad you remember, that’s one of my favorite memories of us. the number one being the day i married you of course,” he chuckled, spreading your ass cheeks to get a glimpse of your already soaked pussy. he licked his lips before taking a long, fat lick up your center, chuckling when he heard you gasp.

even though you were still wearing your panties he could still taste the sweet, yet tangy taste that was you—his beautiful oh so sweet wife. you both stayed like that for a few moments before eren got impatient and yanked your panties to the side, his lips finding your swollen clit with ease.

“r-renny, not so loudddd” you sniffled, reaching your hand back to pull at his hair, running his perfectly styled bun but he didn’t mind in the slightest. your pleas for him to quiet down went in one ear and out the other because if anything it sounded like he was slurping on your pussy even louder than beforehand.

it didn’t take long before you were cumming all over eren’s tongue, your knees nearly buckling at the way he continued to suck on your sensitive clit. “fuck i’ll never get sick of eating this pussy,” eren ran his tongue over his lips and chin, fighting the urge to dive back in just so you could squirt on his tongue.

“gotta make this quick honey, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting too long yeah?” eren kept you facing forward, your back now arched, glistening pussy on display waiting for him to finally fuck you. he ran his tip between your folds, shuddering at how warm you felt.

without warning eren rammed his hips forward, forcing a broken moan to leave your lips. eren was quick to cover your mouth with his hand, hissing when he felt you bite down on the skin. “sorry baby m’sorry,” eren cooed, coating your neck in wet kisses while his free hand wasted no time toying with your clit. his pace was quick and brutal, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the bathroom.

“mmph—renny,” he heard your muffled voice and removed his hand, gripping your chin to force you to look at him. “what is it baby? what do you need from daddy hm? i’m fucking you good ain’t i?” eren looked down and cracked the smallest smile at the way your pussy was sucking him in, a white sheen of your cream coating his base.

you didn’t say anything, instead you stuck out your tongue waiting for eren to do what he did best—give you the sloppiest fucking kiss you’ve received, each time nastier than the last. eren chuckled and wasted no time sucking your tongue into his mouth, moaning into the kiss. you eyes rolled into the back of your head, your pussy clenching onto eren’s dick like a vice. oh how you lived for his kisses.

eren changed his strokes to deep and slow, trying in any way to contain the loud squelching noise from your cunt. “ah ah ah! o-oh m-my,” you bit down harshly on your bottom lip making eren tisk.

“c’mon baby say what you were gonna say he’s listening,” eren growled, pinching your clit between his fingers. if it weren’t for eren holding you up you surely would’ve collapsed.

“oh my god! e-rennnn,” your thighs tensed as eren fucked you through your orgasm, droplets of your cum dripping to the floor. “fuck yeah that’s it baby, scream for your god let ‘em know who’s fucking this pussy,” eren rolled his hips in a way that had your eyes crossing, the feeling of another orgasm already approaching.

eren released his grip on your chin, his hands now finding purchase on your hips, ramming into you with everything he had. “s’good,” he hummed, giving your ass three quick swats.

“so *thrust* fucking *harder thrust* good *really hard thrust*”

your hands scrambled to find something—anything to grab onto, your legs felt like jelly, you body slowly sliding down which each brutal thrust. “nope get up—stand up straight like a good girl,” eren growled, lifting your body up once more. you were practically on your tippy toes, tongue lolled out, and eyes crossed as eren treated you like his own personal fuck toy.

he’s so damn strong. you could feel his muscles bulging through his dress shirt, his abs that he’s maintained all these years making the most delicious clapping sounds against your ass.

“s-shit m’gonna cum, where you want it honey,” eren let out a shaky breath, balls tightening when he felt you squeeze around him for the umpteenth time. your brain was scrambled, the only form of communication you were able to give him is a whine, your mouth slowly dropping open.

“mmph alright baby i’ll give it to you,” eren gave you three more toe curling thrusts before you came with a squeal, white dots taking over your vision. eren cursed when he felt himself already cumming, quickly pulling out and pushing you to your knees. he slipped his thumb in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue to open your mouth wider before releasing the rest of his cum on your awaiting tongue.

you hummed at the taste of him, taking more of his dick into your mouth with ease. eren’s breath hitched, his thighs tensing up from overstimulation. eren gently pulled you away from his cock, a line of spit connecting your lips to the tip. “i think i got a little inside m’sorry baby” he puffed air from his cheeks, tucking himself back in his dress pants.

eren gently lifted you from the floor, making sure your body was steady before bringing you in a tight embrace. you nuzzled your face into his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“you good?” he whispered into your hair, gently stroke your lower back. you nodded, holding onto him tighter, whining when you felt his cum drip down the inside of your thigh. “clean it up,” you mumbled into his shirt, your cheeks flaming hot.

eren let out a low chuckle, muttering out a soft ‘m’kay sweet thing’ before pushing your back against the stall once more. he made quick work putting your leg over his shoulder, licking and sucking at your thighs, cleaning up his cum like the good lil husband he was.

once he was finished he gave your clit a soft kiss, letting out a breathy laugh when he felt you smack the side of his head. “i’m done i’m done, now let’s get outta here before people start to wonder where we are,” he figured your parents were already wondering you two had gone off too but he rlly didn’t give a damn—not when you just gave him one of the best nuts he’s ever had.

just as you two were leaving the restroom you bumped into—of course jean fucking kirstein. “what are you doing?” eren asked, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into his side. jean looked at the bathroom door then back at eren, “um using the bathroom? what were you two doing?” he cocked his eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

you both didn’t say anything, but the fucked out looked on your face and eren’s shit eating grin told him everything he needed to know. “you guys are gross….now if you’ll excuse me,” jean cleared his throat, brushing past you and eren to get into the restroom.

you buried your face in eren’s side in embarrassment making his laugh. “don’t get all worked up doll, you know he won’t say shit—probably in there right now jerking it to the thought fucking you,” eren gave your hip a possessive squeeze, guiding you to the chapel.

fortunately for him service was just finishing up.

“there you two are! you missed the whole thing, what took so long?” your mother rushed up to you both, you could see the tiniest bit of frustration in her eyes.

eren took the carrier that was holding your daughter from her, “she just had to pump sorry we took so long mrs. y/l/n. we’ll be sure to join you next sunday to make up for it i promise” eren used the most sincere tone he could, he gave your hip a loving squeeze when he felt you relax into his touch. “now if you’ll excuse us we gotta get genesis,” you both bid your parents farewell before making your way to the basement where the sounds of screaming children and parents could be heard.

“there’s my sweet girl!” you giggled, giving your daughter a bear hug when she jumped into your arms. eren leant down to give her forehead a kiss, “see? that wasn’t too bad now was? now let’s go get something yummy to eat! daddy’s starving,” he whispered the last part in your ear, giving your behind a pinch making you jump.

“don’t worry i’ll make sure you’re nice and fed i promise,” you giggled giving him three quick kisses on his jaw. eren gave you a toothy grin, ecstatic because he knew you’d keep your promise.

and that my friends is how peaches and coconut! eren and his wifey are living <3

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), a lot of cussing (bkg-typical), reader is implied to be smaller than bkg, some angst (or a lot? :0)

words. 3k (ofc had to end it with a bang)

a/n. see the end of the post for a message from me, as well as the title reveal of the series! hope you enjoy this ending <3

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

The fairy lights strewn across your walls and interwoven with fake vines finally flicker out, robbing you of your clear view of the ceiling, leaving you in a sea of darkness with the only source of light being the sliver of sunshine that’s entering through the small gap between your curtains.

You heave a heavy sigh, vaguely seeing your chest rise with the action, your legs tangled in a messy heap of your blanket and pillows.

Replace the damned batteries—again, you make a mental note while side-eyeing the alarm clock that reads 8:37 AM.

Rolling your torso to the right side in a stretch, you groan as your hips make a loud cracking sound.

You can’t remember the last time you intentionally moved your body like this—at least, not for the last two days.

Ever since you got home that Friday night from Bakugou’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving, you haven’t exactly been attuned to your body and what it’s telling you its needs are.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, you’ve been way too in your head since then, going over every interaction with Mitsuki and Masaru, pinpointing every lie you spat out, and replaying in your head the delighted reactions they paid you back in return. And with each re-run came a new wave of nausea and the pitiful urge to collapse in a boneless heap.

You can’t even bear to think about how they’d react once they find out everything’s a sham.

God, Mitsuki’s gonna have a heart attack and die before she even gets the chance to enjoy retirement with her husband.

Needless to say, you barely managed to sleep a wink that night, too heavily preoccupied with your guilt and paranoia to even get a half-hour straight stretch of rest in.

The weekend that followed wasn’t any better.

The worries expanded from Bakugou’s family and how they’d react to his friend group, and god forbid Kirishima and Mina and Sero and even Kaminari find out and you painfully witness palpable disappointment flash across their kind features.

Especially after they welcomed you that warmly into their squad and even went out of their way to conjure stories about Bakugou to make you laugh and enjoy yourself.

By Sunday afternoon, you finally decided you were in no shape to prepare for all the work needed to be done for the next day, let alone show up to the agency and face everyone.

Particularly Bakugou.

The thought of whom has been causing puzzling physical sensations that you find messes with your rationality and causes your chest to ache, frustrating you even more and furthering your resolve to avoid things for now until you can come up with a solution to the situation at hand.

And so with an email sent to Hikari about filing for a sick leave tomorrow and her having to step in for a meeting with the founders and department heads on the day of, as well as a reply expressing her affirmation later, you buried yourself in your queen-sized bed and doom-scrolled to distract yourself until you fell into a fitted sleep.

Which leads you to now.

With you, again, staring at the ceiling, the sounds of nothing but distant honks and a gust of wind entering through the windows breaking the silence.

At least, that is the case until a barrage of weighty knocks echoes throughout your apartment and into the doorway of your bedroom.

Almost instantly, you sit up in alarm, and you’re immediately hit with gut-wrenching dizziness from the action. Despite that, you stumble out of your bed in a hurry, swiftly adjusting your pajamas and baggy T-shirt as you shimmy your socked feet into your house slippers before running to the foyer.

Your heart is hammering in fear as you tiptoe to peek at the intruder through your peephole, thoughts racing as to who the fuck could this person possibly be, visiting at not even 9 AM on a Monday.

You’re bracing yourself to see the ghost of Christmas past who just happened to visit a little early, whoever the fuck that person could be in your life, and for your stomach to drop in horror at the sight of them, only it isn’t someone from your past.

No, it’s someone from your present.

Someone who’s very much in your present.

Yet your stomach drops nevertheless.

Through the hole, Bakugou is studying the unit number hung on your apartment door, brows furrowed in what you think is confusion and a tinge of impatience. He’s decked in his winter hero costume, although his eyepiece is up against just above his forehead, pinning down his notoriously unruly ash blonde hair. You almost miss it, but he seems to be carrying a plastic bag with his left hand.

You feel your throat dry up at the sight of him, and you’ve half a mind to do a complete 180 and tiptoe back to your bed and just pretend you’re not home when he knocks again, only this time the knocking’s more insistent.

