#I swear I can draw women from the front

[fruitpiefantasy]

Ousia

Sometimes I just switch Lynette on and off field to watch her do this.

[sugurouge]

— yes, my lady : sebastian michaelis x f!reader

content warnings! reader is a descendant of the phantomhive family, power imbalance (master/servant) but also (human/demon), somewhat monsterfucking if you squint (i wanted to make use of his ‘true form’ a little), smut, size difference, manhandling, praise, pet names (my lady, darling, dear), orgasm control, sacrilege, a tiny bit of blood, topics of loneliness

summary: after another tiresome day out in the world, you are greeted with your recent mistake—sebastian. a hand-me-down from your ancestors that you summoned by chance and who now apparently has a contract with you. yet this modern world, working women, independence, and your awfully bratty attitude are challenges that are entirely new to him. however, he did swear to serve you. so, allow him to take care of his tired "mistress"

wordcount: 5k | my kinktober masterlist

It’s not every day that your job becomes stressful enough to fully tire you out. But today, today was even more draining than you had anticipated. Deep red eyes watch your tired form from across the hallway, raking over your figure as the owner remains quiet. Sebastian hasn't quite understood the fulfillment behind humans working themselves to the bone, nor the desire for young women to eagerly venture out to conquer “corporate,” as you once called it.

Yet, understanding or not, he is sworn to serve you and look after you. You are in his care until the contract is completed.

For this, he steps forward, his touch as sultry and gentle as his voice that welcomes you home. “My Lady,” the demon begins, as strength returns to your figure upon the stabilising hold of his hands on the small of your back while you remove your heels. You meet his smile with a glare from your pretty eyes, still wary of your newly added decor.

“I can handle myself just fine, Sebastian.” Yes, you’re a feisty one. Sebastian has been well aware of that fact since the moment you met. You dislike men staring at you in the street, loathe the forced small talk with them at work, or having to humour one of them when all you want is to be in the safety and comfort of your home. The once safe haven you now share with some sort of butler, or so he proclaimed. Never would you have expected such an outcome from your family’s antiques.

But here you are, the independent woman from before, now with a handsome devil at your beck and call. “You appear particularly exhausted tonight. Why not let me take care of you and help you to a restful night?” Sebastian proposes with gentle calmness to your vervour as his hands return to rest behind his back.

He irritates you. His act of concern for you when all he truly cares for is your soul. The motive is clear, yet he play-pretends to be something you cannot wrap your head around. “And what could you do for me?” you challenge in return, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the tip of your nose lifts a little higher to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Anything you wish,” replies the butler, without a hint of malice in his words. “I would propose running a hot bath, brewing a warm cup of tea, and—” he pauses, clearly having caught himself with an idea you would despise.

The proposal sounds pleasing, almost exactly what you would do if you weren’t feeling too lazy to run a bath for yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Your expression remains unfaltering, almost challenging. “And what? Speak, Sebastian.” The quirk of your brow ticks Sebastian off in just the right way, your confidence and demand a challenge he secretly enjoys.

The distance between your bodies grows smaller, and a gloved hand tips your chin up as red hues draw near. “A massage for your exhausted figure, my Lady.” He drawls the title, a pinch of condescension hidden in his words. You can’t resist the idea of standing on your toes, leaning further into his space to see him shrink away as your lips almost brush Sebastian’s while you speak: “Carry me, Sebastian.”

Yet, he does not shy away. He feels your pulse quicken, hears your heart drumming a beat of bravery, while your sweet lips could offer a relief he hasn’t felt in millennia. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth upon your demand and, without hesitation, you find yourself in his embrace. Knees and shoulders pressed firmly against his body, Sebastian carries you to your bedroom.

He knows tonight won’t be easy on him. Sebastian is well aware of the mischief you try to conceal, to seem more mature than you actually are. But tonight you appear different; tonight, you bring new challenges to your rendezvous once your head finds its rest on his shoulder. The tease of your breath against his neck, your smaller fingers playing with his necktie as you wet your lips. Nothing good comes from those pretty lips, Sebastian notes.

“Sebastian?” How can you suddenly say his name so softly? He looks down to you, the crimson tinge to his eyes making him appear like a starved hunter under the faint lights of the streetlamps and mood lights in your apartment. “The water is already set and at the perfect temperature for the female body.” Of course, he had heard your footsteps from afar and decided that tonight would be perfect for a bath. He is an expert at planning, at being one step ahead of everyone else. That is, until you continue speaking. A simple command, short and to the point, too alluring: “Undress me.”

You need to try harder if you wish to get a rise from him. For now, you find yourself seated on your bathroom counter with a newly found frown adorning your face. It doesn’t suit you, but it entertains Sebastian. “Your wish is my command,” he speaks an octave lower, honey almost dripping from his words before skilled fingers smooth out the fabric of your blouse. Sebastian’s gaze does not meet yours while he unbuttons it; he stays focused on the task without lusting over your exposed skin.

Suddenly, you wish he would want to devour you. The gloved touch that teases your upper body is not enough, yet so close to the fulfilling feeling of desire that you miss.

The clothing item is pushed off your shoulders before his touch ghosts along your waist. “May I continue?” The question is accompanied by one hand held out to you, palm facing up for you to grasp and rise to your feet. In one swift move, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror as Sebastian spins you around to undo the intricate buttons of your skirt you had struggled with this morning—why must designers place them in such difficult spots?

To nobody’s surprise, they are undone as quickly as your blouse, before your silk dress follows suit and pools around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but a tantalising set of underwear—dark red, almost a perfect match to Sebastian’s eyes. You eyes meet through the mirror and you refuse to shy away. No, like the little vixen that you are, you lean forward just enough to expose yourself further to your demon as you pretend to busy yourself by wiping off your lipstick.

It feels humbling to witness his gaze remain unfaltering; Sebastian continues to look into your eyes rather than the places you want his greed to be. “I will prepare your tea now,” he states as business continues as usual before leaving you alone.

A sigh is all you allow yourself as your shoulders slump. You really tried to seduce him. At the thought, you find a smile tugging at your mouth, the lust to be desired something that has been missing for a while now in your life. You know work, you know how to overwork yourself, and you have no time for flings or meaningless encounters. That was when he entered the picture.

Upon Sebastian’s return, he finds you seated in the bathtub; You’ve made sure to keep your hair out of the water and expose your neck, for hungry eyes to appreciate the shein layer of damp on your skin. The plate beneath the teacup meets the ceramic of your bathtub as your widened—nearly pleading—eyes shoot up to challenge his. If only you had acted a second quicker, you would have caught him staring at your cleavage, barely covered by the water and foam.

“Is there anything else you may need?” Sebastian inquires. He hates to admit it, but tonight seems like a greater challenge than he anticipated. How the simple word “You” could weaken a demon of his calibre is something for future Sebastian to concern himself with. Present Sebastian relishes the desire tugging at his stomach, the way you stare at him so submissively. Until you continue speaking: “Massage me, my butler.”

You turn your back to him as he takes his place behind you on the edge of the bathtub. Would you still be so smug if he grabbed your cheeks between his fingertips? If he forced you to look deep into his eyes while coaxing the cutest sounds past your lips? How can you act this way when at night you hump your pillow and beg for more, something better? Yet in the daylight, you behave like a spoiled princess, and he only adds to that imaginary status of yours. How badly he would love to ruin it. One or two more slip-ups, and he might find a loophole in your contract and commands.

To your dismay, gloved hands meet the skin of your neck. “Take them off, Sebastian. Touch me fully.” Your words bounce off the bathroom tiles, and his reply of “Yes, my lady,” echoes back. Shivers elicit along your neck as his skin touches yours, and the strength behind Sebastian’s touch massages the knots and the sorrow from your shoulders.

The moment is sweet enough to let your eyes fall closed, your head resting against Sebastian’s thigh as you sigh a gentle moan of relief. The sound snaps Sebastian’s attention to your face. With your eyes closed, he allows himself a moment to admire your features. Even a demon can admit that some humans are indeed beautiful. Sometimes, that beauty doesn’t surpass their soul, but in your case, there is something so unique about you that captivates Sebastian’s attention and lust.

You catch him staring as your eyes flutter open, the position you find yourself in so vulnerable, with him leaning above you. “Naughty butler…” you tease, and Sebastian wants to wipe that cheeky smirk right off your face. “If you have so much time to stare at me, you might as well wash my body for me.” The disrespectful teasing, as if he were nothing more than a pet, reminds Sebastian of someone else, someone he couldn’t wait to devour many years ago. But what else could he do but make himself useful for now?

In a swift move, Sebastian shrugs off his jacket and pushes up the sleeves of his buttoned shirt before kneeling beside your bathtub. He appears disinterested again, putting on a perfect mask of nonchalance as he runs the washcloth along your shoulders and arms, warming your figure and letting rose-scented water wash the sorrows away.

Until you’ve had enough of this act. Until you grow overly confident as you lean into his proximity: Your fingers lace around Sebastian’s wrist like a personal handcuff, your eyes locking onto his. “Be more thorough, Sebastian. Wash away the filth.” You go as far as to help him run the cloth over your chest. The drag of his nails against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine, and Sebastian watches you attentively, to witness your pupils dilate, the pink tip of your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your noses almost touch. He has never obeyed such a troublesome person before.

You start to bring out the worst in him—something that wants to teach you a lesson, something to remind you how different the roles could be if it weren't for this contract. The washcloth is pushed over your breasts and dips beneath the surface of the water to run along your stomach before being abandoned entirely as Sebastian’s fingers dip into the supple flesh of your thighs. Blunt nails drag along your inner thighs, and he loves to watch the shift in your demeanour; how you grow shy beneath his touch, your stare faltering as he draws dangerously close to your sacred area.

There is no bite to your bark as you cry out his name, your need for him too evident while you try to maintain a pretence. "S-Sebastian!" Finally, you act as your thighs press shut around his hand, panic ever so evident in your pretty eyes he can't stop the devilish smirk from spreading across his features. "My dear, don’t tell me you expect to play with fire and come out unharmed…"

The next moment, your back meets the cold stone as Sebastian races forward, hands placed left and right from your figure on the edge of the bathtub. The impact forces a puff of air to escape your lips as your eyes snap up to meet your butler’s dark pair, searching for a trace of humanity in those pools of crimson. "Behave…" you attempt to regain control, which is met with a chuckle. "I only follow your commands," he challenges as the cloth returns to clean your body. "You wanted me to be thorough, let me be thorough."

However, the lips that crash against the racing pulse in your neck have nothing to do with the command of cleaning your body. Sebastian acts upon his own selfish accord, upon the lust you’ve ignited by teetering too close to the dangerous territories of demonic desires.

And he makes you feel too good as he ravages you, suckling and nipping at your skin until you can't help but moan, your head falling back to offer him more space. You can't even think of a fitting command, the sweet words for him to "Don’t stop, please," a much more natural reaction as his palms cup your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you whimper ever so prettily.

"Who would have thought you could turn into such a sweet darling?" Sebastian teases with whispered words against the shell of your ear, the hum that follows so deep and low it has your stomach fluttering. Your fingers lace between his dark strands, effectively holding him in place as you return to being face-to-face with Sebastian. Shamelessly, you allow yourself to rake your eyes over his sharp features. You've never wanted anything more than him. But the thought evaporates upon the sharp sensation of nails against your waistline and hips, upon the pair of fingers pushing between your folds before rubbing against your clit.

Oh? How willingly you part your legs now, Sebastian muses.

"Is this thorough enough, my lady?" he mocks as his fingertips press against the opening of your pussy, your eager hole giving way slightly as he pushes past. He knows what he’s doing to you. He sees it in the crease of your brow, feels it as your hips buck against his touch. "More, Sebastian, I need more tonight." Like the greedy thing you are, you take it upon yourself to play with your breasts, yet the silent plea in your eyes tells your butler all you want is for him to take care of you.

“Oh dear,” he whispers gently, but smiles victoriously as your moans tumble from your trembling lips when two of his fingers push inside you. "Do you give yourself to me? Allow me full reign, hm?"

The idea sounds great, perfect, until you manage to flutter your heavy eyes open and see the devious apparition in front of you. Sebastian’s eyes are more slanted, set ablaze, deep pink hues now replacing his usual red, with lust overflowing past his thick lashes as pointed teeth hide behind his full lips. Giving yourself to a demon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but the fingers stimulating your gummy spot have you nodding regardless. How lucky you are that you need to use words under these circumstances.