Despite yourself, you still jump at the sound, and you chalk it up to your nerves being indubitably fried from three days of constant worrying.

You glance longingly at your bedroom, itching to dive into your sheets, drown out the rest of the world, and pretend you’re not in the middle of the mess you’ve inadvertently made. But as you look back at the door and the sound echoing from its direction, you’re washed with an uncanny sense of shame.

What happened to facing your fears head-on?

With a few soothing circles to your chest where your heart is approximately at in an effort to ground yourself, you take a few cautious steps towards the door, hand slightly shaking as you reach out to hold the knob.

Here goes fucking nothing.

Bakugou’s in the middle of still rapping at your door when you finally twist the handle and fling the slab of wood wide open, revealing the man with his right fist frozen mid-air, a prominently surprised look plastered across his features, as if he didn’t expect anyone, let alone you, to open the goddamn door even with his absurd knocking.

You force a smile onto your face, although you can tell it probably looks more pained than anything. “Bakugou.”

At the sound of his name, it’s almost as if he snaps out of a trance because he quickly brings down his raised hand, clearing his throat in the process. And almost immediately after, an eyebrow raises in question.

He opens his mouth to speak, and you couldn’t have ever guessed what he’d say next if you tried.

“…You don’t look like shit?”

You gawk, “Excuse me?”

Bakugou frowns, as if you’re the one not making any sense. “I thought you were sick.”

With that, he thrusts the plastic bag he’s been carrying to you.

Your eyes dart down to inspect it, before looking back up at the man in confusion.

He huffs, “‘s care package, is all. Come on, fucking take it.”

Not knowing what else to do, you gingerly take the bag off his hands, opting to cradle it with both arms and hold it close to your chest. You give him a quiet thanks, to which he just nods in acknowledgment.

You both stand there in awkward silence for what feels like minutes, neither of you saying anything. It’s only when you catch Bakugou peeking at your living room above your head that you remember basic courtesy.

“…You want to come in?” you meekly ask, conflicted as to whether or not you prefer a decline from the pro-hero.

To your chagrin, or delight—you don’t fucking know—he replies with a curt ‘Sure’ before squeezing in through your doorframe and toeing off his boots.

Against the backdrop of your rather modest home, pro-hero Dynamight looks completely out of place. His bulky figure further dwarfs your small decorative knickknacks, and his black and orange pieces stand in stark contrast against the earthy tones of your furniture.

Suddenly remembering you’re fucking staring, you lift your eyes back up to Bakugou’s face, only to find him already studying you.

You quickly scramble for something to say.

“H-how’d you get up here?”

“…The elevator?” he answers, with too much of an ‘are you dumb’ undertone for your liking.

You huff, “No, I meant how’d you get past the security and receptionist? And I don’t remember ever mentioning what floor and unit I lived in.”

To that, Bakugou only shrugs. “The guard recognized me. Even asked for a fucking photo. And when I asked about you, he was quick to give me your details.”

“Seriously?!”

Bakugou has the audacity to roll his eyes, before: “He knows about us, dumbass. Said he read it in the news.”

Oh.

“R-right,” you dumbly reply. “Sorry.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head in what you think is dismissal. He shifts his weight to his other leg from where he’s standing near the backrest of your couch, a few feet away from you awkwardly leaning against the kitchen island where you’ve placed his gift bag.

When you meet his gaze again after a brief moment, he’s already looking at you expectantly.

“What?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you not at work?”

You absolutely can’t with his fucking bluntness.

“I’m sick,” you lie, surprising yourself with how smoothly it tumbles out of your mouth.

You’ve had plenty of practice after all.

But apparently, not enough to fool Bakugou.

“Bullshit.”

Instantly, you feel a wave of indignation wash over you, together with a sense of deja vu—as if this conversation has happened before.

“I don’t think you’re my fucking thermometer, Bakugou,” you snap, unable to rein in your anger.

“Really, now?” he retorts, not missing a beat. “How ‘bout we use the thermometer I brought you and see what that has to say, hah?”

Before he can even move towards you to grab the tool from where it’s sitting behind you, you blindly reach for the bag behind you and bring it to your front, clutching it close to your chest.

“No.”

At your move, a devilish sneer invades his features. “So you’re admitting it, then?”

You purse your lips in a tight line, already teeming with irritation. “I don’t owe you an explanation. My request’s already been approved by HR.”

“But why?” he presses, eyebrows seemingly permanently furrowed. “You never take time off unless it’s a major emergency or some shit.”

“And you don’t just take off and abandon your patrol duties, yet here you are,” you quip, not knowing how else to respond to his accusation because it’s true.

“I didn’t abandon patrol,” he spits back, “I had Eijirou cover for me.”

That’s it.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m a goddamn mess, right now, okay?” you finally cry, throwing your hands up as if gesturing a surrender. “Can’t a person have just one day of not having to fucking lie to everyone?”

To your surprise, Bakugou doesn’t bite back and bark a harsh reply. Instead, he only stares at you expectantly, wordlessly coaxing you to explain.

And you don’t know what it is about it, but his borderline concerned gaze is the catalyst that causes the proverbial dam to break open and for everything to come flooding out.

Your voice is so pathetically small when the words finally come out.

“…Bakugou, why are we even doing this?”

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and you take his silence as an opportunity to keep going.

“You know, at first, I thought I—no, we—had a rationale,” you start, looking at everything else in the room but him. “I wanted to get back at my ex, and you, for some reason, wanted to be a hero and get back at him…too? Okay, shit, it’s already getting confusing.”

At that, Bakugou scoffs. “Quit making me sound like an aimless dumbass, idiot. I just hate ugly ass douchebags.” He crosses his buff arms in front of his chest, “It’s a personal goal of mine to make them pay.”

You eye him suspiciously, not exactly sold on his answer, but you press on.

“Okay… And so we—I did—exactly that by punching him at his wedding. Which brought us unnecessary attention from the press, eventually pushing and forcing us to act like we’re dating around everyone.

“And we’ve done exactly that!” you bemoan, “Around your closest friends, even around your sweet, innocent parents, for crying out loud!”

You finally will yourself to look at Bakugou, and he looks like he’s about to say something but you cut him off before he can.

If you don’t get this out now, you doubt you’ll ever get another chance to do so.

“It’s just—I—I don’t think I can do this anymore, Bakugou,” you finally say, shoulders sagging in relief at finally having said aloud what’s been haunting your mind.

You look at him squarely, injecting as much conviction as you can into your tone for what you’re about to say next.

Because, you now realize, it’s the one thing that’s been plaguing you the most.

“I don’t want to cause you to fuck up your life any more than I already have.”

You study his face, bracing yourself for a spectrum of reactions you can potentially elicit from the man. You watch as his jaw visibly clenches, and it bewilders you how he can look so pained when, no matter how much you rack your brain for a reason, there’s nothing in it for him in this silly, not-so-little arrangement of yours.

Except, maybe a bit of self-satisfaction and amusement over having helped a damsel in distress.

A few minutes of silence pass with neither of you saying anything.

“…Bakugou?” you finally ask, voice small.

Suddenly the previous expression that was just on his face morphs into a full-on scowl, so much so that the man looks like he’s about to combust any second now.

And erupt he does.

“You have some fucking nerve, you know that?”

Again, and despite yourself, a pulse of fury courses through your body, but before you can even spew your own venom in your defense, Bakugou beats you to it.

“Who gave you the fucking right?”

You’re fuming. “Who gave me the fucking right to what?”

“To fucking walk into my life, just like that!” he snaps, shutting you up.

He shakes his head, disbelieving and seemingly resigned. “Like you had any business strutting in looking so fucking pretty, and then you had to put a nail on the coffin by being the best at your job like it’s no big fucking deal? You put all the agency’s useless executives to shame with how hard you work and how good you are at it.

“And you go ahead and punch the guy who’s been a complete dickhead to you and then worry about how you ruined his wedding. And you say all this nice shit to me and my friends and my family like it’s fucking nothing.”

His hand shoots up to pinch the bridge of his nose, like he’s feeling a headache creeping in, before he drops it in favor of turning to fully glare at you.

“But now you have the gall to call it quits when I’m just starting to get used to this? It’s—you—you’re something else.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that?”

Robbed of all words and eyes wide as saucers, the only thing you can choke out is: “W-what are you trying to say?”

At that, Bakugou scoffs. “You really are a fucking dumbass, aren’t you?”

But you don’t even get to retort a defense, or even get the slightest bit offended at his remark, because in the blink of an eye, Bakugou is on the move—purposefully stalking towards you.

And just like that, he pulls you into a searing kiss.

You think you might have squeaked in shock at the contact, but that thought is suddenly overwritten in your mind the moment you feel his big hand rest on the space between your neck and shoulder, while the other remains firm holding your chin in place.

Your eyes flutter close at the intensely warm feeling, and before you get to talk yourself out of it, you kiss him back, and Bakugou’s grip on you tightens when you do so.

And as you revel in the softness of his lips and the fervent way he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting to do this for as long as he could fathom, everything finally dawns on you.

Your feelings—your true feelings—and the fact that you’ve been in denial all along; an idiot who chose what to see and hear and believe to protect herself from hoping and potentially getting disappointed in the end.

But this?

This.

This is the farthest thing from disappointment.

Finally, and maybe a little too soon to your liking, Bakugou slowly pulls a few inches away, and the boyish grin that’s now decorating his beautiful features causes your heart to throb so painfully that it almost hurts—in a good way.

With his two hands that are now resting on your shoulders, he squeezes the flesh, bringing you somewhat back to reality.

“That answer your question, princess?”

Despite yourself, you flush, but now you find that you don’t mind Bakugou noticing, what with the wave of warmth that floods you at the view of him grinning even wider at the sight of you.

Not trusting your voice not to crack just yet, you can only nod as you smile and feel tears slowly pooling your eyes. And not wanting for him to see them, at least for now lest he worries, you quickly blink them away before leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

And he leans his against yours.

A few moments pass before he speaks up again.

“…Fucking finally.”

“Fucking finally…you have a girlfriend?” you jokingly reference his best friend, although despite the playfulness of the quip your heart is hammering at the suggestion and silently begging, begging for an affirmation.

But what he ends up giving you is lightyears further than that.

Bakugou shakes his head, tipping your chin up so that you’re looking straight into his eyes.

He grins.

“Fucking finally I have you.”

a/n. not to be emotional out here, but this series was such a joy to work on. i haven't written in a year and a half since this series, what with my depression having gotten really bad. i'm nowhere near better, but the process of working on this series and interacting with you all really gave me a sense of fulfillment that i haven't felt in the longest time. with that, i want to thank you all for the support and love <3 this wouldn't have been as enjoyable without you all!

and so drum roll, please; the title of the series is: the wonderful mess that we made (from the song flaws by bastille). a separate masterlist for this will be posted soon, so pls keep an eye out for that :,)

lastly, i'd love to hear from you about how you found the series! my replies, tags, and asks are always open <3

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe @bleublooded @msjaeger @ellielover69

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make the biggest difference! have an awesome day ( ˘ ³˘)

[rueclfer]

neopet graveyard // shigaraki tomura

when you two always end up working the night shift together.

a/n: all together now! "finaaallllyyyyy" we collectively say. i love shiggy sm this fucking loser is the loml. <3

my smau warm up for this fic here too

@bbluefllame hehe

12:37 AM the buzzing analog clock sitting on the counter glared back at you. Long and slow shifts like tonight's were agonizing to get through. You may have been getting paid to sit around and flip through dusty catalogs and sort through old video game discs, but you often wondered if you'd rather be at home broke and asleep right now.

"Hey Shigs," You call out, breaking his attention away from his phone. "Tits or ass?" You hold up the vintage Playboy magazine up to his direction from across the store.

"You have neither." He replies, leaning forward and slightly squinting in your direction. "I can't see that far. What are you showing me?"

"It's a fucking porn mag, you dick." You call out, throwing a pen in his direction, letting it bounce off the glass counter beside him and landing among the cardboard boxes behind the register.

"Freak, where the fuck did you find that?" He cocks an eyebrow at you, setting his phone down.

"In bossman's desk." You shrug. "Quite a collection he's got in there, actually. Answer the question."

Tomura stops for a moment, leaning against the glass counter behind the register as he deeply thinks about his answer. Given his stoic and apathetic personality, you were half expecting him to tell you to fuck off and eat shit.

"Personality."

"Loser-" You began, getting ready to shoot him the most annoyed eye-roll you could muster.

"-And ass." He cuts you off with a smirk before returning to his phone.

You chuckle, tossing the magazine back in the desk drawer with the others before slamming it shut.

You make your way over to the opposing side of the glass counter where he stood, peering over to see him playing clash of clans on his phone.

"I'm bored. Dying of it, actually." You exacerbated, blowing a breath of air into the pale strands of hair hanging over his forehead "Put your phone away and entertain me for the last hour that we're here."

"Piss off and perish." He mutters, eyes still glued to his screen.

You pout at his coldness. You had spent the day cleaning, reshelving, wiping down any counter you could find, and now at this ungodly hour, you've been left with nothing you could possibly do except wait for the minutes to go by until the end of the shift.

"Wanna make out in the back room?" You prop your elbow on the counter and rest your head in your palm, staring up at him with a flirty smile.

His thumbs pause on his screen, eyes snapping over to meet your own, annoyance flash across them the moment he sees your cheeky grin and fake-innocent eyes staring back at him.

"What?" A faint blush dust over his cheeks as he avert his gaze from your own.

"You heard me." You playfully lean back on your heels, swinging yourself back and forth. "All this alone time, you're not itching to take my clothes off? A little fun, Shigs? Something to help you loosen up?" You inch your face closer to his.

More often than not, you ended up on the schedule with Tomura for the most brutal hours of 6:30pm-1:30am for most nights of the week. Your boss says it's to stay available for the nightcrawlers of the city, but business is always dead by 11:00pm. For those excruciatingly slow last few hours, you cherished spending them terrorizing Tomura for his flustered reactions and the amusement of annoying him.

The pink of his cheeks bloom into a bright red, causing him to hide his face in his forearm, covering it with a cough.

"Just kidding, Shigs." You lean back and playfully shoving his shoulder from across the counter. "I'm just being silly, no need to get your panties in a twist."

"I fucking hate when you do that." He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that always end up falling back in his face.

"Do what, exactly?" You cock your head to the side.

"You know what. You're worse than Dabi." He huffs. "Start doing your closing work or something if you're bored." He turns his back to you and leans back against the counter, frantically scrolling through twitter- obviously not reading any of the words on screen, but just trying to avoid you for long enough so you lose interest in bothering him.

"I finished those an hour ago." You whine. "Crazy idea, but what if we close early? There's only less than an hour left and these cameras have been out of service for the past 2 months."

He looks back at you, and takes a scan at the state of the store- cleaned, restocked, inventory logged, everything seems to be in order. It wasn't like the store's upkeep was any hard work, anyways. In fact, the owner barely ever came in and you were half sure that he used this old comics and game store for money laundering purposes.

"That might actually be the smartest thing your dumbass has said all shift."

-

The night breeze blew right through your sweater, causing a chill to crawl up your spine.

"Alright, Shiggy, I'll see you when I see you, then?" You squeak out, rubbing your arms for the heat friction.

"Hold on." He mutters, cigarette hanging from his lips as he wiggles the door to make sure it's properly locked. "I'll walk you home."

"I do this walk multiple times a week, Shigs." You smile at the sentiment. "I'll be fine. I live close by."

"I know you'll be fine. I just don't want to go back to the apartment yet. Dabi's throwing a party and I'd rather not deal with a group of drunk idiots right now." He shrugs, taking a drag of the cig before passing it over to you in which you gladly accept from his fingers, letting the intoxicating smoke warm you from the inside.

"Oh, that's right. He invited me when I saw him during the shift change." You exhale, blowing the smoke behind you, starting to lead him towards the direction of your home.

"Shouldn't we head that way, then?" He stops in his tracks.

"Well, I'd only go if you were there to keep me company, but if you're not feeling it then probably not."

"Parties aren't really my thing, but if you're there, then it'll be fine. I can tolerate it." He mutters, kicking a pebble to the side. "I can always just lock myself in my room, I'm sure they'll be too shitfaced to notice, anyways."

"What? I'd notice." You pout.

"I'll lock you in with me, duh." He coughs, hiding a smile while sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Really?"

He nods his head in response.

"Sounds like you like my company a lot more than you give off, Shigs." You smile, redirecting your walk back towards his apartment now.

"Heavy on the tolerate." He meets your eye for a moment before returning them down at his feet.

It had been an especially cold winter night. Hoodies and knitted sweaters were always a staple in Tomura's wardrobe, in any weather, but tonight he sported a dingy old leather jacket over his usual hoodie for the extra warmth. The cold air nipped the apples of his cheeks and tip of his nose into a rosy pink, and if he didn't have his hood over his head, you were sure the tip of his ears would be under the same condition.

You naturally ran hot, but your favorite part of a chilly walk home from work was the blast of warm air hitting your face and defrosting your fingertips the second you walked into your apartment- which fortunately also motivated you to get quick with your pace.

"I think Twice and Toga live this way too." You mumble, starting to recognize the surrounding structures.

"They do. We walk together if we're scheduled together, which is almost never, but a couple times a month, maybe."

"Do you ever think about quitting?" You turn to him and ask.

"Only when the general population is being extra stupid. Other than that, not really. You?"

"Sometimes. I have an existential crisis about what I'm doing with my life every now and then, but I like working with everyone."

"With everyone? You mean just me?" He chuckles, earning him a scoff from you.

"I just tolerate you, actually. I live for those 5 minutes in between shifts where I say hi and bye to my people."

You catch the end of an eye-roll.

"What do you get so existential about?"

"You know, the typical stuff every twenty-something year old goes through. Progressing in life and all that bullshit?" You sigh.

"Get specific, dumbass." He takes a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke fog around you. "I'll grant you some of my wisdom."

"Lately, it's a lot of if my kid-self would like my adult-self, if working at the shop is just me trying to hold onto my childhood, dropping out of college, never having my first kiss, miss being taken care of, and probably a million more things." You list off, counting on your fingers.

"Damn. I'd hate to be in your brain." Tomura mutters. "Shit happens and we all die. Better to not stress about it."

"Great wisdom, dipshit." You chuckle, nudging him with your elbow.

"If it makes you feel better, I also dropped out and haven't had a first kiss."

"No education I can tell-"

He flips you off.

"-but no first kiss?" You dramatically gasps "I don't believe that. You're so cute!"

"And you're not?"

Your mouth gaped open at the subtle hit of flirtation from him. The coldness on your neck and cheeks were quickly replaced by an unfamiliar rush of heat.

"Shut up." You mutter, snapping your head forward to hide your blush. "I guess people don't like cute now-a-days."

"Guess not."

After coming up on his apartment building, you two halted to a stop. You two spent most of the walk in silent solitude, passing back and forth the same innocent subtle glances with every puff of the shared cigarette.

"You ready?" He steps out the butt of the cigarette and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Can't wait to see that crusty dusty reddit-incelified gaming set up of yours." You tease.

"Just wait 'til you see the jar." He retaliates, causing you to scowl in disgust and slapping him across the bicep.

For a second, you could almost make out the softest glimpse of a smile on his lips, but you decided to let that be something you keep to yourself, locking it away in your memories.

You follow him into the apartment complex and up the dingy and loud humming of the elevator that replaced the need for conversation. From a few steps outside of the door you could hear the trashy garage band music emitting from the inside- definitely Dabi's kind of party.

You watch Tomura fumble with his keys for a moment before swinging the door open, letting a rush of hot air mixed with the fumes of stale cigarette smoke and beer slap you in the face.

You two cram into the doorway, almost back to back as you kicked off your shoes and shed off unnecessary layers.

You take a step into the living room to see many new and familiar faces huddling in small circles around the apartment, sporting flushed cheeks and drink in hand.

"Dabi's wasted." Tomura leans down and whispers, lips lightly grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shudder up your spine. "Watch out or he might claim your first kiss. He's a stupid affectionate drunk."

Unfortunately for you, your eyes instantly caught onto Dabi's from across the room, causing him to bum rush his way over to you guys, throwing his arms around you two into a hug, crushing your body together against Tomura's.

"I told you." Tomura mouths down to you with an annoyed expression.

"Fuckers, you're late." He slurs into your shoulder. "I shoulda burnt that fucking store down to get you here earlier."

"Aren't you scheduled for the morning?" You cock an eyebrow at his drunken state.

"That's tomorrow-me's problem, sweets." He says with a lopsided grin. He grabs Tomura's head and presses a wet kiss to his temple before slapping one on your forehead. "You kids mingle and go get something go drink."

Once Dabi returns back to the party, you turn to Tomura with a laugh. After wiping off the side of his head with his sleeve, he places a hand on the back of your head, and uses his other to swipe across your forehead, wiping off the remnants of Dabi's drunken kiss.

"Fuckin' gross." He mumbles to himself.

You two spent a little less than an hour making your rounds around the party, a shot here and there when the other coworkers demanded one from you, but with the nod of his head towards the hallway, you knew his social battery had been drained.

"Handling your alcohol?" He asked, pulling you towards his room by the sleeve of your sweater, slightly stumbling over the carpet.

"Of course." You mutter. "You?"

"Couple shots got nothing on me."

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you audibly sighed from the sweet relief of a moment of silence after a full shift of the same work playlist on repeat and the party's music following you around the apartment.

"Finally." Tomura groans, reaching up behind his neck, lightly tugging on the back of his hoodie.

You took a seat on his gaming chair, hugging a knee up to your chest as your eyes scan across the walls of his room, glancing over at his various superhero posters, and bookshelf of collectables until it locked on his pale lower torso that exposed itself from his t-shirt riding up with the hoodie as he yanked it off over his head.

"Uhh." You begin, swiveling your chair around and averting your attention towards his gaming setup. "You stream? You got a webcam."

"Do you care?" You feel a hand grip the head of the gaming chair, swiveling you back around to face him, who is now leaning over you. "Thought you didn't care about all that shit."