“Darling, tell me,” Sebastian urges as his thrusts become harsher, uncaring for the water or your comfort as your tits bounce and your walls clamp so promisingly. “N-no, no, Sebastian! Just, ah—” you falter as you try your best to stay present, to keep control over this demon while he fingerfucks you. “Think, speak, quickly, little Lady,” he further pressures you. What he wouldn’t give to do with your body whatever he wants. “Just-, just tonight! Sebastian—” the way you moan his name makes you a sinner itself, it should send you to all seven hells as the echoes ring inside his mind. “Look after me, tonight,” you finally manage to cry out as your walls pull in desperate need. “Make me feel good,” your final demand.

But instead of sweet release, you feel the disappointing emptiness as he retracts his fingers, leaving you a heaving mess in your bathtub—only now do you notice how cold the water has turned. “You can ask more nicely than that, my dear.” There is little consideration to be spared for the length of your bath once a strong arm wraps around your waist. Sebastian wastes no time in having you seated on his lap, your wet form drenching his clothing as he spreads your legs over his thighs and presses you flush against his chest. “I will look after you until the day you die,” he whispers into your ear, and maybe if the words weren’t so true and less intimidating, you could consider them romantic.

You notice that Sebastian’s form has returned to fully human, with almost tender eyes meeting yours this time around, turning your desire mellow and seasoned with sweetness. “Kiss me, please.”

He follows suit as your lips crash together a moment later, his palms stabilising your back in his hold. “More…” you breathe. Your fingers reach out to guide one of his hands on your back, between the valley of your tits, down your stomach, until you ultimately buck your hips against his, seeking further friction in desperate need. He tightens his hold on your body, tugging gently at your frame as he leans forward to suck on your wet skin, leaving marks in his wake. A small grin tugs at his lips as a soft whimper escapes you. “What’s wrong?” The whispered question makes goosebumps spread over your skin as the chill of his breath battles with the warmth of your bathroom.

“Want to be ruined by you.” The words that fall past your lips seal your fate. “Please, make me feel good, Sebastian.” You sound so desperate, only a fool would resist. “Taint me,” you shamelessly sigh against his ear, “Let me feel you.”

“Taint you…” he murmurs, halting his movements momentarily to witness you grow impatient before one of his arms holds a firm grip around your waist, restricting your movements as you’re now fully pressed against his chest. “How much more does my little Lady want to be tainted?” His free hand ghosts along your puffy lips, your slick making the drag too easy, too appealing to not draw circles into your clit, only pulling back any time he feels you squirm on his lap. Your little cries are music to Sebastian’s ears. It’s so good, too good, the way his fingers move, almost as if he already knows all your weak spots. “Do you wish to experience bliss only I could give you, and ruin yourself for all eternity?” His questions urge you to wrap your arms around him, to hide your face in the gentle embrace of a monster, as though you’re trying to hide from judgement itself upon your immoral fantasies. “I wish for that, Sebastian.”

No further words are needed, not when your lips convey more as they meet Sebastian's. A kiss so fierce, he may steal the air from your lungs and drag you to hell himself. Teeth pull at your bottom lip unapologetically, his tongue meeting with your own, entwining with another until you taste him. Meanwhile, the familiar stretch of his fingers, accompanied by the filthy squelching of your arousal, threatens to overload your senses. The teasing returns as your lips part to allow Sebastian a front row seat to your desperate play, as his thumb presses into your clit. You really yearn for this orgasm, don’t you? Of course, you do, with how tightly you clench around his digits, pulsing as though you’re trying to keep him inside—as if he couldn’t offer you a much better alternative.

“Let go, my dear, you look so beautiful right now, I want to see you come undone for me.” Sebastian encourages, as his fingers expertly curl against your walls, each time pushing past the limits of what you’re able to take. So you let go, finally, allowing your eyes to shut as your fingers fist the fabric of his dress shirt. He’s never received praise in a prayer-like form, the sighing thank-yous tumbling free between your moans, so unlike the feisty thing you pretend to be. You are adorable. “Very good, my darling, just like that.” Sebastian whispers, as the movements slow down until his fingers still inside you, until the heaving of your chest and the trembling of your thighs calms, and you fall into his embrace.

But much to Sebastian's surprise, and despite his predictions about your exhaustion, you return his previous affections. Your lips kiss along his neck as you undo his necktie, fingertips already so eager to free him from the confines of his clothes, it makes Sebastian wonder who the real glutton between you two is. “My Lady,” he innocently halts your advances as he entwines his fingers with your own, kissing each tip while holding eye contact. “Shouldn’t we proceed to your chambers? I don’t wish to bring needless discomfort upon you—you need your strength to handle me.” At that, you feel his tongue drag along your pointer finger before a final kiss is placed on its tip, while a devious smile returns to Sebastian’s lips. If only you wouldn’t look so adorable each time he teases you. But you are already too far gone to keep up pretences, when you can instead allow someone else to finally be your resolve.

So it's only natural for you to command Sebastian once more. “Bring me to my bed,” you mumble while your arms already lace around his neck. He follows.

Yet it catches you by surprise once you’re simply dropped into your bouncy mattress and sea of pillows. However, in the next moment, you find yourself caged underneath Sebastian. Your hands roam free to undo his dress shirt and shrug it off his figure, allowing your nails to drag over his pearly skin until you reach his pants and finally feel what lies hidden behind the dark fabrics.

You seem in control, until firm hands spread your thighs and Sebastian leans in, to nibble along your inner legs, shining in the moonlight as he dives between your thighs to lap at your cunt, his tongue pushing past the tight ring of your entrance before dragging all over your hot and puffy pussy. He then licks and kisses his way up your stomach, sternum, and nipples, while the surprising satisfaction of his cock—hot, hard, and leaking with pre-cum—coats itself with your juices. He grinds against you until you writhe for more, until his hands find rest on the back of your knees so he can press your legs up against your sides, fully opening you to thrust into you without struggle, without restraint, as lust overcomes him.

You shake your head at the stretch of his girth welcoming your pussy, sweet pleas mixed with whiny complaints escaping your lips without much thought. “‘S too much, Sebastian… can’t…” you admit. The chuckle that follows is devious, before a soft sigh in satisfaction follows as tender lips place an adoring kiss to your cheek. “You will,” Sebastian whispers, followed by the command “Now just surrender to me.” His lips seek out your own once more as he picks up a relentless pace.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red streaks that run deep. You can’t look at anything but him—his strong body on top of yours, the visible strain to his muscles while he ruts into you—until you find yourself once more captivated by his eyes. He almost looks at you lovingly, no hungrily. But Sebastian doesn't just want to consume your soul; no, his desires reach beyond basic greed. He wants to own you, to keep you to himself, to reign over you until your best years are over. You can see it clearly while swimming in crimson. But with the delicious drag of his cock inside your walls, you might just let him. Who would have expected you to be tamed this well by getting fucked?

“Please, please, please,” you exhale as your head lolls from side to side, writhing beneath your very own demon. Oh? You’re quick to beg. Quick to turn desperate, so eager to have more of something that should never have been yours. “Sebastian, Sebastian,” you repeat like a mantra as his hands hold your fragile body, digging into your hips to force you into a perfect arch for Sebastian to ravage your skin. He litters kisses over your chest, laps at your nipples, and drags your hips back down to snap against his while he is guided by gluttony.

“Give yourself to me,” you demand with no trace of shame in your bones, finally giving him a task worthy of your beautiful soul. “Stay with me, be mine…”

You almost feel dizzy with how easily Sebastian hoists you up until you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him to fully sheath his cock inside you, effectively pushing your upper body into your sea of pillows. But in stark contrast to his rather harsh handling of your body, his lips return to press soft kisses along your back. “I am yours if you are mine, my darling.” The words flow like honey before your blood coats Sebastian’s tongue as he breaks the skin, engraving himself on your skin.

Your fingers dig into the cushions, searching for support as you struggle. But the strong arm lacing around your body is all the comfort you will need from now on; his cold touch will soon set you ablaze.

Sebastian is deep inside you, the head of his cock finding your sweet spot almost naturally as he perfectly curves against your velvet walls, hips snapping against your ass with unforeseen fervour. His hands dig into your hips, surely bruising your hip bones for the coming days, but you’ve never felt this good before. Never so full, never as cared for as by the monster that is in love with your soul. You moan his name in delight, making Sebastian proud once you eagerly bounce back into his thrusts.

The husky sounds of pleasure grow clearer as his movements slow down. You feel yourself being further pushed against the mattress, to spread your legs wider and arch deeper, for his penetration to slowly steal your sanity. Who would have expected the pressure of his palm against your stomach would make you clamp around him this much? Moaning, whimpering, pleading as you beg for mercy, trying to tell him it’s too… “Too good, Sebastian, I’m—”

His movements are slow but precise, accentuating the way you desperately clamp around him in an attempt to hold him inside you for eternity. “Yes, fall apart. Let go for me,” Sebastian’s eyes roam over your smaller body beneath him—a sweaty, shaking mess. He will take care of that right after you are done. For now, instead of worrying, his hands grab at your ass almost aggressively, spreading your lower lips even further as he ruts into you.

The high-pitched squeal that escapes your throat when he picks up his pace again serves as a perfect display of your misery. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes as your hips are pushed back to meet Sebastian’s relentless thrusts. “Make me proud, little Lady...” his final demand, with sneaky fingers returning to play with your clit as he hoists you off the bed, holding you tightly against his chest.

You’re fully seated on his cock, entirely engulfed by his embrace and consumed by the demon, just as you bask in the sweet release coursing through your veins. Sebastian allows himself to be lost in your pretty cries and the way your pussy practically drips from both of your orgasms. True to his nature, he watches you like a devil on your shoulder; dark red eyes witnessing your fucked-out expression while the cutest smile illuminates your features.

His lips caress your neck as he whispers, “Do you feel better now?” You hum and let your fingers card through his hair, a tired “I do. Thank you, Sebastian” exchanged from your mouth to his ear.

Swiftly, Sebastian moves to carry you back to your spacious bathtub and lets it refill with warmth. “How about my Lady actually relaxes this time around?”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sturnioz]

♯┆fully introducing. . . shy!chris .ᐟ

shy!chris does have a big mouth, and he likes to boast about all the women that he's fucked with confidence — so why did he turn into a stuttering mess when you finally have him?

"yeah, and like, she was all over me, man — couldn't get enough of me, i swear to god... and then—"

you half-listen as chris boast about his recent hook-up to your shared group of friends, swirling your plastic straw around your drink, hearing the ice clink against the glass in a distant chime. leaning forwards, elbows resting on the table, you take a sip while glancing up at chris, watching as his hands fly through the air, punctuating his words as he tries to paint a vivid picture of his wild night.

the others around the table are completely captivated, their mouths agape, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement. they gasp, laugh, and lean in closer, hanging on his every word. now and then, they playfully slap his back or shoulder, egging him on as he basks in the attention. listen in intently, mouths agape, eyes wide, gasping and laughing at his choice of words, even slapping his back and shoulder as he boasts.

honestly? you find it hard to believe him.

sure, chris is extremely attractive — his messy hair, striking smile, pearly whites, and a charm that easily draws people in. it wouldn't exactly be shocking if he was meeting girls. but the sheer number he claims to get into his bed, and the way he describes the way he fucks, it just doesn't add up.

he always blushes whenever you and the girls in your group wear revealing outfits or bikinis during beach trips, his eyes always darting away as if he's trying to hide from them. that shy, stuttering awkwardness feels worlds apart from the confident persona he projects during these apparent hook-up talks.

"who is she?" you find yourself chiming into the conversation, not missing the way chris' body seems to tense up for a moment before forcing smiling, shaking his head.

"i uh, i don't know. some girl i met at a party. i.. don't remember the names of one-night stands, y'know? doesn't.. doesn't make sense if i do, right?" chris looks around at the others for their approval, and some nod their heads with a hum. "as long as i gave her a good time, which i did, that's all the matters—"

"you went to a party?" the words slip out before you can stop yourself. you know you should ease off, especially if it risks making a complete fool out of him, but you can't stop. "when?"

"like... last weekend, yeah," chris nods, almost as if he's confirming it for himself. you hum softly, and chris fidgets in his seat, turning to face you fully, raising his eyebrow. "do you.. do you not believe me, or somethin'?"

"no, i'm just... curious," you reply with a grin, teeth biting down on the straw in your drink. chris stares at you for a moment, processing your words, before forcing out a laugh that feels a bit strained.