"It's different if it's you." You smirk up at him, letting the alcohol boost your suave facade that had originally faltered upon seeing a few inches of his naked torso.

"Relentless flirt." He brings his hand down to flick your forehead before taking a seat on his unmade bed, leaning back against the headboard with his hands behind his head.

You accidentally knock the mouse cursor with your elbow, waking the monitor. Staring back at you in a bright red blocky font was 2:39AM, suddenly sobering you up.

"Oh shit, it's getting pretty late." You check your phone to confirm. "I should get going."

"Uh, isn't your apartment in the opposite direction from work?"

He only had to look you up and down one time to know that you weren't sober enough to make the walk by yourself. He wouldn't even think about letting you leave this apartment at this hour, anyways.

"Yeah? So what?" You cock an eyebrow at him.

"I mean...you think you should stay the night?" He starts, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "If you want, I don't care."

"Do you want me to stay the night?" You shoot him a daring smirk.

"Do you want to stay the night?" He retaliates.

"Sounds like you want me to. So fine, I guess, if you're begging for it."

"Fuck off and get eaten by the coyotes." He scowls in irritation, pulling his phone out to divert his attention.

You hop onto the bed next to him, catching his panicked expression the moment he realized how close you two were now. On the same bed. Alone. Along with the new question of where you would be sleeping- something that he had not thought about until now.

"C'mon Shigs! It's no fun when I'm the one that's always doing the chasing, babe. You have to want me as much as I want you, that's what makes it fun." You jokingly sigh.

"Who says I don't?"

Your eyes go wide. You were so used to him deflecting all of your useless attempts to fluster him, so you weren't sure how to handle your short circuited brain the second he finally returns the same energy.

"Uhhh. Okay, I take it back. Don't do that again." You press your lips together in defeat.

"I say four words and you start losing it?" He chuckles. "Think I got you beat at your own game."

"I guess tonight will test that, won't it?"

-

You were slowly eating your words with every second that passed. Your alcohol induced fake confidence had slowly dwindled down to nothing and now here you are sharing a bed with Tomura with your heart beating out of your chest, when you probably should've just offered to take the floor.

You two were lying on your sides facing one another with the covers pulled up to your chin. You were desperately trying to fall asleep, but you could hear his soft inhale and exhales and feel the air brushing past your cheeks as a constant reminder that he's right next to you, sharing the same bed, sharing the same air, all under the same blanket.

You slightly opened your eyes to peer through your lashes to see him wide awake and looking right at you, the back of his hand pressed against his cheek and soft eyes scanning over your face.

You open your eyes to meet his own.

"You're awake?" He whispers, slightly taken aback.

"How can I sleep when your stare is burning into my soul?" You tease. "Go to sleep, Shigs."

You never were able to get this close to Tomura without him flinching back or turning his head away to avert your gaze, but he stayed right here, letting you fully take in his presence. You almost wanted to reach your hand out and touch him, feel the softness of his cheeks, and tuck the stray hairs behind his ears.

"You don't think I'm trying?" He huff "It's fucking freezing in here. Dabi has daddy's money to always have the AC running even in the Winter."

"You should've said something earlier. We've been lying here for the past 30 fucking minutes." You start throwing apart the pillow wall that he put up between you two to prevent any 'funny business.'

"What are you doing?" He furrows his brows.

You say nothing, but instead grabbed the fabric of the t-shirt and pulled him in to close the gap between you two. His eyes widen at the sudden closeness. Your faces were mere inches away from each other, your leg shoved its way in between his, and your arm snaked its way around his waist.

"This okay?"

"A warning would've been nice." He mutters under his breath, stiffly letting his arm hang over your body, landing his hand in the middle of your back.

"I like the essence of surprise." You chuckle, looking up at him. "Better, though?"

He sighs in confirmation. "You're like a fucking furnace." He groans into your hairline.

"And you're like a popsicle."

"This would be nicer if you didn't talk."

"And this would be nicer if you'd relax and stop being so stiff." You pat the area between his shoulder blades, motioning him to let his arms loose. "I've seen you and Spinner cuddle it out on the couch in the backroom all the time, so don't act like you don't know how to do this."

"It's different." He mumble, reluctantly letting his body relax and mold against your own. "It's you."

"You dislike me that much?" You sigh, pressing your cheek against his chest, tapping your fingers against his back in content. "Do it for the purpose of survival, then."

"The opposite."

Your breathing hitches.

"Huh?" You tilt your head up to look at his face.

"Yeah." He presses his lips together, eyes darting around the room.

"You're saying 'the opposite' as in you do like me?"

"Fuck off. Don't make me say it again." His eyes finally lowered to meet yours.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Say what again? You quite literally did not say anything."

"I think this is the worst fucking time to have this conversation. Go to sleep and talk later."

"No!" You pout. "I'm not tired anymore. Let's talk now. What did you mean by that?"

A moment of silence fell between you two. With your face against his chest, you could hear his heart pounding. You suffered from the same feeling. Your throat goes dry from the anticipation of a potential confession that you'd been silently hoping for since you first met him.

"I thi-" He begins, stopping for a moment to swallow down his nerves. "So fucking awkward." He groans. "I do like you. As if it wasn't obvious, you dumbass."

"Obvious?" You scoff. "I'm obvious. Me. You on the other hand, definitely not."

"You obvious? You flirt to fuck with me."

"I flirt with you because I like you." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Also to fuck with you, but because I like you."

You two were rendered speechless as you're left to stare at each other with wide eyes, digesting this dual confession.

"So.." He begins, trailing off into nothing.

"So.. is this where we have our first kiss?" You awkwardly laugh, trying to cut through the tension.

"Are you joking?"

"Yes if you're not, but no if you are? I don't know? Not like either of us have done this before." You say through clenched teeth, cringing at yourself as your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

"Okay, then."

"Are you serious?" Your eyes widen at the sudden permission. "That easy? You're not going to tell me to fuck off?"

He disregards your hesitation and props himself on his elbow, looking down at you with a look in his eyes you've never seen before.

"On your back." He instructs.

Your body suddenly goes hot and numb as you slowly turn over onto your back, looking up at him looming over you sporting the same pair of flushed cheeks.

"This is unexpected." You whisper, balling fistfuls of the comforter in your hands. "What the hell is possessing you right now?"

"You, I think." He sheepishly smiles, cautiously bringing a hand down to cup your cheek, his cold hand absorbing your body heat. "It's what you wanted wasn't it? All those times when we're alone at the shop? Asking me to join you in the backroom? You did just say it wasn't just because you were fucking with me."

Just like that, the last 6 months of night shifts spent tormenting Tomura had come to bite you in the ass.

"Okay." You squeak out, reaching up to lay one hand over his, and the other on his shoulder. "I guess you're right. You're not freaking out, though? This is fine for you?"

"Definitely am freaking the fuck out. But I've been waiting for this, so I don't care." He mutters, running his thumb across your lower lip.

"This okay?" He mutters, inching closer to your face.

"Yeah." You whisper a moment before his lips grazes your own.

He finally closes the gap between you, letting the stray strands of his hair drape onto your face, tickling your forehead. For a second, the kiss was stiff with anxiety, but it wasn't even a second until your lips melted into each other's. It was almost suffocating- the sweet gentleness of it all.

Your hand traveled up his shoulder to the nape of his neck where you entangled your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging on the mass. His own hand made it down to your waist, flushing his palm against its curve.

When you broke apart, he collapsed on top of you, hiding his face in the crevice between your neck and shoulder before you two burst out in fits of childish giggles.

"Okay my turn. Get on your back, slut." You laugh, trying to shove him off of you.

"Hell fucking no. You want to kill me? We're done, go to sleep." He buries his face deeper into your neck, releasing a deep sigh of content. "Deal with everything else tomorrow."

"Talk tomorrow." You agree, turning over and entangling your body with his own.

You couldn't help but admire the look of his swollen-kissed lips and sleepy eyes staring back down at you. One last time before you two went off to sleep, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips before melting back into his body.

-

bonus scene:

your hands were lazily attached to one another's during another chilly quiet walk to your apartment the morning after your confessions and kiss.

"you didn't have to walk me home." you mutter, shyly peering over to him.

"i wanted to." he shrugs, tightening his grip on your hand. "the least i could do for keeping me company last night."

you hum in agreement. "no probs. thanks for letting me hang out. we should do it more often."

"the hanging out or..." he tugs down the collar of his knitted sweater to reveal an array of purple and red bruises on his collarbones and shoulder that conspired that early morning of more playful kisses and giggles.

"you see, i don't know how the hell that happened." you press your lips together, suppressing a smile. "must've been a ghost."

"must've been." he smirks, looking on ahead.

once you arrive at your door, he leans his shoulder against the wall as you dig through your bag for your keys.

"you're off tonight, yeah?"

"i am." you glance up at him before pulling out your bundle of keys. "you're kicking it with toga tonight?"

"mmhm. think i can come by after work? we're getting the new volume of terror tales tonight, so i can snatch one for you before it sells out?"

"already planning out the next time you can see me, shigs?" you smile, inserting the key into the door knob.

"i mean, i can let you scour ebay and pay triple for it too, see if i care." he rolls his eyes.

you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, connecting your lips for a brief moment.

"it better be in mint fucking condition." you mutter against his lips. "see you tonight."

[chuusheartattck]

THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

(Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s song Espresso!)

(Everyone is at least 18+)

Pairing: Actor!Scaramouche x Gnidol!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, celeb au, crack, angst if you squint, slow burn

Warnings: Lots of swearing, alcohol, smoking, bullying, kms/kys jokes, crude jokes, any pictures used aren’t meant to represent y/n in any way

Status: Completed (June 27 2024-October 18 2024)

Tysm for reading!

☕️= Written

A/n: Hi!! This is my first smau ever and first post on this account! I’ve been reading them a lot n decided I want to write one myself. This will be around 40 chapters so be prepared for how long it is. If you have any tips lmk as I’m also new to tumblr! :)

Profiles: ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ II ‘Inazuma Entertainment’

Prologue: New celeb has entered the chat!

Act I: I’m working late, cause I’m a singer

01- Espresso , 02- Excuse me? , 03- FBGM , 04- Don’t get too drunk!, 05- Party O’ Clock ☕️ ,

06- Apologies ☕️ , 07- Hell no , 08- Absolutely not , 09- Investigations , 10- New player ,

Act II: Oh he looks so cute, wrapped around my finger

11- Rumors , 12- Opp central , 13- Ik the law baby ☕️ , 14- Redemption arc? , 15- Down the drain ,

16- Scandal , 17- Choose your pokémon! , 18- Feeling lucky ☕️ , 19- TCAS , 20- Shambles ☕️ ,

Act III: My twisted humor, make him laugh so often

21- Jealously jealousy , 22- Two can play at that game , 23- Get him back! , 24- Bittersweet date , 25- Revealed ,

26- Nobody knows ☕️ , 27- IFHY , 28- Ultimatum , 29- 10k hours , 30- It’s whatever ☕️ ,

Act IV: My honey bee, come and get this pollen

31- No regrets , 32- Flashback mary ☕️ , 33- Get up , 34- You ight ☕️ , 35- Not so bad ,

36- Short n’ spicy , 37- Dress to impress , 38- Please please please , 39- Fire? Flames! , 40- 10 things i hate about you ☕️

[wtfsteveharrington]

Richie - a kiss to convince the other to stay

contains: mentions of sex, ass grabbing, kissing, richie being an old man (affectionately)

"No, Richie. I don't have to work tomorrow and your alarm is going off in -" You peek over his shoulder, squinting at the alarm clock, "Five hours. I wanna sleep in until at least like 10 tomorrow in peace."