"curious about my sex life?" chris huffs, nudging a friend beside him with a playful elbow. "she wants proof, kid. wants to see how good this dick is—"

"actually, yeah," you cut in, your voice steady. chris freezes up, his eyes widening in surprise as the others at the table gape at you, their expressions a mix of shock and amusement.

you know you should probably stop now, but something inside you urges to push back. you want to challenge him, and playing with his little jab feels like the only way to do that.

you lean back in your seat, arms crossed, a smirk playing on your lips as you continue, "i want to know how great you claim to be in bed."

now, you didn't expect to chris to actually nod his head and go through with it — acting all smug and confident in front of your friends. it was clear he took what you said as a joke, and that irked you a little bit, so you stand up from the table, telling him to leave the diner with you right now. chris is stunned again, blinking rapidly as if he couldn't quite process your sudden demand, and a light blush creeps across his cheeks as he laughs nervously, standing up and following you out.

and what you also didn't expect was for chris to be laid out beneath you, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure and plush lips parted with heavy gasps as you ride him, the blankets bunched loose around your waist. his cock does hit all the right places, and truthfully it feels extremely good, but you're pleased to see how much of a stuttering mess he is as his hands grip your thighs, jumbled words leaving his lips.

"oh ffuuuck.. jus' — ah... shit. l-like that, please. oh god... you're so — this feels — you feel... oh shit shit shit. m'sorry.. not gonna last. god, you're fuckin' amazing."

© STURNIOZ

[solbaby7]

Tripping Over You

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, some typos, sexual tension, clumsy reader, just fluff

summary: Your lack of situational awareness has a certain Shadowsinger stumbling to maintain his patience.

—

If Azriel was being perfectly truthful, he didn’t like you much.

It wasn’t personal but in the time he’d known you, he found you to have an annoyingly bad habit of being completely unaware of your surroundings; always just barely dodging being flayed by some disaster.

Call it bad luck or just plain carelessness but Azriel fucking hated it.

His fingers twitched when he’d caught you in a pile of your own limbs on the kitchen floor, a knife held loosely in your hand and a sheepish smile on your face as if you hadn’t almost just shoved the sharp blade in your neck because you’d been too preoccupied to clean up the little puddles of water you left around. “Give me that,” He grumbles with a scoff, carefully snatching the blade from your hands.

Unintelligible words drip from his tongue and you watch wide-eyed, slowly rising back to your feet as the shadowsinger quickly finished the sandwich you were attempting to make, slicing it four ways with a huff and sliding it in your direction. “Thanks.”

“You need to be more careful.”

More of that went on for weeks.

Short, snappy comments on your inability to step out of bed without the possibility of breaking a bone, soothed over by Azriel just completing whatever task for you. His behavior should’ve deterred you; the deep scowls and gruff voice, the tension in his shoulders that formed when he noticed you in a room—but at least he always noticed.

Always had a hand curling around your arm when you tripped and was the first one to pull you out of the water after wandering off a little too deep. Water soaks your hair, dripping into your eyes and you’re weightless when he tugs you over to the more shallow area, seaweed sinking in your toes. “Why are you even in the water if you can’t swim?”

“I can swim,” It comes out choppy, cheeks red from all the coughing but Azriel can’t help the feeling that burns in his belly when you peer up at him, eyes glittering and full lips quirking at the corners. “Just didn’t realize how far out I’d gotten.”

He looks positively exasperated by your passiveness, chest rising and falling quickly with each breath and you’re no better than any of the other women who dared stare at the spymaster long enough to take in the true expanse of muscle that lies beneath those leathers. Rippling pectorals, biceps that flexed deliciously as he spoke; he’s more animated than you’d ever anticipated, usually offering nothing but perfect silence—or the occasional sarcastic comment towards his brothers. You’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, eyes wandering down his form and he abruptly stops talking when he sees the way your eyes catch down his abdomen, mouth pouty and hair dripping down your shoulders. “Are you even fucking listening?”

“Not really.”

“Unbelievable,” The view when he turns is almost as amazing as the front, perfect dips and ridges of his back and broad shoulders enough to have you forcing your eyes away before you drooled enough to fill the lake three times over. Inky hair shines under the sun, hazel eyes snapping to you over his shoulder and shadows slink out to you in seconds. They push at you, urging you forward until your toes sink in dry sand.

Azriel lets you go ahead first, partially because he wasn’t a hundred percent confident you wouldn’t try going back—but mostly he just wants a better look at the bathing suit you’d slipped into. It’s nothing overtly scandalous but attention drawing all the same, skinny ties and bottoms that show enough to have his fingers twitching with want at his sides. “You’re staring,” Rhys informed, a bare elbow nudging into Azriel’s ribs.

“Because, I just don’t get it,” He’s referring to you, tripping twice over nothing on your return to the girls under the shade, your knees scraped from a tumble and a scarred hand reaches to cup the back of his head when Amren swiftly stabilized you. “How come when Amren finally decides to make friends it’s with fucking Bambi of all people?”

“She’s sweet,” Rhys shrugs, violet eyes regarding you no more than a sister but your beauty was undeniable. “So, she’s a little clumsy—big deal.”

“A little clumsy,” Az repeats, sounding genuinely annoyed and the High Lord can’t push back the growing smirk that tugs on the corners of his mouth. “She’s a liability, she’s going to get herself ki—“ The words die on his tongue, a low sound pulling from his chest when Azriel is forced to send a shadow out to stop you from slicing your fingers clean off with the dagger Mor had handed over to pry open the wine bottle. “Mother above.”

The air was fresh, a cool breeze sifting through quickly drying clothes under the sweltering sun and Rhysand could admit he’d seen his brother through many emotions. Anger, grief, disappointment, happiness—but never such mother hen like attentiveness; hazel eyes tracking your every move like a hawk. “Are you interested in her?”

“Are you insane?”

Rhys shrugged, bare shoulders going golden under the suns rays. “That answer varies depending on who you ask but that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“She’s—“ The words get caught in his throat, muscles tensing under the discomfort that grows under his skin because Azriel hadn’t even thought about that. Sure, he’d been slightly more involved than he’d originally planned but you just kept getting yourself into such trouble; he had no choice but to stay close behind to make sure you stayed safe. “There’s no way—“ Heat begins to warm the top of his ears and the shove he gives is less than gentle. “Oh, fuck you.”

Rhysand doesn’t seem phased, a teasing smile on sharp features and Azriel doesn’t miss the way the High Lord keeps trailing his eyes back to Feyre, her fingers raking through your hair until most of it was braided out of your face and decorated in an assortment of little flowers. You’re soft—a little too sweet and that obliviousness Az always grumbled about was a little noticeable in the way you allowed things to just happen around you. Fey deciding to do your hair, Mor topping off your wine before you’d even gotten halfway through, Nesta snatching at the book you’d had tucked in your bag and her eyes widen when she flips to a random page, a red tinge flushing her cheeks.

But the book shuts too quickly for even Az’s shadows to sneak a peek.

“You’re allowed to be happy you know,” Rhysand doesn’t look; doesn’t even let his voice get too loud in fear that his friend would shut down or disappear and never bring up a single personal thing again. “If you like her then just act on it. Mother knows we all could benefit from a little more happiness.”

There’s a pause and Rhys can’t get a good read on what Azriel’s thinking. “I appreciate that but that’s not what this is. She’s just a danger to herself and others—it’s better I keep an eye on her myself.”

A knowing smile on the Lord of Darkness’ face. “Right, of course.”

—

It only gets worse from there and while Azriel doesn’t catch onto it right away—Rhysand was definitely behind it. Conjuring up wisps of darkness to curl around your ankles and trip you up, forcing the shadowsinger to rush to your aid and somewhere along the way he ditches his sneer for just a soft frown. “Sorry,” You sheepishly allow yourself to be steadied, acutely aware of the large hands splayed at your hips. “I think I’m still a little tired.”

“I bet,” Azriel’s quick to retort, hands slipping away entirely too soon and the ghost of where his touch once was yearned for more. “Heard Amren and Mor have been introducing you to Rhys’ liquor collection.”

At the reminder your hand raises to press to your temple, a low grunt sounding under your breath and he finds your crankiness kind of adorable. “Yeah, they’ve been breaking me in.”

He swallows audibly at the word choice, hazel eyes stealing a glance at you from the very corner of his vision but you make no indication that you were intending being flirtatious—it still doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to his cock. Giant wings bristle behind him and Azriel can’t stop staring at your night clothes; a tiny pair of shorts and an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your legs look soft; bare toes padding against the floor until you’re perched on the stool, eyes still a little hazy with sleep but you don’t make a move to cook anything—not with Azriel around.

He would’ve stopped you if you tried anyway and then he’d start complaining about you not being able to touch the appliances after forgetting to turn the burner off one time—or four.

But, who was really counting?

It’s instinctual the way he grabs for some fruit and a bowl, washing and carefully cutting them; peeling bitter citrus off and leaving the sweet parts before sliding the blow over. “Eat.”

You don’t hesitate though you do sigh softly, feet swinging. “Did Amren hire you to like take care of me or something?”

His brows furrow, confusion growing at the question, at your tone, at the embarrassed expression sinking into such pretty features it makes Azriel’s stomach twist. “No.”

But you only nod, frown still present while you spear at fresh fruit. “Are you sure? I know you’re the High Lords spymaster and Ren told me how you like to keep an eye on things.”

Ren?

Since when did Amren allow nicknames?

“—mentioned how she’s had you look after a few prized possessions for her before.” You seem different to him somehow, more guarded and stern than he’d ever once seen you and it sends a shiver up his spine. Intrigue grows, the picture of you he’d been painting of some scampering baby animal was beginning to seem furthest from the truth with such contained fire behind your tone and suddenly he wonders exactly where Amren even found you.

“I have before, yes.” The kitchen remains silent; probably not for much longer with the steadily rising sun and the smell of hot food beginning to waft in the air as Azriel sauntered about the kitchen—chopping here and adding spices there, cracking an egg or two before cranking the heat up a little higher to cook the potatoes faster. “And no, she didn’t ask me to watch you.”

“Then, why are you here?” You clear your throat, seemingly aware of how it comes off and he can’t resist a smile when you look genuinely confused. “Why are you always here?”

“I’m still not a hundred percent sure about that yet but,” He doesn’t face you when he answers, shoulders stretching out a plain black tee with carefully cut out lines on the back nearly six inches in diameter to make room for the base of his wings. They hover high behind him, flexing and shifting with his arms as he moves and you find yourself a little transfixed—a trained killer preparing you breakfast in his pajamas. “—you looked like you’d been stumbling your way through life for a while,” You’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of care in his voice; hair mussed and pillow lines fading in the left side of his cheek and your eyes catch on the low hang of his sweatpants. “Getting passed off from one hand to the next, just allowing life to happen to you however it came at you and I guess—“ He lets out a deep breath, the words seeming to be a struggle to muster up, to say out loud and you stay quiet in fear of scaring him off. “I suppose I could relate to what that felt like once upon a time and I figured you could benefit from a little support.”

You’re quiet longer than he’d have liked and Az can’t tell if the uptick in your heartbeat is a good thing or not but his shadows urge him to turn—to look. You seem skeptical at first, eyes boring into him so intensely he felt like you were stripping him bare, pulling back his ribs and holding his heart in your hands; judging his character and his choices and the soul that resided somewhere in between.

It’s a struggle to remain calm, the cool disposition that Azriel had thought he’d mastered crumbled to nothing before his very eyes. Scarred hands take their time fixing your plate, piling on the protein and making sure to add the fruit he’d caught you wiggling over the last time.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” Someone’s awake, you can hear their footsteps against the glossy floors and a steaming piece of bacon is pinched between two fingers when you lean over and press a kiss to Azriel’s cheek; just a gentle pressure an inch or two away from his mouth but you might as well have just punched him right in the gut with the way it takes his breath away. “Thank you.” He’s still reeling when you continue, humming in appreciation over your food and his fate is sealing when you smile brightly at him. “You know, you’re not so bad when you aren’t being a prick.”

“Tolerable enough to let me take you out sometime?”

“I’m surprised you know that’s a thing,” You tease over your food, wisps of cool darkness careening through your hair and resting at your thighs like a napping feline. “—considering you’ve taken to just following me everywhere.” There’s a blush burning on the curve of his ears, shadows ghosting past your ear as a distraction and distantly you wonder if Azriel could feel you the way they could. “Tripping me up with these things just to have an excuse to put your hands on me.”

“Wait, I haven’t—“ There’s a smug cough sounding in his brain and the spymaster’s gaze cuts to the corner of the room. A smirking Rhys still shirtless from the night before just lingering in silence, silently urging, mentally pleading with Az to just take this slice of happiness. He sucks in a soft breath, heart thudding against his chest and his voice is barely above a whisper. “If you knew why didn’t you stop me?”

He can smell your conditioner when you turn to face him, palms braced on the stool beneath you and you lean forward, eyes staring up at him and your toes graze at his knees. “Because, I like your attention.” More rustling and the unmistakable sound of Cassian’s booming laugh and you’re jumping off the stool, food finished and plate dropped off in the sink and Azriel can’t help but think that’s the most balanced he’d ever seen you as your hips swish a little on your way out, words thrown over your shoulder before you disappear. “And yes, I would like to go out with you sometime.”

[natailiatulls07]

Hi Ivan you please do teenage reader is Jules bianchi daughter and Charles raised her as he’s her godfather and she’s his pride and joy and grew up basically at the paddock so all the drivers knew her and are like uncles to her and there all wrapped around her finger cause of how sweet she is ( she’s like sunshine ) and can you do them and Charles reaction to her getting her first boyfriend?

Marguerite

Jules Bianchi x Daughter!reader

Charles Leclerc x little sister!reader

Summary - Charles’ little sister, is now dating but that’s not much of a celebration to her brother and the three other drivers

Warnings - swearing in french, probably horrible french translations lmao, Jules Bianchi's death, funeral

A/n - Charles and Y/n aren’t blood related but consider each other brother and sister

Marguerite

-

2015

Front row in Nice Cathedral sat Y/n Bianchi. She was dressed in a lacy black dress, her hair in curls tied up in a half up half down hairstyle. Beside her was Charles Leclerc, her older brother. He kept glancing over at the nine year old girl.

In front of them sat her fathers coffin surrounded with daisies, his favourite flower. It was also what Jules nicknamed Y/n.

'Marguerite'

She was playing with the lace, this isn't the right place for a nine year old to be. Outside were a plethora of media and press, ready to capture the drivers attending the funeral, Jules' coffin or Y/n Bianchi. There was little to no pity for the young girl on this hard for her from the media or press.

"Charlie?" Y/n's small and unsure voice pulled his attention to her. "Who are all these people?" Pointing to the many people attending the funeral around the cathedral, Y/n made a face of confusion.

Charles was quick to look around the cathedral. "They are here to pay their respect to papa...just like us" He took a deep breath, trying to keep composure for the nine year old. "Papa is a very loved and respected man by many"

Y/n knew of the love and respect her father had, but still couldn't understand that. "But they didn't know him like we do?" It was true, these people don't know Jules like his daughter and godson does.

They didn't know that he was doing formula one for Y/n, they didn't know that he was both terrified and proud of Charles for following in his path. They didn't know this stuff, personal stuff.

The Monégasque loved how observant she was, he loved that she could seperate personal love and platonic love. "That's why you don't need to give them anything today, just focus on loving and saying goodbye to papa..." Nodding her head, Y/n listened to Charles' request.

"Focus on papa..."

-

2023

After Jules' death, Charles' practically adopted his daughter. Only a couple months after the funeral, Y/n moved in with Charles. He became her legal guardian.

Y/n, now seventeen years old, was sat at a lunch table with Alex, Charles' current girlfriend and Rebecca, Carlos' current girlfriend. On any race weekend, she would attach herself mostly to the two girls and looked up to them a lot .

"So babes any more news on that boy, what was his name? Tom?" Alex asked curiously. With Charles being Y/n's legal guardian, Alex would take on the role of big sister and would give anything to talk about the seventeen years olds love life.

"Oh my god yeah! Has it moved any more from the dms?" Rebecca would chime in, she was also a great lover of listening about Y/n's love life.

"Well..." Y/n dragged this bit out, seeing how anticipated the two older women were getting. "We've been on a few dates, Charlie doesn't know though"

Both Alex and Rebecca were quick to gasp, drawing the attention of those around them before snickering slightly. "Oh and when I asked what we were, he said that I'm his and he's mine!"

All three females were grinning at that last piece of information and Alex was about to say something when the two ferrari boys had made their arrival at the table. Both dressed in the racing suits, red head to toe.

"What we talking about ladies?" Charles asked excitedly, giving Alex a quick peck on the lips before checking on his adopted sister who was trying her hardest not to laugh.

"Oh nothing! Just asking Y/n how she's finding college at the moment..." The oldest of the ladies, Rebecca, spoke up and quickly covered up their previous conversation with a lie.

Y/n let out a nervous laugh, glad that Rebecca had managed to cover it all up. "Yeah, it um...great at the moment, love it"

She was about to say something else but Charles was quick and swift to step in and essential boost about the girls success in college. "Better than great! Marguerite is at the top of her class, studying media and communication!"

'Marguerite'

It warmed Y/n's heart to know that Charles had carried on her papas legacy.

"Oh wow! Go on Y/n!" The tall spanard celebrated, clearing proud of her success much like his teammate. "Top of the class! You really are a smart lady, you gonna conquer the world!"

The whole table laughed at Carlos’ enthusiasm to praise the seventeen year olds success in her studies.

-

It was two am in the morning, Charles and Alex were asleep in their room however the teenager was not.

No, she was pulling on her Jordans. Wearing a white and baby pink tracksuit, Y/n grabbed her phone before quickly and quietly rushing to the front door of the apartment.

She was going to hang out at Toms house, yet Charles still didn’t know. Also the Monégasque had a curfew for Y/n, two am was much past that curfew by now.

Y/n went to unlock the apartment door but when she accidentally dropped her keys on the hardwood floors, she panicked. The walls are paper thin.

Of course this meant that she had woken up Charles and Alex. “Fuck!” Y/n quietly cursed herself for ruining her plan.

As she went to pick up the keys, the hallway light flickered on. “Y/n? What are you doing up?” It was Charles. “And dressed?”

“C-Charlie…hi” He gave her a confused expression, clearly not oblivious to her nervousness.

“Y/n what’s going on?” Charles asked again, more firm now.

“I um…nothing” Y/n replied to his question horribly, it was evident that she was lying. He held a intimidating glance over the girl, prompting her to open up and spill. “I was sneaking out! I’m sorry Charlie!” She pleaded.

“Where to? A party?”

“No…um my boyfriends house…” She knew it would come out eventually so it was better to rip off the bandaid and fast.

Silence filled the hallway, Charles looked shocked and unsure of how to react whilst Y/n felt ashamed and anxious.

Another voice filled the air, Alex. “How about we all go to bed, yeah? Talk about this in the morning” She waited for the two to nod, Y/n much quicker than Charles but he did still nod. “Y/n, I suggest you text Tom and tell him you can’t come over”

“Okay…” Charles look even more shocked and angry when he realised that Alex must of known about this the whole time.

-

Waking up the next morning, Y/n could hear distant voices from the kitchen. Getting out of bed and making her way to the kitchen, the voices became more identifiable.

There were four, all with various accents. Monégasque, Spanish, British and finally Dutch. That could mean only four people.

As she walked into the kitchen dining room, it was confirmed to Y/n that she had Charles, Carlos, Lando and Max there, all seemingly waiting for her.

"Morning..." It hadn't seemed to click in her mind as to why they were all there staring at her disapprovingly.

It was only when she realised that Alex was not there and the usual bubbily behaviour the men would have was no where to be seen that the penny dropped. "Oh..."

"You wanna tell the guys whats happened?" The sarcastic tone Charles had set the tone for the rest of the conversation. Plus it was bullshit. The Monégasque would have already told them the whole story, it was evident on their faces.

"Go on Y/n, do tell..." The third time world champion pushed.

Looking down, Y/n had now instantly found her acrylic nalls very interesting. "I was sneaking out...and Charles caught me..." The seventeen year old mumbled.

"Where were you sneaking out to?"

"My boyfriends place..." The girl finally looked up and was met once again with disappointed facial expressions. "I'm sorry, I know you like me dating but he's a really sweet guy..." Y/n tried to reason with them but before anyone else could say anything, there was a knock on the front door.

"I'll get it and you." Charles got up from his seat, pointing to Y/n. "You are still not off the hook." He was quick to make his way to the front door whilst Carlos, Max and Lando spoke to Y/n a little bit more, slightly softer now.

However, their conversation was cut short rather quickly when they heard Charles shout. "You got to be fucking kidding me!"

Turns out Tom had decided to come over, expecting only Y/n to be home. So now he was being dragged into the kitchen dining room by his shirts neck line. "Carlos, Max and Lando meet the boyfriend. Go on introduce yourself."

Tom and Y/n locked eyes, his more panicked and hers more guilty. "Charlie come on, let him go! He hasn't done anything wrong!" The twenty six year old did thankfully listen to her, but dropped the boy to the ground in the process.

“Except violate our Marguerites innocent mind” Lando snapped back, truly believing that Y/n’s mind was completely innocent.

The young boys hands went up in defence, smirking slightly. He knew that Y/n was far from innocent. “Oh don’t smirk!” The Spaniard caught Toms smirk, and was not happy about it.

It was Maxs turn to speak again. “Okay okay, right Y/n and Tom sit down on the couch” He demanded.

Listening to the Dutch man, the two seventeen year olds were quick to sit down on the couch. Toms hand unconsciously moved to rest on Y/n’s thigh but drew back to his own lap when he felt the sharp glare from all four of the drivers.

“You explain yourself” Max pointed toward the female.

“Me and Tom met through a mutual friend, we’ve been on a few dates and I love him” A deep crimson blush covered her cheeks. Giggling softly.

It was hard for the drivers to stay annoyed at Tom, they could see how happy this one boy made her.

Happiness is all Charles ever wanted for Y/n especially after losing her father. Happiness was something the Monégasque always deeply prioritised whilst raising his little sister.

“He makes me happy…Charlie please”

That same deep blush covered Toms cheeks, he was still a young and awkward teen. “Oh I didn’t know that…you love me?”

They were like love sick puppies, anyone could tell even if they were blind or deaf. “Yeah of course I do…”

This stumped Charles, Max, Lando and Carlos. They wanted to be angry at Tom but they simply couldn’t. Why? Because it was obvious how happy and loved Y/n felt with Tom.

“Putain!” Cursed Charles. How is he meant to be angry now? “You know, you are really making it hard for us to be angry at you”

Lando nodded in agreement. “Yeah fuck you for that guys”

A smirk cracked through Y/n’s rosey cheeks, well aware of what was happening. She knew full well that they weren’t annoyed at them anymore.

“So does this mean that you approve?” As soon as Y/n asked the question, Tom became confident once again and moved his hand back to her thigh, caressing it slightly.

All the older men just groaned, knowing that they’d just have to endure with the relationship. It was gonna happen eventually, Charles just wished it didn’t come round so soon. “Yes fine, just keep it pg thirteen around us please”

Nodding excitedly, Y/n happily jumped up from the couch before wrapping her arms around Charles hugging him tightly. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

This made him reminisce on when Y/n was younger, hugging was on of her favourite things to, especially with Jules.

Whilst the brother and sister hugged tightly, Tom with his new found confidence also got up. Shaking the hands of the three other drivers.

“You protect her, you hear me.” Carlos warned. Tom was quick in nodding, not wanting to cause any more bad impressions.

And in those moments where Y/ns relationship with Tom could come free, letting them love each other openly and without fear, both Charles and Y/n could feel Jules’ presence.

They could feel how he was looking down on them, protecting them, loving them and being their guardian angel.

Watching over his dear godson and his Marguerite.

Marguerite

-

[januaryembrs]

YOU'RE ALL I EVER WANTED | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [bonus chapter]

Description: The one where you realise you like Spencer.

Length: 6.2k

Warnings: mention of when Penelope got shot, but other than that not much. Mentions of sex + body count though there is NO judgement OR SHAMING. Bugsy could be Bisexual/attracted to women if you choose to read it that way, but you don't have to!

authors note: this little bonus chapter is set the week before Emily 'dies' so right before the final second of Chapter Two. Or you can just read this if you'd like to see two morons dancing around their love for one another. Since I’m uploading today, I realised you needed to read part of this for the next big chapter so that is going to take an extra day or so but it is coming! I hope this satiates the bugspence cravings!!

‘You’re the one, you’re all I ever wanted,

I think I’ll regret this,’

It was warm considering it was one of the last days of Winter, one of the warmest Virginia had in years.

Caseload had been ramped up with the amount of children out on the streets with their friends where any nefarious hands could simply snatch them, or young adults got drunk, or worse, in preparation for Spring Break, their inhibitions lowered to zero making them prime prey. And yet, on a random Saturday at the end of February, the sun peeked out from the dishwater grey clouds, the wind died down, and their phones stayed quiet with the promise of a real day off. 

And how better to spend a day away from their office than to meet their co-workers in the park for a game of soccer. 

“Morgan, quit marking me,” Bugsy yelled, dribbling the ball down the small field they’d commandeered as a pitch, four water bottles stood upright on either end as goal points. But Derek’s laugh was menacing, and she heard his footsteps pounding behind her, advancing on her as if they were kids in a playground, and before long he had swooped in front of her, despite her hand waving out in his direction to shove him away.