Richie makes a mocking sound of wonder. "10? Baby the day is practically over by then." It's so cliche, a groan being pulled deep out of your chest as he teases you. Something only a person of his age would think is funny.

"Richard Jerimovich! I mean it!"

His warm, rough hands are cupping your face as tenderly as he can. Thumbs stroking over your cheekbones while he looks into your eyes, trying to decide what to pull to keep you in bed. "Stay with me."

Not a question, but a statement. You can still see the playful glint in his eye from his poor attempt at teasing and it's driving you crazy. And it's hard to even consider leaving this bed - Your boyfriend sprawled out under you with just a pair of boxes slung low on his waist.

Your resolve was... Weak.

There's a sigh falling from your lips and Richie knows he's winning you over. "Richie..." It comes out as a pathetic little whine against your will. His hands slide down your face, down your arms, all the way down your body until he's gripping the fleshy part of your ass. Dragging your body as close to his as he possibly can.

He's leaning in now, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'll be real quiet in the morning, promise. Get you all tucked in before I go." A kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth, "Keep the lights turned off while I change." Another kiss to the other corner of your mouth, "Keep the blinds closed. Won't even make coffee here. I'll get some on the way in so you don't have to smell it." This time a kiss is gently pressed to your lips with a content hum coming from him.

"Fuck..." It's your turn to lean in as you steal another kiss, dragging your lips against his while you arch your ass back into his touch.

Richie grins against your mouth, giving your ass a playful squeeze. "C'mon, Honey. Just tell me you wanna stay and we'll get all curled up for bed." He knows he has you.

So when you push away from him, sitting up in bed and start to drop the very fake threat of 'No, I should go...' suddenly he's sitting up so fast besides you. A hand on the back of your neck as he pulls you into another kiss with a touch more passion this time. His other hand grabs at your waist as he adjusts the two of you so he can press your back into the mattress while he hovers over you.

He's kneeling between your legs, rocking his hips into yours as he languidly kisses you. Taking his time now that you're pinned under him, just a mess of tongues and needy moans.

You pull back to catch your breath and Richie gets to admire the flush along your cheeks. "Looks pretty cozy down there s'all I'm saying."

"Fuck! Fine! But if you wake me up then you don't get to see me naked for a week and I'm so serious." You could do that... Right? Probably not. But it helps emphasize your point at least.

Richie scoffs, rolling his eyes at your empty threat. "Yeah, sure."

---

He does an excellent job of not waking you up in the morning. Takes a few minutes to appreciate your blissful state while you sleep even. Tucking you in before he goes just like he promised.

And the laugh he lets out at 10:37 AM at your 'Just woke up I've never been happier' text could be heard around the block.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Sano 'Mikey' Manjirou - "While You Count Sheep"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which while your boss naps away on the sofa in his office, you sneak in and take off some of his workload in secret as usual. Or; In which even after years of being the loyal secretary to the head of Bonten, "Mikey", you still find yourself taking on more work than necessary if only to let the man sleep a few more minutes.

                                                                                                   

💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭

The door opens with the near-silent click of the latch sliding back with the turn of the handle. [Name] pauses his movements after taking a single step inside the room; his keen ears picking up the sound of his boss sluggishly shifting about in his sleep. He keeps his body still even after the sound movement ceases; it would be a bother if he were caught. Once he was sure the sleeping man had fallen back into the vice grip of rem sleep, [Name] fully entered the room and softly shut the door behind him before directing his attention toward the large desk in the center of the room.

Letting out a quiet huff, he sat himself in the well-cushioned office chair and lowered its height; making sure to keep a mental note of its original position for when he eventually made his exit. He looked over the various collections of paperwork that held themselves together with paperclips in a medley of colors. The normal clutter that frequently occupied the desk was more organized than usual, which, while slightly reassuring, was also alarming. It was almost as if Mikey had done it on purpose to make it easier for him…

Although, the thought of the majorly depressed, nearly sleepless boss of his knowing about his secretive escapades wasn't all that off-putting now that he thought about it. Mikey was someone who had nearly a sixth sense for danger and [Name] doubted that he would allow himself to sleep when he was unaware of his surroundings. The man had more trust issues than he had seen in anybody in his entire lifetime, but he was sure that it was warranted, even if he had no idea of the snow-white-haired man's past.

[Name] shook his head as he moved on to the next collection of papers, already having completed three while he took an occasional glance at his boss's sleeping form. 

Perhaps, after he had finished a good two-thirds of this paperwork, he would try his hand at finding another healthy recipe that Mikey would like. The panda-eyed man's health was another one of his priorities. Even if it was Sanzu who usually takes care of that, [Name] couldn't help but want to pitch in as well. He was, after all, the second closest person to the head of Bonten out of all of its executives and employees.

“Hm…”  

The quiet slurred hum of the sleeping man to his left drew [Name]’s attention for a moment.

He quietly observed the thin man's relaxed expression with interest. Ghostly pale skin that seemed almost white at times, thin black brows that told of his original hair color, long black lashes that lay atop the apples of his cheeks and deep and heavy bags that hung under his eyes. The man resembled an apparition more than he did a human being.

[Name] huffed once again, eyes trailing back to the task at hand as he made a mental note to ask Sanzu to add Vitamin D supplements to Mikey's list of needed medications. 

As he invested himself into ‘his’ work he only vaguely paid mind to the quickly retreating daylight outside the window and the sluggish but certainly not involuntary movements of the supposedly sleeping man in the corner of his eye. Six piles of paperwork turned into five. Five turned to four. Four to three and three to two; and that was enough for now.

[Name] turned his gaze to the clock that hung above the doorway; 02:37, about six or so hours had passed by in what seemed like seconds. He sighed as he quietly rolled the chair back and stood up; staving off the urge to stretch and pop his joints with the reminder that his boss was still asleep only a couple of feet from him.

His eyes landed on said man and met with a pair of half-lidded, sleepy, abyssal black eyes. He froze, not daring to make even an inch under the near-predatory gaze of the panda-eyed man. Mikey, still half asleep, only stared at him unblinkingly before training his vision on the significantly more organized desk.

“You're done now…?”  

Mikey asked quietly, yet his voice seemed to drown out all of the noise of the outside traffic that poured in from the cracked window.

[Name] only nodded, slowly beginning to move again as he sensed no hostility. He pushed in the office chair and adjusted the height back with one, two, three, and a half pumps of the peddle.

“... tell Sanzu I want dorayaki.”  

The snow-haired man spoke again, adjusting his position on the plush cushions of the sofa and sinking into a relaxed lying position again, the blanket pulled to his chin.

“I'll tell him. I'll see you when you need me again, Sir.”  

[Name] replied, giving a respectful bow and moving to exit the room at a quick but still cautious pace.

As he gently pulled open the door, the quiet voice of Mikey caught his ears again, making him pause in movements.

“[Name]... ”  

He turned his head back to look at his panda-eyed boss, his posture respectful even as the white-haired man wiped the dry bits of crust from the corners of his eyes. How the man who masterminded the movements of Bonten managed to be cute and intimidating at the same time completely baffled him.

“... thank you.”  

Mikey muttered as he flicked his eye crust off somewhere across his room.

[Name] offered a small smile and nod as he exited Mikey's office, quietly closing the door behind him.

It seems that he had been discovered since the beginning. How fun.

💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭•♡•💭

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

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[jburrgf]

Easily.

Don’t you tell me it wasn’t mean to be, call it quits, call it destiny. Just because it won’t come easily, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.

pairing: joe burrow x reader

summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship, reunion, patient x nurse, first love, a lot of fluff

description: after playing with his nephews, joe strained his ankle and ran to the ER. but he didn’t though he was going to meet his childhood best friend there.

—————————————

It was past midnight, the time when the world outside the hospital walls seemed to stand still. Inside, though, it was a different story. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above me as I made my way down the hallway of the ER. My feet ached, the usual dull throb that comes after ten hours on your feet, but it was nothing I wasn’t used to. Nights like this were routine, predictable even, and I had learned to find comfort in the chaos.

I adjusted my stethoscope and glanced at the clock above the nurse’s station—1:37 AM. Still hours to go. The hum of monitors and the occasional beeping of machines filled the space, blending into the background noise I’d grown accustomed to over the years. My shift had been steady, a couple of minor accidents, a handful of routine check-ups, nothing too serious. Until the doors of the ER flew open, and everything changed.

I didn’t look up right away, too focused on updating a patient’s chart, but the sudden rush of voices—urgent, yet not panicked—caught my attention. I turned to see two nurse helping a patient to get on a stretcher, their faces set in calm determination. One of them was giving a brief rundown to the admitting nurse.

“Thirty minutes ago, pickup football game. Possible sprained ankle, maybe a mild concussion, conscious the whole time, though.”

I barely glanced at the patient on the stretcher at first, but then something made me pause. The man lying there was in a football jersey, but it wasn’t the jersey that gave me pause—it was his face. He had one hand pressed against his head, his eyes half-closed in obvious discomfort. But it wasn’t the injury that had my heart skipping a beat. It was him.

Joe Burrow.

The name echoed in my mind before I could stop it. Joe Burrow, Joey, my childhood friend, the boy who lived down the street, the one I used to spend all my summer afternoons with before life drifted us apart. The boy who had grown into one of the NFL’s brightest stars.

And now, apparently, my patient.

I blinked, trying to process the scene in front of me. Joe Burrow, here, in my ER, in the middle of the night, looking very different from the kid I used to race bikes with down the block.

"Y/N, can you take this one?" The nurse's voice broke through my daze, and I nodded, my training kicking in despite the sudden rush of memories swirling in my mind.

I approached the stretcher, my steps slower than usual, my mind still catching up with the present. Joe hadn’t noticed me yet. He was too busy wincing as one of the paramedics adjusted the ice pack on his ankle. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up his chart, scanning it quickly.

“Joe Burrow,” I said softly, almost testing the name out loud to see if it would break the spell of disbelief hanging over me.

At the sound of my voice, his head turned, and for a brief moment, his eyes were unfocused, likely from the mild concussion they suspected. But then his gaze sharpened, recognition flickering in his eyes. He blinked, then squinted, as if trying to place me, and I saw the exact moment it clicked.

“Y/N?” His voice was rough, slightly hoarse from exertion, but there was a hint of surprise there, maybe even something softer—something familiar.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, professional, even though my heart was doing somersaults in my chest. “Looks like you’ve had quite the night.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a small smile despite the pain etched across his face. “You could say that.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the years between us hanging in the air like something tangible. It felt like an eternity since we’d last seen each other, though in reality, it had only been... What, ten years? Maybe more? The boy I remembered was long gone, replaced by the man lying in front of me — taller, broader, more grown-up in every way. But the spark in his eyes was the same, that playful glint that always used to get us into trouble.

I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the lingering sense of nostalgia. “Let’s get you checked out. You said you were playing football?”

“Yeah, with my nephews,” Joe replied, wincing again as he shifted on the stretcher. “Thought I’d show them a few moves, but I guess I got a little too into it.”

“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” I teased, grabbing the clipboard to make notes. “Still trying to prove you’re the toughest one out there?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Some things don’t change.”

As I moved to assess his injury, my hands were steady, but my mind raced with questions. How had he ended up here, in this hospital, on this night? And how had we managed to go so long without crossing paths again? Life had taken us in such different directions, but in this moment, it felt like the universe had pushed us back together.

“Alright,” I said, snapping back to the present. “Let’s take a look at that ankle.”

I knelt down beside the stretcher to examine his ankle. The swelling was already visible, and the skin around it was starting to turn a soft shade of purple. It didn’t seem like anything too serious, but given the hit to his head, he’d probably need to stay overnight for observation. My fingers brushed against his skin as I checked for tenderness, and I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d changed. Stronger, tougher than the lanky boy I remembered, but still the same person, somewhere underneath all that.

“This looks like a sprain,” I said, grabbing an Ace bandage from the tray beside me. “We’ll get you some crutches and probably keep you here for a bit to monitor your head injury. How does your head feel? Any dizziness or nausea?”

He grimaced slightly. “Just a headache. Nothing too bad, though. I’ve had worse hits.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like I should be more worried about your career than this injury.”

His laugh was soft, but it was there. “Maybe, but I think I can survive a game with some six-year-olds.”

I wrapped the bandage around his ankle carefully, trying not to let my hands shake. It was bizarre how easily we fell into conversation, even after all these years. We’d lost so much time, and yet it felt oddly natural to be here with him, even if it was under the fluorescent lights of an emergency room.

Once I finished wrapping his ankle, I stood up and met his eyes again. There was a question in them, unspoken but heavy in the silence that followed.

“So…” Joe began slowly, his voice quieter now, as if we were stepping into more uncertain territory. “How long has it been?”

“Since we last saw each other?” I asked, tilting my head as I thought back. “I don’t know… over ten years, I think.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He shifted his weight slightly, sitting up more on the stretcher. “I meant to stay in touch, you know. Things just got… crazy.”

I could see the apology in his eyes, though he didn’t say the words outright. And I understood. Life had a way of sweeping you up, pulling you in directions you never saw coming. He had his NFL career, the spotlight, the pressure. I had my nursing career, the long hours, the exhaustion that came with it. Still, there was a small part of me that wondered how different things might have been if we’d made more of an effort. If I had.

“Yeah,” I said, offering him a small smile. “Life does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but reflective. We were both thinking about the past, the what-ifs and the roads we didn’t take. But before I could dwell on it too long, Joe spoke up again, breaking the tension.

“You look good,” he said, his tone genuine but light. “Not much has changed. Except the scrubs, maybe.”

I laughed softly, grateful for the shift in conversation. “I could say the same about you. Except maybe… all of this,” I gestured vaguely to him—the athletic build, the worn jersey, the presence that came with someone used to being in the spotlight.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve changed a little,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But you know, underneath all of this, I’m still the same guy who used to lose every bike race to you.”

I smirked. “Oh, I remember. You hated losing.”

“I still do.” His eyes sparkled with that playful glint I recognized so well.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, talking about everything and nothing as I finished up his assessment. It was strange how easy it was, how natural it felt to slip back into the banter we used to share. I’d always liked that about Joe—he made you feel at ease, like no matter how much time passed, nothing between us had really changed.

As I finished updating his chart, the doctor on call came over to check him out, confirming what I’d suspected: Joe would need to stay overnight for observation, just to be safe. I told him I’d come back once I was done with my rounds, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked away.

[…]

Couple hours passed, the usual rhythm of the ER taking over once again. But every now and then, I found my thoughts drifting back to Joe. He was resting in one of the private rooms now, probably bored out of his mind. And for some reason, I felt compelled to check on him, even though I knew he didn’t really need me. It was something about seeing him again—after all this time, after all we’d been through separately—that made me want to stay close, to not let this second chance slip away.

By the time I finally had a break, it was close to 4 AM. The hospital had quieted down, the late-night lull settling in. I made my way back to Joe’s room, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like to admit. I told myself it was just a routine check-up, nothing more. But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

When I pushed open the door, Joe was awake, staring at the ceiling, his expression lost in thought. His head turned at the sound of my entrance, and a small smile crossed his lips when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up slightly. “Back to check on me again?”

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Can’t leave you alone for too long. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N. I mean it.”

I shrugged, trying to keep things light, but there was something about the way he said it that made my chest tighten just a little. “Just doing my job.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to figure something out. “It’s been good seeing you again. I didn’t think I’d run into you like this, but… I’m glad I did.”

“Me too,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. The air between us felt heavier, like there was more to be said, but neither of us knew exactly how to say it.

For a while, we just talked—about life, work, the things that had happened since we last saw each other. Joe opened up about the pressures of being in the NFL, how sometimes it felt like everything was spinning too fast and he couldn’t slow it down. I shared a little about my life too, about how nursing had become my world and how hard it was to balance that with anything else. We were both a little vulnerable, a little raw in the way you could only be when the rest of the world was asleep and you were left with nothing but your thoughts and the quiet of the night.

The conversation between us flowed easily, like slipping back into a comfortable rhythm. There was something about talking to Joe in the middle of the night, the world outside the hospital walls so still, that made the years between us seem to melt away. It was like we were kids again, sitting on the porch steps after a long day of playing outside, just talking about anything and everything.

“So, you stayed in Cincinnati?” Joe asked, shifting on the hospital bed to sit up more comfortably.

I nodded. “Yeah, never really left. Got into nursing school here and stuck around. I like the pace of it. My family’s here, too.”

He smiled softly. “It’s good that you stayed close to them. I’ve missed a lot of that, being away.”

I could hear the hint of longing in his voice, the weight of the sacrifices he’d made for his career. Joe had always been focused, even when we were kids. When he said he was going to be a football player, I believed him because he believed it with his whole heart. But I could see now, in his eyes, that the road had taken a toll.

“You’re always traveling, huh?” I asked, curious.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied. “It’s part of the job, but it gets lonely sometimes. The only time I get back home is for the off-season, and even then, it’s not much.

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. He was living the dream, the one we’d all seen coming, but it was clear there was a price. I hadn’t thought much about that before, what his life must be like now. To everyone else, he was Joe Burrow, NFL star, the guy who won championships. But sitting here, under the soft glow of the hospital room lights, he just seemed like the same boy I used to know—the one who liked backyard football and riding bikes through the neighborhood.

“It’s not easy, is it?” I asked softly, sensing the exhaustion behind his smile. “Being Joe Burrow.”

He looked at me, his eyes locking on mine, and for a moment, I saw something vulnerable there—something real. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as he touched the sore spot on his head.

“It’s not always what people think,” he admitted quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Football’s everything to me. But there’s so much more that comes with it—the pressure, the expectations. Sometimes it feels like I’m always on. Like I can’t just...be.”

His words hung in the air between us, raw and unguarded. I hadn’t expected him to open up like this, but maybe that’s what the night did to people. Maybe it made us feel safe enough to say the things we wouldn’t admit in the daylight.

“I get that,” I said after a beat. “In a different way, I mean. Being a nurse… it’s all-consuming sometimes. I see my family when I can, but I’m always here, always on call. You start to lose parts of yourself, you know?”

Joe nodded, his eyes softening as he listened. “Yeah. It’s like you give so much of yourself to what you do that there’s not much left for anything else.”

I swallowed, realizing how true that was for both of us. We’d grown up chasing different dreams, but somehow, we’d both ended up feeling the same way—exhausted, a little lost, trying to figure out how to balance it all.

Silence fell between us for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that comes when two people are just...understanding each other. No need for words, just a shared recognition of something deeper.

I laughed softly, and the tension between us seemed to ease a little. It was strange how easy it was to be around him again, like no time had passed at all. But there was also something new between us now—something unspoken but very real.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, more serious. “I don’t know if I said that already, but... I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It’s my job, after all.”

Joe shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “No, I mean... thanks for being here. I needed this. More than I realized.”

The quiet of the night wrapped around us, like the world outside had fallen away and left just the two of us in this small, dimly lit room. I sat down on the edge of the chair beside Joe’s bed, my mind still buzzing with everything we’d talked about—the years that had passed, the memories we shared, and the things we’d never said.

I watched him for a moment, noting the way his face softened when he wasn’t wearing that confident, composed mask that the public always saw. He looked more like the boy I used to know, the one who’d always been up for an adventure, always quick with a joke or a grin. But now, there was a weight behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a heaviness that came from carrying the expectations of an entire city on his shoulders.

“How do you do it?” I asked quietly, my voice almost a whisper in the stillness of the room.

Joe’s brow furrowed, and he turned his head to look at me. “Do what?”

“Handle the pressure,” I said, gesturing vaguely to him, to the life he lived now. “Everyone watching you, expecting so much from you all the time. Doesn’t it get overwhelming?”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It does.” His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t used to admitting that to anyone. “I mean, I love the game. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But sometimes, it feels like it’s all moving so fast, and I’m just trying to keep up.”

I nodded, understanding more than I thought I would. It wasn’t the same as the pressures he faced, but I knew what it felt like to be stretched thin, to feel like there was never enough time or energy to meet everyone’s expectations.

“There are moments,” he continued, “when I think back to when we were kids, and everything was just… easier, you know? No pressure, no cameras, no one expecting anything from me except to show up and play. It felt simple back then.”

I smiled at the memory, my mind drifting back to those endless summer days when we’d race our bikes down the street or spend hours at the park, just the two of us against the world. “Yeah, it was simpler. We didn’t have a care in the world.”

Joe looked at me, something softer in his gaze now. “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.”

That caught me off guard. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat at the unexpected confession. “You have?”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve kept up with you a little, here and there, through social media and stuff. But it wasn’t the same. I always wondered what happened—why we lost touch.”

I shifted in my seat, feeling a small pang of guilt. “I wondered the same thing sometimes. Life just got in the way, I guess.”

Joe smiled, but there was a sadness to it. “Yeah. But it’s good to see you now. Even if I had to get knocked out by a bunch of kids to do it.” He was quiet for a moment, like he was working up the courage to say something. Then, his voice dropped even lower, almost like he was afraid to let the words out. “You were… my first love, you know. Back when we were fourteen.”

The room seemed to still completely, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart thudded in my chest. “What?”

Joe met my gaze, his expression open, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen before. “I never told you back then, but you were. I had the biggest crush on you. I was too scared to say anything, though, so I just... never did.”

My mind was reeling, flashes of our time together when we were kids playing in my head—the way he’d always try to impress me, the way he’d get competitive when we played games, the times we’d sit in the park talking about anything and everything. And now, it all made sense.

“Joe…” I started, my voice soft, unsure of what to say. “I had no idea.”