Emily was about to call her out for contact, not that she expected her little sister to give a shit, but Derek was too fast for even her where she sat on the side lines with Penelope. The ball went careering away from her, Morgan’s quick feet keeping it under much better control than she’d been able to, even with her hot on his heels, and before long he was shooting to where Aaron stood as goalie, just about rolling it past Hotch’s muscled legs into their goal. 

Derek whooped, Will jogged over from the other end of the pitch to fist bump his team mate as the younger woman huffed, her college jumper and shorts clinging to her sweaty body. 

“Sucks to suck, baby Prentiss,” Morgan jeered, shoving her shoulder lightheartedly when she glared at him, “Guess you owe me that drink, which I will be redeeming at the next convenience-��� 

“It’s easy to win when you’re two hundred pounds of muscle and your opponent is a girl who hasn’t done sport since high school,” She snapped, her expression grumpy as she fingered the hem of her fleecy top. Derek chuckled, Will returning to sit with JJ as Henry climbed over her legs wanting to play with her long strands of honey blonde hair. He shoulder bumped the girl, hoping to perk up her mood, but she shoved him back as hard as she could, not that it did much since she’d said herself she was sort of out of shape compared to his rock hard abs. 

“Oh, come on now, Bug, don’t be like that,” He said, unphased when she damn near threw her whole body against his, trying to even knock him in the slightest off his feet, her face screwed up in annoyance. “Bugsy.” Derek tried again, only for her to ignore him and try even harder. He didn’t so much as flinch, “Bugsy, you’re being unreasonable,”

She huffed, drawing away from him and glancing at him with a scathing glare. “Okay, terminator, you won this time but I swear one day I’m going to make you pay for taking advantage of such a fragile little woman like me,” 

Emily scoffed, handing her sister a water bottle, “Didn’t you take down an unsub alone yesterday? I mean you didn’t even have cuffs until Spencer showed up-”

“Oh, whose side are you on?” Bugsy snarled, downing a gulp of water and walking back over to where Spencer and JJ were relaxing on a picnic blanket, the former laying on his back with a book spread open using only one of his spindle-like hands. 

“Good game?” He mused, trying to hide his smirk when she groaned in response, throwing herself down on the grass beside him. She wrestled her sweater over her head which left her in a band tee, her chest still rising with panting breaths as she lay down to his right, glaring at the clear sky. 

“Remind me to never play him in sport ever again. The man is a Spartan Warrior,” She huffed, barely glimpsing to where JJ chuckled at her defeated expression. 

“Did you know that the Spartans were actually banned from the Olympics for some time for violating the peace treaty between Sparta and Athens? But one of their athletes entered a chariot race pretending to represent Thebes, a city above Athens in Boeotia, and only when he won did he announce his true identity,” Spencer asked, his nose still buried in his book like he was reciting the very same information off the page. Bugsy’s lips quirked in interest. 

“That’s pretty cool,” She murmured, head flicking over to him where he glanced back at her, finally ripping his attention away from his novel. She blinked at him, his ‘boy band’ hair as so affectionately named by their unit chief, swooping over his forehead with a few soft, chocolate curls that she moved to fix almost immediately. 

She missed the way his eyes rounded in puppy love as she did so, a camouflaged smile twitching at his lips, an onset reaction of the butterflies that swarmed his chest. 

“I like your hair like this,” She said, even though she’d told him a dozen times already his new hair was dashing, as she’d put it, “It makes your eyes look really pretty,” 

He cleared his throat, his cheeks heating up because he couldn’t handle his reactions when she was so forward, “Really? I always thought they were the colour of dirt,” 

Her mouth dropped open, and she shuffled up onto her elbows so they were similar heights, “Spencer Reid, you take that back right now,” 

“Wow, the government name. I must be in trouble,” He mused, gaze falling to the grass beneath them, dropping his book into his lap even though he felt her annoyance poking holes in his skull.

“They are not the colour of dirt, I’ve never heard something so ridiculous,” She scoffed, nudging him with the back of her hand in a soft chide and he snickered, looking back up to where she was staring him straight in the muddy hues of his very plain hazel eyes. “They’re like, they’re like-” She tried to come up with an answer, squinting in the soft sunlight that turned the brown shades into liquid honey running off a spoon, her face  leaning towards his to catch a closer look at the exact pigment of them, “They’re like looking up at a forest on a Summer’s morning, you know? Like when you can see every single one of the leaves because of the light,” 

He nodded wordlessly, because no one had ever said something quite so poetic about any part of him before. He fought the urge to look away, wasn’t sure he could even if he tried because for a second they were both in a trance, dissecting the other’s gaze like they were imprinting their colour palettes to memory. 

“Buggy!” Her head whipped away from him as the blonde headed child came running over to her as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. He launched himself at her stomach, and her hands quickly caught him before he could wind her, his cheeks rosy behind his bumble bee pacifier. She giggled as he slid down her side, his knees staining with grass as he reached muddy hands out for her face. 

“Woah, not so fast mister. Who knows where these grubby little paws have been,” She teased, and he laughed behind the plastic sucker, his bluebell eyes a near match of JJ’s blinking over at her. 

Spencer watched her and his godson with besotted eyes, imagining for a split second what she might be like as a mother, if she ever chose to be. He knew she would be soft and yet not lose one drop of the Bugsy playfulness he cherished, just instead parting everything that made her extraordinary onto a mini her. 

He saw it, like a flicker of a dream, like deja vu, a girl with her hair, her skin, her smile; the one that was impish and guilty like she had a secret, giggling behind a ladybug dummy the way Henry was doing when she forced his dirty hands together to clap; “Clap your hands if you smell like fairy farts- Henry!” 

The child laughed harder, so hard his pacifier dropped out his mouth with a little dribble, his milk teeth pearly with and tiny in the sun. His chest seized with giggles, his face turning pink as he panted to catch his breath, “You’re so silly, Buggy,”  

JJ swooped in to grab his dummy, giving his hands a quick once over with a baby wipe and packing the sucker back into his bag. Henry’s gaze quickly slid up his mother’s arm to where she lingered over his pack, and he was eager to make himself comfortable leaning against Bugsy’s stomach, legs stretching out onto the blankets, his shoes brushing against Spencer’s trouser leg. 

“Juice, mama!” He shouted, his little voice sweet knowing just how to wrap everyone around his pinky finger, “Juice and Bi’kits!”

“What do we say, Henry?” Will reminded gently, holding the Ben 10 satchel open while his partner rooted around the bottom of it with a loving smile. 

“Please, juice and bi’kits,” The boy replied politely, his feet knocking together out of excitement when JJ produced two red pouches and animal shaped cookies. Stepping over where Spence lay sprawled out, watching Bugsy idly stroking over the back of his godson’s white blonde curls, JJ handed the two of them a drink and snack each, Bugsy’s eyes flying up to the woman in interest. 

“For me?” She asked dumbly, wondering if she was to give the second helping to the boy once he’d finished his first or if it really was hers.

JJ shrugged, moving back over to sit beside Will where he wrapped a lazy arm around her waist, squeezing her gently, “I always pack extra for the other kids,” 

Bug’s face flattened into something unamused as Henry handed Spencer his juice pouch for him to push the straw in, “I’m twenty six, I’m not a kid,” She grouched, ripping open the packet of biscuits and shoving a lion in her mouth, “God, whoever invented these animal shaped pals is genius. Like, why does everything taste so much better when it looks like a monkey smiling up at me?” 

The three of them chuckled at her, Emily and Penelope starting up a new game of soccer with Hotch and Derek, David reffing from the sideline. Penelope was ofcourse with Morgan, looking a little pale where she stood in goal, as Emily ran at her in full force with the ball skipping between her feet.

Spence handed the drink back to the boy, picking his book back up as the two of them crunched on their goodies happily. 

“Story time, Uncle Spencer,” Henry demanded, pointing to the copy of War and Peace in between bites of a zebra cookie. 

And instead of telling his godson that he would almost certainly hate the complex, adult writing of Leo Tolstoy, Spencer smiled down at him, feeling Bugsy’s eyes roving over his face.

“Yeah, storytime, Uncle Spencer,” She jeered, her elbow getting dirty where it dug into the grass as she rolled onto her side to watch him properly, “Never too early to teach the kids about French invasions,” 

Flicking her a smirk, he cleared his throat theatrically, and pretended to read from his book, “Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White,” 

“That’s a real magic book you got there, Spence,” The woman snickered, and he smiled into the pages, not daring himself to look at the devilish look she had on her face. 

“Chapter One; Before Breakfast,” Spencer ‘read’ clearly, his memory still clear as a bell when his mother had read it to him when he was five, “‘Where’s papa going with that axe?’ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast,” 

Bugsy felt Henry’s head slump against her hip, the boy slurping on his juice pouch happily as she punctured a hole in her own carton to take a sip, the two of them listening intently to Spencer recounting the children’s book to a scary degree of accuracy. 

His slender arms looked good with his sleeves rolled to his elbow, she thought offhandedly, his right elbow taking the brunt of his weight as he leaned on it, the other flicking through the Tolstoy novel as if it were the real thing, his long fingers splayed out on the back of the book to keep it open. His eyes kept darting up over the top of the page to see if they were both still listening, which they were, though Bugsy suspected Henry was starting to get tired as his head felt heavy against her skin. 

Propping her head on her hand, her eyes scanned over the profile of his face. She’d always known he was attractive, ever since she opened her dorm room door at John Hopkins and saw him and Morgan waiting for her. Her stomach twisted thinking about how long ago that seemed, that she couldn’t remember quite what her world had centred around when it had just been her at college; her mother and father were distant as ever, her sister was a stranger that had all but raised her, boys were just a passing face if she ever let them through her door. She’d had her books and maybe two friends, acquaintances would probably be the better term, and her coffee. And that seemed to have been enough, or at least it was enough that she couldn’t outright complain about how lonely she felt.  

And then she met Spencer. And that feeling had disapparated entirely.

Her heart swelled when she looked at him, recounting the beginning of chapter two by now, his forest hues glancing up at Henry’s sleepy, round eyes that watched him in interest. She thought for a moment that whoever his kid was going to be was going to be the luckiest boy in the world. She let herself imagine a boy Henry’s age already devouring books twice his reading age, one with wild, almond curls he’d let grow around his neck like JJ did with Henry’s. She imagined how he would sit him on his lap and let him read the books for himself, so that if he got stuck his dad would be right there to help him behind a proud smile. Spencer; a father. She realised how out of field the thought was before she shook it out of her head, though it had planted itself right in her hypothalamus the second she’d seen the vision of it. 

A small smile twitched at her lips, a warmth in the pit of her stomach flickering as she sipped the juice, giggling when Spencer changed his tone slightly so Henry knew someone new was speaking, seemingly enjoying the book almost as much as his audience was. His eyes snapped to her when he heard her, a devious little smile creeping up his lips like they shared the same thought. She wished she could do this every day, lay on picnic blankets and listen to him read, his voice was heavenly, and she thought she might never get tired of hearing him tell her things. 

Every part of her was consumed when she thought of him like this. It had happened once or twice, like when she’d driven him home from the doctors after they’d cleared his MRI’s, when she’d held his head in her lap on his couch and stroked his scalp, a cold compress over his eyes because his head writhed with a pain he couldn’t squash out. When she’d heard his soft snores as he finally dropped off to sleep and she allowed herself to look at his resting face, perhaps even more angelic than usual, a small indent right between his brows where his expression had been scrunched in discomfort for weeks, one she smoothed over with the soft pad of her thumb. She’d felt something then, like her whole body was full to the brim of him, her chest spasming with a feeling like she was coming down with a cold but one that made her feel good, but she’d brushed it off as seeing him vulnerable and soft compared to the quick as a whip FBI agent she was used to these days. She’d do just about anything for him, anything to make him feel better, anything to just make him happy.

Or when they’d eat breakfast together at his desk, her chair rolled up beside his as they sat together, taking it in turns to do crossword puzzles together because they realised they got competitive when they were allowed to answer all of them at the same time, and Bugsy did not like losing. There had been one morning when they’d descended into madness because they were both trying to write the answers as fast as possible, their hands smashing together over the boxes, her hand shoving his lithe body away as he had called her a cheater through red cheeked laughter. Rossi had confiscated the paper when things had gotten too physical and she’d pulled the lever beneath his chair, lowering his seat quick enough he nearly slipped right out. His coffee spilled all over his desk as his arm flew out to grab his desk, and the sight alone made her laugh so hard she almost peed. He’d pretended to be annoyed at her for all of two minutes as they cleaned up the mess together, but he too had found himself laughing hard enough he was almost in tears because she could barely get two words out without creasing over and holding her stomach in aching barks of noise, the two of them leaning against one another for support. She thought then, if she had breakfast with him every day, whether it be with quizzes or coffee or even a plain bowl of oatmeal, she’d wake up every day happy. 

And she thought it then, her heart swelling fat enough to burst as he looked up at her over the top of the leather binding again. Even in the split second he did so her skin had turned to gooseflesh, like he’d grabbed her at her soul and squeezed her whole being affectionately. And it was like she remembered every time he’d made her feel like that, times she thought of it as the fact a girl who received little to no attention growing up was of course going to revel under the gaze of an attractive man with a heart sweeter than cotton candy, it was just psychology. One big Freudian-slip of nonsense. At least that was what she shoved it off as. 

But looking at him, his hands big enough to grab her face whole, his body long and lithe as he spread out on the blanket, his hair falling so delicately, his tone soft and pandering to the little boy who was dropping off to sleep against her stomach. His whole essence was so Spencer it made her feel at home, like this was what she was created to do, feeling so fulfilled sat with him sipping on a juice pouch as he read to her she could die tomorrow and feel accomplished for only twenty six years. 

She knew in her gut that wasn’t what friends felt for each other; the thought creeping up her spine and over her shoulder like a virus that seized her brain as its own, her expression unwavering as she watched him with adoring eyes. 

She knew it was wrong, but with him she felt worth something. She felt complete. Like she had everything she ever needed, everything she’d ever wanted on the nights loneliness had snuck in and she’d felt like no one would ever understand how the muddied water of her mind worked. 

But he did. He always had. 

And it was like she heard a screech in a track record as it came to a stop, her head working overtime with the thought of it. 

She bit her lip in guilt, as he continued reading, hoping she wouldn’t ever ruin whatever it was that she’d felt, because she might not ever be able to forgive herself if she did. 

–

“It’s over one and below a hundred, and that’s all you’re getting,” Bugsy said with a teasing smile, her fingers resting on the rim of a very sweet Cosmo, as Penelope and Derek sat opposite them, Spencer to her right with a beer on one of the few times she’d ever seen him drink. But it had been a good day, and what would be the harm in topping off the day with a cold beverage, “Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like they meant much,” 

“We know it doesn’t matter, baby Prentiss, we’re just being nosey,” Derek chimed, his fingers wrapped around his own bottle of beer, courtesy of Bugsy which she had paid for with a grumble, a tipsy glint in his dark eyes. 

It was just the four of them this evening. Will and JJ had taken a sleeping Henry home so they could spend some rare time together seeing as their son was entirely knocked out. Hotch had taken Emily home after David had given her a red card for trying to tackle both Aaron and Derek multiple times during their game, because apparently competitiveness ran in the family. He had tried to gently remind her Aaron was also on her team, but had received a glare that would make any agent cower, and Hotch had suggested maybe it would be best if they got her home rather than fill her with alcohol. 

Rossi had excused himself home after hearing the colourful things the oldest Prentiss woman called him in Italian, likely contemplating if she meant any of the threats she was making. 

“Any guy would be lucky to make it to your magic number, honey bee,” Penelope added, her pastel painted lipstick making a cute rim on the straw to her own Margarita, “Or girl! Any girl would be too,”

Bugsy shied away at that, blanking for perhaps the first time because the whole topic of her romantic endeavours was suddenly embarrassing when Spencer was sat right beside her. She had spoken to them before about her college days, and had never once made an effort to hide the fact she knew she had a charm about her that meant she usually could take someone home if she wanted them. 

So why was it suddenly so difficult to admit in front of Spencer? She knew why, she knew why every single one of them suddenly felt miniscule in the grand scheme of things because they hadn’t meant much to her, not when he was sitting boring holes into the side of her head with an unusually tight expression. 

“What does it matter if there were girls, none of them really meant much,” She brushed them off, her face heating up when she finally looked at Spencer, his long fingers picking at the label on his beer with a tight lipped smile.

“We’re just teasing, Bug, there’s nothing wrong with any number you could give us. Besides, I guarantee mine is higher than yours,” Derek reassured, squeezing her wrist gently, his eyes sliding to where Spencer seemed to be trying to avoid all eye contact like he wanted the seat to swallow him whole, “Same with you, Kid, there’s no judgement at this table, we’re all human,” 

“I bet you were a real ladies man by that third doctorate,” Bugsy teased, nudging his shoulder with her own because she hated when he went quiet. 

He looked at her like he was expecting her to be cruel, except she didn’t look it, not one bit, instead she seemed a little skittish, no doubt from having the spotlight on her. “What makes you say that?” 

She bristled, “I mean, come on, Spence, you’re very good looking, you’re the smartest person I know, you’re funny and there’s like not a single bad bone in your entire body,” She said, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of her words the more she spoke. But it was like the cocktail had loosened her lips, had made it seem entirely normal to essentially tell him how lucky a girl would be to date him, how she had thought about all the reasons she would find him a worthy sexual partner. She watched him blush, granting her a flustered smile, and she looked to Penelope desperately for help, “Pen, would you tell him?”

“She has a point, Reid. You are the full package,” Penelope conceded, her smile illuminating the whole bar as she reached over to hold both their hands in hers, “It’s a shame you’re both strongly planted in the friend zone otherwise the four of us could have really been something beautiful,” 

They all chuckled, Bugsy shaking her head and leaning against Spencer’s side when he seemed to ease up, just to remind him she had meant no harm by what she said. In fact, she’d meant entirely the opposite.  

She felt his hand lean under the table to squeeze her knee, because he knew what she was thinking, and she felt herself relax at the feel of his touch. 

“Alright, here’s a question; winner gets a free shot on the next round. What was your worst date?” Morgan poked, noticing how the two youngest agents seemed to scooch towards one another almost as if they hadn’t realised, as if they were working off their own orbit, until they were pressed right up against one another, their elbows brushing against one another, “Doesn’t have to be sexual, could just be bad table manners,” 

“I haven’t really been on a date before,” Spencer tried to weasel his way out of the question, Bugsy’s head whipping to him in surprise, “There was that one time I met that girl Austin for coffee, but that was pretty great,”

She bit her cheek in annoyance. She’d forgotten about Austin, the bartender that she’d told Spencer to go after, because she was so sure that a good looking doctor like him deserved someone kind and attractive like Austin had been. She remembered how she’d seen her ocean blue eyes roving over her friend, how at the time it hadn’t meant much to her, because she couldn’t really blame her for thinking he was hot, how now it stirred something in her tummy that she feared felt like jealousy. 

She dared herself to stop the bombarding thoughts of what ‘pretty great’ entailed exactly, and busied her face by looking to Morgan for his turn. 

“My man,” Derek said with a wicked grin on his face, watching Spencer cower away from the attention though there was something guiltily proud in the smirk that grew on his face that said Spencer was somewhat pleased with his answer. In the scheme of things, he’d gotten lucky, pun intended. The only woman to ever say yes to a date with him had been sweet, even if he’d quickly made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything more with her, and even then she’d been understanding. 

“Your turn, Morgan,” Bugsy reminded, trying to be as cool as possible despite the fact her stomach felt flipped upside down at the sound of a woman she hadn’t thought about in two whole years. She didn’t know what had gotten her so territorial in a matter of seconds, but she hated every moment of it. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know ladies, that someone has in fact put Derek Morgan in his place before,” Derek said, with a clap of his hands, and Bugsy and Penelope shared an amused eye roll. 

“Who knows how big your ego might be if this goddess among women hadn’t acted when she did,” Bugsy drawled, Penelope giggling into her lime wedge as Derek laid a hand on his chest in faux hurt. 

“I’m telling you, I’m a changed man. I tasted my own medicine, Sugar, and it was bitter,” He said melodramatically, and even Spencer shook his head with a laugh, because Derek was a diva when he’d had a few to drink. “We go out to a lovely restaurant, I pay ofcourse, being the gentleman I am, and then we decide to go for some drinks after to round the evening off,”

“Any girl's dream come true,” Penelope jumped in, giggling when Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder, like they were on a date themselves. 

“That was exactly my thoughts, babygirl.” Derek flirted, taking a swig of his beer, “Anyway, I maybe have a little too much of the good stuff, nothing particularly worrying. We’re laughing, we’re vibing, and then we go back to my place,” 

“Here we go, the real good stuff,” Bugsy chimed in, nudging Spencer with her elbow as the two of them snickered like tweedle dum and tweedle dee. “Fifty Shades of Morgan,”

“Pipe down, lover girl,”  Derek barked through laughter, Penelope barely making it through a sip of her own drink without smiling, “So as I was saying, I’m feeling a little worse for wear, she’s a little drunk too, so we move past it, and then we get to my room,”

“Bow chick a wow wow,” Bugsy sang teasingly, to which Spencer chuckled and taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Well, you would think, honey bee, since I am known to the women for my experiences in bed, some may call electric,” Derek slurred, holding her hand gently over the table to which she laughed even harder. 

“Huh, I must have missed that email,” She teased back, taking a long final sip of the dregs of her drink. 

“You wound me,” He replied, shaking his head, and turning to look at Penelope seriously, like he was sat in a confession booth, “So anyway, we’re in my room, about to get jiggy with it, only when I take my boxers off I find my soldier is sort of-” He paused, swallowing and looking at Spencer’s red face where he was trying desperately not to break, “You know. Unable to stand to attention,” 

Bugsy spat her drink across the table, the action alone making Penelope laugh so hard tears sprang to her eyes, the younger girl coughing as she choked on her drink, and Spencer patted her on the back until she reclaimed some composure. 

“Oh, god,” She gasped, her hand thumping her chest as she tried desperately to get a hold of herself in between the loud cries of glee and winding herself, “Derek-”

“Hey, laugh it up, Bug, it worked out alright in the end. Our second date really was electric,” He replied with a smug smile, as the girl finally caught a breath, her lash line watering with tears as she grabbed for some napkins on the table to clear up her mess. 

“If you say so,” She said, her voice croaking as Spencer offered her a sip of his drink to wash her throat out. She took a small mouthful of beer, handing the bottle back to him with a grateful smile, and she tried no to think about the fact that germ wise, they had essentially just kissed. 

“Your turn,” Spencer said, something amused in his eyes as she looked at him somewhat betrayed, “What’s been your worst date?” 

She sighed, wiping beneath her eyes with her sleeve, “If you must know, and because I really do want that shot,”  She started, clearing her throat one final time, “I was seeing this guy in New York over Spring break, Sean something,” 

“Sean something?” Derek asked, “You didn’t know his last name?” 

She shrugged, fighting the urge to crawl into a small ball of embarrassment because surely what Morgan said had set the bar for judgement high, “We didn’t exactly do much talking when we saw each other,” 

Spencer hid his frustration in a fake smile, though one look at his furrowed brow would have given him away instantly. Luckily, they had their eyes on her long enough they didn’t catch a glimpse of his expression. It wasn’t that he would ever think less of her for being with someone else, who wouldn’t want her, but hearing about it made his inside boil with jealousy he didn’t even know he would have ever felt. 

“Anyway. I felt like a change of scenery and my mother was bothering me for a lunch date since she was in New York for the month, so I took him and two of his friends out to Italy for a long weekend,” She went on, ripping up a napkin for something to do while she spoke, and she felt Penelope staring at her agog. 

“You took a casual fling to Italy for a change of scenery?” The bubbly woman asked, her mouth dropped in shock, “Can I sleep with you?” 

Derek laughed, and Spencer went bright red when he jumped to ask the same question though he knew it was entirely coarse. Maybe it was the beer loosening his tongue, or maybe it was the fact he wondered what the two of them sitting in a sunny vineyard like a rich old couple would look like, he wasn’t sure. 

“Play your cards right, Princess,” Bugsy teased, clearing her throat to continue, “Anyway. We’re there for two days and the final evening Sean and I get into a bit of a disagreement over something dumb; I think him and his friends were being too loud and we were getting complaints. Anyway, we kiss and make up for the evening, we go out to a club. We go back to the hotel, get jiggy with it as you put it, and when I woke up the next day, the bastard had taken the bag with all our boarding passes and came back to America with his friends without even waking me up.”

Their mouths fell open, Spencer’s brows shooting into his hairline in worry, “That sounds awful, Bug,”

She shrugged again, messing with the pile of ripped up paper she’d created, “It’s nothing. I spoke the language so I got by okay, and luckily I kept all my cash in my purse so I hitched a ride to the airport and got on the next plane, except the only available one landed me in California so I had to wait for a transfer over to Baltimore. By the time I got back, his roommate said he was with some other girl,”

“What an asshole,” Derek said, shaking his head as he said so, but Bugsy raised her shoulders again. 