He laughed a little, though there was a hint of nervousness in it. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly smooth back then. I thought maybe you figured it out when I kept challenging you to races just to spend more time with you.”

I laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension between us. “I just thought you really hated losing.”

“I did,” he admitted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I hated the idea of not being around you even more.”

There was something so honest about the way he said it, and it hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. All this time, I’d thought we were just two kids having fun, never realizing that there was more beneath the surface. And now, sitting here with him all these years later, it felt like a door had opened, revealing all the things we hadn’t said back then.

“I used to think about you a lot too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “After you moved away for college, I wondered what would’ve happened if we’d stayed in touch.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the edge of the bed. His touch was warm, grounding, and my breath hitched at the contact.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “But maybe we can find out now.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The air between us felt charged, like the years we’d spent apart had collapsed into this one moment, and everything was suddenly within reach—everything we hadn’t said, everything we hadn’t done.

I looked into his eyes, searching for something—an answer, maybe, or just the courage to let myself feel what I was feeling. And what I felt was undeniable. All those years ago, when we were kids, I hadn’t realized what was growing between us. But now… now I could feel it, and it was as real as the heartbeat thrumming in my chest.

“You really had a crush on me, huh?” I asked, trying to lighten the moment, though my voice wavered slightly.

Joe laughed softly, but there was nothing teasing in his gaze. “Yeah. And maybe I still do. And I know it can sound weird, but I know you don’t have anyone now. So I think it’s ok if I hit on you… I guess.”

The room seemed to shrink around us, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of us. I felt the warmth of his hand against mine, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder what could happen—what this could mean.

The moment hung between us, heavy with everything unsaid. Joe’s hand lingered on mine, his thumb tracing slow circles that sent a warmth through me I hadn’t felt in years. It was surreal, sitting here in the quiet of the hospital room, realizing how much had passed between us, and how much still remained.

“So,” Joe said after a beat, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Maybe it’s time we don’t lose touch again.”

I looked up at him, my heart still racing, a small smile playing on my lips. “What are you saying, Joe?”

He held my gaze, his expression serious but hopeful. “I’m saying… I want to see you again. Outside of this hospital.” His smile grew slightly, a little more of that old playfulness creeping back into his voice. “Maybe when I’m not half-concussed and in a hospital gown.”

I laughed at that, though my stomach fluttered at the idea of it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Yeah,” he said, more confidently this time, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m asking you out, Y/N. I don’t want to miss out on this again. I don’t want to wonder what would’ve happened if we’d given this—us—a real shot.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. There was something so earnest in the way he said it, like he’d been carrying this feeling for a long time. And maybe I had been too. All these years, I’d tucked away those memories, convinced that whatever we could have had was lost in the past. But now, sitting here with him, it felt like the door had opened again.

I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to say yes, but because this felt big. It wasn’t just a casual date—it was a reconnection with the person who had been a part of some of the best years of my life.

“Joe…” I started, unsure of how to put my feelings into words.

He squeezed my hand gently, his eyes soft and understanding. “I know. It’s a lot. But I don’t want to let you slip away again, Y/N. Not this time.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, and then nodded. “Okay. Let’s give it a shot.”

His smile lit up the room, and it sent a rush of warmth through me. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, my own smile widening. “I think we owe it to ourselves to see what happens.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt my heart skip a beat. There was something in the way he was looking at me—something different from how he used to look at me when we were kids. It was deeper now, more intense, like he was seeing me for the first time in a long time, really seeing me.

Before I could say anything, the doctor stepped in, clearing his throat as he entered the room. The moment broke, and I stepped back, letting the doctor check Joe’s vitals one last time. The distraction gave me a moment to breathe, to calm the fluttering in my chest that his words had caused.

“Alright, Joe,” the doctor said after a brief exam. “Everything looks good. You’re clear to go, but take it easy for a few days, alright? No more football with the nephews.”

Joe grinned. “No promises, doc.”

The doctor chuckled, handing me the discharge paperwork. “He’s in your hands now, Nurse Y/N. Make sure he behaves.”

“I’ll try,” I said with a smirk, shooting Joe a playful look.

As the doctor left, I turned back to Joe, holding the paperwork in my hands. “Looks like you’re free to go.”

Joe nodded, though there was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes. “I guess that means you get to help me to my car, too.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at my lips. “Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his ankle wrapped and his movements slow as he tested his balance with the crutches the nurse had given him. I stood by the door, watching as he struggled for a second, clearly still groggy from his head injury.

“Need a hand?” I asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow.

He glanced up at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I’m good, but if you want to help, I’m not going to say no.”

I laughed, stepping forward and looping my arm around his back, steadying him as he got to his feet. His arm draped over my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine, a small reminder of how close we were.

We made our way down the hallway slowly, Joe leaning on me more than he probably needed to, though I didn’t mind. As we stepped outside, the cool morning air greeted us, fresh and quiet, the world still waking up. Joe’s black SUV was parked a few steps away, and I helped him hobble over to the passenger side.

“You really don’t have to help me into the car, you know,” he said, though there was no real protest in his voice.

“Just shut up and let me do my job,” I teased, opening the passenger door and carefully guiding him as he eased himself into the seat. His face tightened in discomfort for a moment as he shifted his injured ankle into the car, but I held onto him, making sure he was steady.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer now, his eyes meeting mine. And for a moment, we just stood there, his hand still on my arm, our faces inches apart. The morning light cast a soft glow over everything, making it feel like we were in our own little world again, like there was nothing between us but the weight of this moment.

Without thinking, I leaned down slightly to help him adjust his seatbelt, and that’s when it happened. His hand slipped from my arm to my waist, his grip firm but gentle, pulling me just a little closer. I froze, my breath catching in my throat, and when I looked up, his eyes were locked on mine, something intense and unspoken passing between us.

Before I could say anything, before I could even think, Joe leaned in, his lips brushing mine in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent, but it was full of everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d been holding onto for years. His hand tightened slightly on my waist, and I could feel the warmth of his body pulling me in.

I kissed him back, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with all the memories of us, of the boy he used to be and the man he was now. And for that moment, nothing else mattered. Just him, just this.

When we finally pulled away, I could feel the flush on my cheeks, the air between us charged with the promise of something more. Joe smiled, that familiar, lopsided grin that made my heart skip a beat.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft but full of that teasing edge, “I guess that was a good start.”

I laughed, trying to steady my breath. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

“About that date…” Joe began, his eyes still locked on mine. “How about tomorrow night? Dinner? Maybe a chance to do this properly?”

I smiled, the excitement bubbling up inside me. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

He grinned, and for a moment, we were just two people who’d finally found their way back to each other, after all these years. As I stepped back, closing the passenger door, I felt lighter, like something had shifted between us—something good.

“Drive safe, Burrow,” I called out, stepping away as he started the engine.

Joe smirked, giving me a mock salute as he pulled out of the parking lot. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And as I watched his SUV disappear down the quiet street, I couldn’t help but smile, feeling like this was only the beginning of something we’d both been waiting for.

——————————

we kinda lost today lol, but I wanted to give this one for you guys. love a fluffy joey in love with his best friend (wishing it was me).

[scum-belina]

When I set my alarm, I don't need to see "alarm set for 4 hours and 37 minutes" I don't need to know all that. Keep that information between the clock app and God.

[bqu1nns]

hello!!! my apologies i know someone requested a q fic that i posted an hour ago BUT i deleted it, not knowing that it would delete the inbox request (im dumb) BUT ITS HERE!!! whoever u are, this is for u lol!

the perspective of where i wrote this from is that you're sal’s youngest sister (maybe 6-7 years younger than him BUT you aren't a minor to brian dont worry!!!!) but he would've never ever imagined you and brian, his best friend, to ever hook up with one another. if he ever found out, he’d probably never talk to either one of you guys ever again. also this is set in 2008 maybe ?? peak tenderloins era. i think … 

brian quinn ☠︎︎ daddy’s girl

1376 words ♡

you awoke from the sound of your doorbell ringing at an ungodly hour. 2:37 am read your clock in bright and blaring red lighting. it made you jump slightly but nonetheless, you took some time to orient yourself, your heart already racing from the sudden interruption. lazily, you got up and started to question… who the HELL could that even be at my door at this hour?

you didn't know anyone that would come up unannounced, hell, your apartment complex wasn't the kind of building to let in strangers to show up, especially in the middle of the night. you grabbed a spare hoodie (brian's hoodie…) throwing it over your tank top as you padded towards the door. 

then, all of a sudden, came a knock. three sharp taps, followed by a familiar, deep voice — one that you could always hear in the back of your mind.

“it’s me. baby please, open up”.

brian fucking quinn.

what was he doing here and why must it be at 2:40 in the morning? you unlock the door, opening it just enough to see him standing there, illuminated by the orange glow of your apartment's hallway. he looked… disheveled. like he woke up on the wrong side of his bed (he did). his hair was messy, like he’d been running it through his hands over and over, black hoodie with a jacket hanging open over it. 

but it was his face that really made you take a second look. his eyes – those stupid, downturnt eyes that were too expressive for his own good– were tired and red-rimmed, as if he hadn't slept for a day or two. 

something stinged in your heart but you broke the silence, “brian?”, you whispered softly, your voice still riddled with sleep and confusion. “what are you doing here?”. 

he let out a shaky breath, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked at you through the crack of the door, “m’sorry angel”, he spoke, low and rough. “i… i know it's late and you should probably be sleeping but i couldnt… i didn't know where else to go except here”. 

in that moment, you swung the door open, letting him in. he hesitated for a second, like he wasn't too sure if he should step inside but as he did, you caught the faint smell of his cologne, familiar and homely in a way that made your chest ache for him. 

“i couldn't stop thinking about you hon”, he said, words almost feeling too frantic and rushed, as if they’d been bottled in for too long. “every time i try to do the right thing and just stay away, it just… it never fuckin’ works. it never works and i never want it to work. but tonight, i just– i couldn't stay away. not in a million years”.

he seemed like he was on the verge of falling apart if you hadn't caught the tears gathering in his eyes. it was too much to take.

“ya think it's easy for me?”, he continued, voice breaking slightly. “i hate sneaking around to see you. i.. we cant even go on dates together and i just hate lying to sal. i hate feeling like im ruining everything. but not seeing you? pretending like you dont matter to me? pretending that the thing that we have is nothing? baby, that's worse. that's so much worse”.

“brian…” you start, but he shakes his head, stepping closer to you. 

“no”, he cuts you off gently. “just…please listen”, his hand at your hip, his thumb tracing a slow pattern against your skin. 

“you're so stubborn, you know that?”, he murmured, his voice soft. “you act like you don't want all this. like you don't need me or that you're fine keeping this… whatever this is… a complete secret. but trust me, i can see right through you baby”.

your breath hitches as he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, his gaze following the movement as if he was trying to memorize every second of it. “every time i touch you”, his voice deep, “you melt. you let me in, even though you're so scared of what might happen if someone found out. but right now? right now, it's just you and me”. 

it’s like you're under his spell. 

“still scared, baby?”, he asked, leaning down just enough that his lips were merely a breath away from yours. 