“I really know how to pick them,” She said, swirling her lime piece around the bottom of her glass, “Anyway, the hotel staff felt bad for me and gave me a free bottle of Pinot Noir on them so it didn’t work out all bad,” 

Sensing it was somewhat of a sticky subject, Penelope jumped in with her usual wit, “As much as I would love to give you the shot, buttercup, this gal took a bullet on her last bad date so I will be collecting that prize if it’s all the same to you,” She said, her bubbly attitude quickly throwing metaphorical glitter over the subject, collecting Bugsy's empty glass and her own together as her and Morgan moved to shuffle out of the table for another round. 

Bugsy’s eyes widened, “What?” She stopped, and she looked at Spencer to see if they were playing some sort of joke on her only to see him unsurprised, “What!?” 

“I’ll tell you about it some other time, sweet cheeks. Right now I have a tequila, salt and lime with my name written all over it,” Penelope chirped, waltzing up to the bar with her muscle two paces behind her as he drew out his wallet to put down for the next round of drinks. 

“Well, I suddenly feel like an asshole for complaining about being left in a nice hotel alone,” Bugsy said, her head resting on her hand as she looked over at Spencer who ran his finger over the emerald green bottle. 

He snorted, “Tell me about it, I said that my last date went wonderfully,” 

They met eyes in the dark lowlights of the bar and shared an amused grin, like they knew it was cynical for them to laugh except they really did feel like morons for complaining about how bad they had it when Penelope had all but joked about her situation. 

“I am sorry that happened to you, though,” Spencer said, his hand creeping over the leather seat to where hers sat on her thigh, “That must have been really scary. Why didn’t you call Emily?” 

Bugsy’s face tensed, “We weren’t really speaking then, and I knew if I told her or my mother I’d get the same lecture about being irresponsible and careless. I think I thought I’d rather do it alone,” 

Spencer pouted, braving enough to move his hand up to take hers in his own. Maybe it was the second bottle of low percent beer, or maybe it was because she’d flickered with something genuinely saddened when she’d said it, and Spencer thought that in every  instance of her story she’d had little to no one to turn to for help.

She had been alone, and the thought of it crushed him. 

He grabbed her hand, her head snapping to him and praying she didn’t find pity there because she hated that. Except she just saw him, those mossy eyes looking rounder and more lovely than ever when she regarded him. 

“You don’t have to feel alone ever again, you know that right?” He asked earnestly, giving her fingers a little squeeze, and she felt her tummy do that stupid turn all over again. It was like she had an upset stomach except that was a complete antonym of what it was, like her stomach was so unbelievably overjoyed that she could barely even hold it together without wanting to ask him what it was he had done to suddenly turn her into some sort of feral creature for every little movement he made. 

Except there wasn’t just one thing, it was everything about him. Everything. 

She smiled at him, more bashful than she had ever felt for him, and against her own instincts she slipped her fingers in between his own so they had their every digit laced together, and it was suddenly so much bigger than two friends chatting in a bar. 

She knew it then, felt it realer than ever, like a stop sign slapping her clean across the face and shattering every bone in her skull. 

She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it. 

-

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3

@rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover r @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @amortencjja @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @greenvita @busy-buzzing @kitty-kei @universallyblizzardlove @suckstobrlaurie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @splatteredpurplepaint @pieceuvmind

[steddieas-shegoes]

fairy porn crisis

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'bookstore au' wc: 964 rated m cw: dirty talk, implied sexual content tags: bookshop owner eddie, steve is having a sexuality crisis but subtly, flirting, getting together, modern au

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

"Thanks for covering for me, Wayne," Eddie said as he set his bag down behind the front desk, slightly out of breath from running from the bus. "Won't happen again."

"'S alright, son. Everything go okay with the counselor?" Wayne sipped from his mug, probably his fourth or fifth cup of coffee since he opened the shop that morning.

"Yep. Still on track to graduate in May."

Wayne's stipulation when he "sold" the bookshop to Eddie was that he still get his degree as backup. "Bookselling is a dangerous game and I won't have ya strugglin' if somethin' fails."

"Thatta boy," Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. "Been a slow morning. But your favorite customer is in the back."

Eddie felt his face heat up.

"He's not my favorite."

"Sure he isn't." Wayne rolled his eyes. "I'm off to get a beer with Dave. Call if you need me."

Eddie gave him a thumbs up as he checked over his emails, the one thing Wayne was terrible about doing when he was covering the store. There weren't many, never really were on Tuesdays.

He waited for Wayne to leave, the door chiming with his exit.

He jumped up and made his way around the counter, walking towards the back room hastily.

He found Steve sitting on the beanbag placed in the corner, book in his lap, face bright red.

Eddie squinted until he could see what book he was reading and nearly passed out.

His Ring was the first book in a series focused entirely on a group of queer mythical creatures. It was the only book of the series Eddie had read, and he'd only admit it under risk of death.

It wasn't that it wasn't good. It's just that it was basically porn.

And this one in particular focused on two male fairies, one who was gay and one who spent the entire first half of the book having a bisexuality crisis.

Steve was reading it with the prettiest blush on his face.

Steve, who up until this moment, passed as the straightest human being Eddie had ever met.

"Have you gotten to the part where Ereldi has to sit on Brelend's lap for an entire dinner?" Eddie asked.

Steve jumped and slammed the book closed, pushing it under his legs as if Eddie hadn't already called him out. "What are you talking about?"

"Stevie, I'm the last person to judge your reading habits. But I do have to ask why the sudden interest in queer fairy porn? You're usually reading sports memoirs and doing word searches."

In other words, 'are you interested in testing out your sexuality with me? I can pretend to be a mythical being if needed.'

"Just needed a change of scenery?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

Steve's blush deepened, and fuck, Eddie was about to be so unprofessional. Hopefully he wouldn't lose a customer over it, but it was a risk he had to take.

It's just that sometimes Eddie could swear Steve was watching him while he shelved books or swept the front room floors. And sometimes he caught him staring at him during his weekly storytime for kids where he gave out free books and cookies.

And Eddie always wanted to have Steve in his lap.

So.

"I." Steve refused to make eye contact, a sure sign that something was going on. "I just got curious. Heard someone talking about it and wanted to see if they were telling the truth."

"And were they?"

Steve didn't answer, so Eddie decided it was now or never.

"You know," he took a few steps closer to Steve. "I'm not usually one for those books. But there's something about the way they paint a very clear picture of how Ereldi rides Brelend in the forest that just draws me in." Another few steps. "Actually, Ereldi reminds me a bit of you."

Steve visibly gulped.

"But you wouldn't be interested in riding someone would you, Stevie? Prefer women to hop onto your lap and go for a ride?" Eddie's heart was racing.

And then it stopped completely when Steve gave the most unexpected answer he could have possibly given.

"I'd be interested in riding you."

Steve's wide eyes stared back at Eddie, daring him to make a joke, daring him to laugh.

Eddie wouldn't joke or laugh about this. He wasn't wasting this chance.

"Is the forest a requirement or could I go lock the front door and take you upstairs?"

Okay, so he couldn't not make a little joke.

"Forest sounds messy. Upstairs."

"Oh, I plan to make a mess of you regardless of location, sweetheart," Eddie leaned over Steve, foreheads touching, smirk growing as Steve's eyes closed. "Won't even have to get you hard, huh? The book did all the work for me."

Steve tilted his head back, lips puckering, searching for contact from Eddie's.

Eddie pulled away. "I close up in ten. You know the way upstairs?"

Steve's eyes blinked open as he nodded.

God, he was gonna be fun.

"You wanna be a good boy and wait for me up there?" Steve nodded and stood from the chair, wobbling slightly as he tried to gain his balance. "I want you naked in bed when I get up there, got it?"

"Um, I've never-" Steve started.

"Oh, sweetheart. I know. It's written all over you. I'm gonna take real good care of you, though. Better than anything you would read in that book."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah, sugar?"

"I really like you."

Eddie heard what he wasn't saying, knew without a doubt that he had to do this right or risk scaring him away from more than just the store.

"I really like you, too, Stevie." Eddie kissed his cheek. "You're in good hands."

"I know."

[copiiialover]

ৎ୭ — Uncertain Future – ৎ୭

Title: Uncertain Future

Pairing: Park Gyeong Seok / Cho Hyun Ju Synopsis: With Young-mi's death haunting her and an uncertain future ahead, Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok allow themselves to comfort each other. Tags/Possible Warnings: Canon Divergence, One-Shot, Trans Character, Slight Transphobia, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Holding Hands.

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“Round and round. Round and round.

Let’s go around in circle and dance.

We will clap our hands and sing.

We will clap our hands and sing.

Let’s have fun dancing!”

The music echoes through the huge room and the carousel spins again and again as its center lights up before returning to the dim darkness.

“We will go hand in hand

and have fun jumping around.”

Hyun-ju opens the green door and looks at the clock inside. The countdown has almost reached zero, there is no time to waste.

“Young-mi, over here!” she shouts, waving her hand to get her attention, but there is no response from the girl. She just keeps standing there, spinning by the carousel, still and staring blankly. Why doesn't she run to her? Time is about to run out… “Young-mi!” she insists, opting this time to leave the tiny room to go look for her, but the carousel has stopped and a soldier is walking in her direction. The distance seems to shorten, or so she thinks, until a twinge of pain in her chest makes her stop.

“Young-mi!” she sobs in a whisper as she wakes up from that horrible dream, before the pink soldier snatched her life away. The darkness welcomes her and a lump tightens her throat. It was all a dream. “Young-mi…”

Hyun-ju waits for the owner of that name to answer, but there is no response from the empty bed of the shy girl.

Tears slide down her cheeks and she brings her hands to her face, realizing she is covered in a cold sweat. Behind her eyelids she visualizes Young-mi on the floor, begging with a muffled cry for help that never came.

A sob shakes Hyun-ju's body and guilt and helplessness flood her head again, at least until Geum-ja's voice catches her attention. Hyun-ju removes her hands from her face and guides her gaze to the old lady and the pregnant girl standing in front of Gi-hun.

Leaving the fort made to protect them from danger is almost a suicide mission in the hostile environment created by the players, but how can they be deprived of something as necessary as going to the restroom?

“Gi-hun” she calls the player, attracting the attention of the three of them to her. Their silence in her presence reminds her of her face covered in tears. She doesn't want anyone to see her like that. With that in mind she wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. “I can go with them..” she suggests and can almost swear she has felt the relief of both women, who look at Gi-hun for approval.

Gi-hun looks around, then at Hyun-ju. Without objection, the former winner nods. It's no secret to anyone that Gi-hun trusts her blindly after risking her life to save that unfortunate man in the first game.

Geum-ja leads the way to the bathroom, walking fearfully and looking back and forth beside Jun-hee, almost like a pair of deers in a vast forest full of hunters. Hyun-ju follows in their footsteps, aware of the division between the players and how it has turned the place into a battlefield where war could break out in an instant. However, she no longer seems to care.

Is it because of that steely character that led her to her position in the army? She chooses to attribute it to that even though, deep down, she knows that her lack of concern stems from the emptiness that Young-mi's death has left in her. She is no longer afraid of dying. She's known that ever since the carousel stopped for the last time, when instead of running to find another player to survive, she simply stood still. If it weren't for Gyeong-seok, she would already be dead.

“Please, let us go to the bathroom!” Geum-ja pleads, snapping her out of her thoughts and drawing her attention to the door in front of them. A pink soldier stares quietly at them through the window. “I'm an old woman, I can't control my bladder, please!” the old lady insists and Jun-hee seconds her request.

Hyun-ju thinks about pleading along with them, but that's not necessary when the pink soldier opens the door. Hyun-ju watches the two women enter the hallway, but when it's her turn her steps are interrupted by the pink soldier, obstructing her passage with his gun. Hyun-ju expects to hear some stupid rule about the number of people allowed to go to the bathroom, but there is no objection from the soldier.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Geum-ja calls out to the pink soldier, but he doesn't even flinch. “Let her in, she's with us!” The soldier remains still and Hyun-ju finally understands the situation. At what point has she forgotten that only a couple of people in that place see her as the woman she is? A tired sigh leaves her lips.

“It’s okay, don't worry” she asks the old lady, forcing herself to smile in an attempt to convince the woman that it doesn't affect her, although deep down she relives again the pain she felt when she was called a pervert the first time she tried to enter a women's restroom. At least the soldier is forced to remain silent. “Please go. I'll be here when you get back, okay?”

Geum-ja looks at her sadly, almost as if she really understands the pain that simple action can cause to someone like her. Hyun-ju just thinks about what it would be like to have a mother like her and be loved in the same way that woman loves her son.