“no. no i’m not”, you whisper. you tried to sound confident but the tremble in your voice gave it away.

“but brian we shouldn't—”.

“i don’t care”, he says, voice making your heart ache. “you've been driving me insane, baby. do you even know how hard it is to hold back whenever i see you?”.

his lips find your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses all over your skin, each one making it more and more difficult to think. “let me take care of you baby. just tonight. no one has to know, i swear”.

you knew you had to stop this that there were a billion reasons why this was a horrible idea but when his hands gripped your waist and his teeth grazed the sensitive spot on the right side of your neck, every reason just went away. 

your breath hitched, the air between you both feeling impossibly warm. his soft touch was just enough to make you whimper, his hands leading you to the bedroom like he was afraid you might slip away from him forever.

“you don't know how long i've been waiting for this, bri”, you murmured against his skin. “to have you like this— i've been thinking about it for so long and it just seemed impossible..”

“brian..” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky as he got into your bed. you begin to curl his hair with your fingers as he's on top of you. you tug him back up to kiss you but this time, it was so much more slower and deeper, his tongue teasing yours as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

“i love the way you say my name”, he said, soft and low. his fingers trailed your body up and down, leaving goosebumps in its wake. he leaned down and slid his hand between your thighs, his fingers teasing your slick folds. you gasped, your hips lifting off of the bed as you sought more of his touch. he wanted it too, slipping one finger inside of you, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. 

you moaned, your head falling back against a pile of pillows as he worked quicker and quicker. his rings brushed against your inner thighs, the cold metal being a total opposite to the heat of his skin. each thrust sent shivers racing down your body. his fingers stretched you out deliciously, making you arch your back, pressing your hips against his hand 

he rubbed tight circles around your clit with his thumb, plunging it deeper than you ever felt before. the rough texture of his skin and the coolness of his rings made a maddening combination of sensations. your juices flowed freely, coating his fingers while making obscene wet sounds as he worked harder and harder towards your orgasm. 

“look at you, so desperate for my touch”, he growled, breathing heavily. “your pretty little pussy’s grippin’ my fingers so tightly, like she doesn't want to let them go”, he chuckles. 

he curled his fingers rougher inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl and your vision blur. at the same time, he pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger, the cold metal of his rings making you scream out in pleasure. 

you cried out, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed over you. he helped you work through your climax, fingers never stopping until you collapsed back onto the bed, spent and trembling. 

he pulled out his fingers, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean, “fuck, baby, you taste better than i remembered. i could finger this sweet pussy all night long”. 

and you let him show you how good he could make you feel. 

[babyur2nice]

▎night walks with felix

౨ৎ synopsis: you’re stressed out from exams and decide to pay felix a visit.

—————————————————————————

you sigh, tears blurring your vision as you struggle through another problem on your economics homework. no matter how much effort you put in, you can’t seem to make any progress in understanding the material. having been working for the past six hours, you’re also exhausted. with the exam just two days away you’ve scarcely allowed yourself a break to eat, decisions that are now catching up to you as you struggle to focus.

after 10 minutes, you can’t take it anymore. it’s late and you know your body won’t allow you to study anymore, yet you still feel guilty giving in. you close you textbook, the tears starting flow as the stress overtakes your body.

your brain almost immediately jumps to your boyfriend felix, wishing he was there to hold you and tell you that everything would be alright. you glance down at your alarm clock on your desk. 12:37, it reads. you sit with your head in your hands trying to decide whether he’d be awake.

against your better judgement, you take the all too familiar walk downstairs to felix’s room and knock softly on his door, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. you don’t hear anything at first and then you hear rustling and a moment later the door cracks open revealing felix, in nothing more than his blue and white striped pajama pants rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

he looks at you and your puffy eyes, face shifting quickly to express a look of concern. “what’s happened, what’s wrong” he asks, pulling you inside and shutting the door.

“it’s stupid, shouldn’t have woken you up, ‘m sorry” you sniffle, the tears flowing all over again at the fact that you had disturbed his sleep.

“no no, none of that doll” felix says taking your face in his hands, “its not stupid if it’s making you upset, tell me what’s wrong so i can make it better”

another sob shakes your body as felix cringes, hating seeing you in pain, and pulls you into his chest. he places his hand on the back of your head petting your hair gently as you tell him about your exam and the stress you’ve been feeling.

he listens exceptionally well, not interrupting you once as he holds you against his body, letting you expel your frustrations. “im sorry doll” he says when you finish. “im glad you came to me, you needed a break”

you nod against his chest, as you slowly catch your breath.

“let’s go for a walk yeah?” felix asks. “always helps me clear my head”

“don’t you want to go back to sleep?” you ask, guilt once again taking over as you remember that he had been fast asleep prior to your arrival.

“nonsense” he says kissing the top of your head. “im already up, why waste a perfectly good night? here.” he says as he pulls two sweaters out of his closet passing one to you. “put this on, don’t want you to catch a cold out there”

you smile at him gratefully as you pull the sweater over your head. once it’s on, felix reaches down to brush a loose strand of hair out of your eyes. “so pretty” he mumbles almost to himself before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the dorm and into the refreshingly cool night.

“where are we going” you ask.

felix looks down at you with a smile. “somewhere amazing” he says. he leads you across campus and into town, all the while telling jokes and stories meant to lighten your spirit.

“just a bit farther now doll” he grins as he leads you down an alley way. “we’re going to need to climb, can you do that for me?”

you nod and felix smiles at you in return “good girl.”

he beckons you towards the side of a building and the ladder attached to it. “just up here, follow me” he says as he begins to scale the ladder. he reaches the top quickly and helps pull you up after him.

you stand up and look around, letting out a little gasp. you can see everything from up here; your dorm, the pub, the library, the lake and most impressively, the moon.

felix walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “it’s beautiful right? i discovered it last year and have been coming here ever since”

“it’s amazing” you say.

“you’re the first person i’ve ever brought up here” he admits. “it was mine but i suppose it’s ours now” he grins while sitting down.

you sit down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as he continues. “seeing everything from up here always reminds me how small i am, how small my problems are”

he wraps his arm around you, rubbing circles on your back. “you could fail your exam and none of this would change. everything would still be here, we’d both still be here, and i’d still love you. i know you won’t fail of course” he adds with a chuckle.

“felix, thank you” you say, struggling to find words to express just how much he means to you.

“glad i could help doll” he says. “i love you so much, and i promise i’ll help you study tomorrow, yeah?”

you hum in agreement as you press your body closer to felix’s as the two of you look across the town shrouded in moonlight, both knowing that this rooftop would become a sacred space for the both of you.

[sovasleepy]

I missed you

[ gekko x gn!reader ] - when your mission takes a little longer than usual, gekko starts to worry. needless to say, he’s a little happy when you return.

tags: mentions of anxiety, brief mentions of blood and injuries (reader is slightly injured), mostly fluff though. could be considered hurt/comfort if you squint.

notes: requested by anonymous! i hope you enjoy :)

it felt like the clock was mocking him.

it read 9:37 PM, despite the expected arrival time of over an hour ago. something had to have gone on your mission, why else was it taking so long? missions took less time than usual on a regular basis, but never longer. not unless something had gone wrong.

several people were gathered in the hangar, waiting on the arrival of the jet. he wasn’t the only one nervous, apparently, as several kingdom-employed paramedics were already waiting there as well

brimstone was off somewhere, having gotten a call from those that were on the mission. despite the rapid beating of his heart, gekko knew he couldn’t follow. he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers anymore, not that he particularly noticed that right now. he felt as though he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, and with each passing second it only seemed to grow worse.

finally, the door brimstone had left out of opened again. he spoke into his earpiece again, briefly, before the large door to the hangar opened. he could hear the jet distantly.

gekko shot him a worried look. “what’s wrong?”

“had a few run-ins.” brimstone said, but offered the younger a pitied look. “i’m sorry, i can’t tell you more. i didn’t hear anything specific about anyone.”

gekko did his best to swallow back the lump in his throat, eyes flickering over to the sky outside the hangar where he could see the familiar black jet approaching.

the next few moments were a blur. despite his best attempts, he couldn’t see what was happening through the flurry of people running and moving around. he watched as a medic helped breach limp away, another sitting chamber against a wall and studying an injury on his shoulder.

after far too long, he watched you step out from the chaos. there was a cut on your cheek, but it had been half-way cleaned and the only evidence was the small, thin line of red on your skin. dried blood stained your clothing, but your clothes were not ripped.

the blood didn’t belong to you. good.

gekko stepped forward and enveloped you in a hug, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and holding you impossibly close. he inhaled your scent, electing to ignore that it was washed in sweat and blood.

“are you okay? what happened?” he asked. he finally pulled back, just far enough to hold your face in his hands and staring at you, studying your features.

“i’m okay,” you reassure. “some stuff happened, but we’re all okay.”

he nods and pulls you closer to his chest again. you can feel his heart still beating out of his chest from your place snuggled against him.

“let’s go get you cleaned up, alright?”

you nod, happy to change out of the clothes sticking to your body. the blood belonged mostly to chamber, but knowing who it belonged to didn’t make you feel any better about the way it clung to you.

it takes a moment for the two of you to make your way out of the mess of people, finding your way back up to your room. he follows you in, not wanting to take his eyes off of you for a moment.

“i’m gonna go shower, alright?”

he knows you need to, but he can’t help the look of panic that crosses his face for a brief moment. “okay. can i… i can turn around, but can i come with you?”

a laugh bubbles up from, smile painting its way across your face. you agree anyway. “sure, mateo.”

as you step into the bathroom, he’s not far behind you. he smiles at you one more time as you turn on the warm water before turning around to face the now-closed door.

it takes a moment for you to get undressed and step into the shower, but he eventually hears the familiar sound of the shower curtain being shut behind you. with your approval, he turns back around.

he can’t see you through the shower curtain, just moving shadows, but the reassurance that you are there and you alright is enough to calm his still-rampant nerves.

“so… are you okay? nothing too bad happened?” he asks, nervousness lacing his words.

“i am.” you reassure. “i didn’t get to the worst of the fighting. chamber and breach got pretty banged up, i think, but they’re alright too.”

“that’s good.” he hums thoughtfully. his eyes drift down to his hands that are nervously playing with each other. “after you get dressed, can we watch a movie?”

you laugh. “sure, babe.”

the two of you spend the next several minutes in a comfortable silence, listening to the water running in the shower. he hears the water stop, watches as your hand reaches out to grab your towel

“i’m gonna let you get dressed, any preference on a movie?”

“huh? oh, no. whatever you wanna watch is fine.”

he nods and shuts the door of your bathroom behind him, leaving you to get dressed. he makes his way over to your bed, grabbing the TV remote and searching for what he knows to be your favorite movie.

you exit the bathroom a few minutes later, clothes clinging to your still slightly-wet body. you smile at him. “sorry for taking so long, i needed that shower.”

“no worries.” he says.

he leans up to move the blanket on your side of the bed, holding it up for you to crawl into. you do as he seems to be asking, crawling under the blanket and snuggling close to him.

you don’t miss the way his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you close to him. his hold on you seems a bit together than usual today, but you don’t mind it.