When Geum-ja and Jun-hee disappear from her sight, Hyun-ju has no choice but to start her way to the men's room. She thinks about going back to bed since she doesn't really feel like going to the bathroom, but she knows she can't leave Geum-ja and Jun-hee alone. The possibility of being alone for at least a moment is the only incentive to go on her way.

As she opens the door and looks inside, she can't help but wish for the first time in her life that those horrible urinals were the only thing welcoming her instead of that pair of jerks.

“Hey, what are you looking at, huh? Do you miss yours?” Thanos asks her, grabbing his dick over his sweatpants. Nam-gyu laughs, shoving Min-su between them with his shoulder as an invitation to join in their glee. The poor boy is shaking from head to toe.

Hyun-ju is repulsed by them for making her remember her time in the army and the cruelty of some of her fellow soldiers to those they considered weaker or inferior. She knows that confronting them is not a problem, but she doesn't want to do it. They are not worth it and she is so tired. To her good fortune and relief, from one of the cubicles emerges Hwang In-ho, who needs only one look and a stony silence to force Thanos and his lapdog to abandon Min-su and leave, but not before passing by Hyun-ju and trying to intimidate her without any success.

Hyun-ju and In-ho look at each other for a moment, but there is no exchange of words between them, just a brief nod from Hyun-ju as some kind of silent pact between them. Not that she's really grateful to him, but any help in a place like that is welcome. A moment later, just as he appears, In-ho leaves without a word.

Silence fills the air and Hyun-ju feels a knot in her stomach as the music of that hellish game begins to echo in her head again. Will she ever forget it? Not having an answer makes the crying threaten to return, but she doesn't let it. In an attempt to distract her mind, she lets the water flow into the sink and cradles some in her hands to wash her face. She looks in the mirror and a frazzled reflection stares back at her; it is as if she has aged ten years in a single night. No, not one night; barely a couple of hours after....

“Unnie...”

Her lips tremble and the cry bursts out of her, forcing her to back up against the wall of one of the cubicles as her legs threaten to give way and make her fall. She slides against the wall to the floor and folds her legs against her chest, hugging herself in an attempt to gain some comfort. Her body shakes with each sob and once again she wishes she had been the one to die in that game, but even the greatest of wishes won't bring Young-mi back.

She hides her face against her knees and allows herself to cry, until a warm hand rests on her shoulder. All the alarms in her go off and she reflexively grabs the wrist of the one in front of her.

“G-Gyeong-seok?” she asks, staring at him. The man looks back at her in surprise, but makes no attempt to break free from her grip. “I'm sorry...” she mumbles, releasing him and feeling embarrassed by her reaction when Gyeong-seok rubs his wrist.

“I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry…” he apologizes. How could he blame her for a reaction like that in a place where you're just another number piling up to a big prize. “Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern.

Hyun-ju nods and is grateful that Gyeong-seok keeps enough distance to make her feel safe and comforted at the same time. Though his presence has never really felt like a possible threat.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, though the question seems silly being in a bathroom.

“I went to look for you in your bed, but you weren't there…” he reveals, sitting down next to her against the wall. “Gi-hun told me you were here.”

Hyun-ju just nods even though that doesn't quite answer her question.

“Why were you looking for me?” she asks, looking at the man's profile and that soft but noticeable smile as he tilts his head, as if he's suddenly embarrassed for some reason.

“I wanted to make sure you're okay, and…” he pauses, then looks at Hyun-ju. “...I guess I thought you'd like to have someone to talk to.”

For the first time since they returned to the dorm, Hyun-ju allows herself to smile softly.

“Thank you, but I'm afraid I don't really have much to say right now…” she admits even though she's lying, but what's the point of reliving that nightmare over and over again.

Gyeong-seok nods and remains silent, leaning back against the wall. Hyun-ju wishes she could stay there, enjoying the company of someone else who isn't looking to end her life, but maybe Geum-ja and Jun-hee are already waiting for her to return.

“Hyun-ju…” Gyeong-seok's voice breaks the peaceful silence, attracting her attention. “I know we hardly know each other but... can I ask you a favor?”

Hyun-ju looks at him in bewilderment. It's true that all they know about each other are their respective names, but he has saved her life twice. It's only fair to reciprocate in some way.

“Of course…”

“I have a little girl who is waiting for me out there,” Gyeong-seok murmurs, but pauses again, as if wondering whether he should continue or not. “She has leukemia and… She will die if I don't pay for her treatment...” His voice breaks as he says it and Hyun-ju feels his pain in every word.

At first she hesitates to do so. She doesn't know Gyeong-seok well enough, but at that moment there are no words that can offer any comfort. Therefore, with the present fear of the rejection she has received on so many occasions, Hyun-ju rests her hand on his and squeezes it gently.

To the former military woman's surprise, Gyeong-seok looks at her hand and holds it tightly. He looks into her eyes and Hyun-ju can see the gratitude in his gaze.

“I know I won't get out of here alive...” he murmurs and this time his eyes fill with tears. “But I know you will. I know you will…”

“Gyeong-seok...” she interrupts him, feeling her heart constrict. “I don't…”

“Please, just…” he takes her hand in his and pleads: “Just visit her and tell her... Tell her that I love her and that she's been the best thing that ever happened to me…”

Hyun-ju can't help but bring her hand to his face and brush away his tears.

“I'll do what I can... I... I'll do what I can…” she promises, caressing his cheek and allowing herself to enjoy the mutual comfort they give each other when he places his hand over hers on his cheek.

“She's going to be so happy when she sees you,” he murmurs, puzzling Hyun-ju. “She always asked me when I would marry a beautiful woman to walk together in the park like everyone else....”

Hyun-ju feels the heat rise in her cheeks even though she knows it's just a kind comment from him. After all, Geum-ja didn't lie when she said he's like a prince. However, that gesture of kindness takes on a new meaning when Hyun-ju feels a warm caress on the back of her hand.

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, until Gyeong-seok leans closer carefully, giving her a chance to pull away if that's what she wants. Hyun-ju remains in place, closing her eyes only when the distance between them is null and Gyeong-seok's lips meet hers.

It's a chaste kiss, almost a simple brush of lips, but it's enough to make her feel a shiver run through her body. They look at each other and this time there is no hesitation. Their lips meet once more in a slow kiss that escalates to a needy kiss in an instant, with both of them seeking that warm contact they both seem to desire so much.

Hyun-ju slips her fingers through Gyeong-seok's hair and he grabs her waist, pulling her closer to him and seeping his hand underneath her shirt. His warm, gentle touch on Hyun-ju's skin makes her moan softly against his lips and she wishes she had more; she wants to feel Gyeong-seok's hands all over her body, but the loud banging against the door forces them apart.

“Players one hundred and twenty and two hundred and forty-six, go back to the dormitory!” exclaims the pink soldier on the other side of the door.

Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok look at each other as they are dragged back to that reality of an uncertain future. Their hearts pound against each other's chests and they regret having met in that place.

Against their mutual desire, they both stand up and walk towards the door, but Hyun-ju grabs his hand to stop him. He looks at the union of their hands, then at her.

“Gyeong-seok, don't die out there, please...” she begs. He looks into her eyes and a fleeting sadness shadows his face. They both know that a promise is useless in a place like that.

“Then let's stay together and survive...” Gyeong-seok replies, allowing himself to kiss her one last time. “I want to draw your beautiful face when we get out of here, Hyun-ju.

She blushes and nods, and with that last promise they leave the bathroom. Geum-ja and Jun-hee greet them in the hallway and Hyun-ju can't help but smile when the older woman betrays her excitement by hugging them.

“Oh, you two look so cute together! Don't you think so, Jun-hee?” she exclaims, to which the girl only nods.

Hyun-ju blushes even more and, to her surprise, Gyeong-seok takes her hand to start the walk back to the dorm.

One more day of life is uncertain and they know it, but at that moment, with both of them lying on the same bed and holding hands, they allow themselves to believe in the possibility of surviving and getting out of there together.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ✧ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

Please consider leaving a comment here or on the original fanfic posted on AO3:

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig. 

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head. 

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” 

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers. 

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?” 

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes. 

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary. 

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target. 

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you. 

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building. 

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report. 

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied. 

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you. 

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. 

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled. 

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you. 

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised. 

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up. 

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend. 

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head. 

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away. 

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom. 

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet. 

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. 

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—” 

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library. 

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented. 

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them. 

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room. 

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression. 

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it. 

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged. 

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you. 

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?” 

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light. 

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death. 

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up. 

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” 

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest. 

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly. 

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her. 

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them. 

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?” 

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” 

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.” 

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors. 

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you. 

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match. 

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother. 

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar. 

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it. 

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly. 

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face. 

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—” 

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother. 

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you. 

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands. 

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand. 

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked. 

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?” 

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now. 

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean. 

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded. 

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time. 

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

[miniwheat77]

Anger. (141 x Reader.)

!cheating, violence, blood, guns, military talk, 141 is there for reader during hardship. NO MINORS!

*not edited*

Your hands shake violently as you sit on your couch.

You’re waiting for him to come home, you’ve got every bit of proof you need sitting in front of you.

You hear his car pull in the driveway, and you gather everything off of the table. Holding it in your hands. You hear his car beep as he locks it. The door opens and he steps inside, freezing when he sees you sitting there. The TV is off which is unusual. “Uh.. hey.” He says, confused.

“Come sit down.” You entwine your fingers together, resting your elbows on your knees. “Is.. everything okay?”

“Just sit down.” You sigh. You’re surprised when he listens. He sits down in the chair off to your right. You slide the hoop earrings from beside you and lay them out on the coffee table in front of you. “Who’s are those?” You ask. “I think they’re my sisters.”

You nod your head. Standing up. “Than I suppose these are hers too?” You raise the panties up, setting them down near the hoops. He stands up too. He knows he’s caught by this point, but hopes he can still weasel his way out of this. “Cause that’s pretty weird. But I’d get it, if I hadn’t found this too.” You throw down the burner phone. The one he’d been using to contact other women while you’ve been out on deployment. He’d been meeting up with random women for months now.

He’s quiet. “Y/N. Listen to me-“ he makes a move to touch you. You raise your shirt up, flashing him the pistol that lies in your waistband. “You come near me and I swear to god I’ll shoot you.” He takes a deep breath. Stepping back.

“Get out.” You cross your arms.

“Y/N. No. We need to talk about this!”

“There is absolutely nothing to talk about. I’m gonna get out of the lease, I’m moving out. Your name isn’t on it anyways, so get your shit and go. You have 10 minutes.” You sit down. He looks down. Knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He gathers all of his stuff which isn’t much and as he’s passing the couch, he tries to start but you don’t acknowledge him.

The door opens and a girl walks inside, and you can feel the rage starting to boil inside you. “Who is that?” You turn to him. “Why do you care?” She makes her way inside closer, seemingly to help him carry his stuff out. “Looks like I’m your replacement.” She smiles. “Oh yeah? You’re proud of being a home wrecker?” You stand up. He can see you’re getting stiff, taking a step closer with your fists balled at your sides. A clear sign that if she doesn’t back off she’s going to leave in an ambulance. “Hey, come on. Don’t.” He tugs her back. “Nah, she’s stupid.”

“Oh, I’m stupid.” You laugh. “I’m not fighting over a cheater, he’s all fucking yours sweetheart.” You laugh.

“But you better remember who’s house you’re in.” You stand tall. “I don’t care.” She moves closer, getting into your face. Her nose is nearly touching yours.

“Hey! I said don’t!” He goes to pull her back. That’s when she takes a swing at you.

She hits you right in the nose and you take a step back, holding onto it. You can feel it starting to drip down your face. You wipe it off, seeing the blood on your hands. The hair on your body stands up. Maybe it’s what you’ve seen in the military triggering you. But she’s a threat. And threats get neutralized.

You lunge at her, taking a swing.

Training in the military means you pack a punch. You knock her back onto the ground and climb on top of her. You get a few good hits in, deciding you were done. You stand up, giving her a good kick to the ribs before drawing your pistol from your waistband and pointing it at your now ex-boyfriend. “You’re fucking stupid for bringing her here.” His hands are raised up in surrender.

He’s genuinely scared that you’re going to shoot him. “Get her and all of your shit. And if I hear one word, one fucking thing. You’ll both leave here in body bags.” You point the gun at her. Seeing tears start to stream from her eyes. “GO!” You scream. They both scramble, picking up his bags and leaving. You pace back and fourth, setting your gun down on the coffee table. You turn to the side. Taking a deep breath. You’ve trained to be in stressful situations. You kill people and watch innocent people die every day and you can’t take this.

You swipe everything off of the shelf by your tv. Destroying any and everything in your wake in your fit of rage. Your knuckles are bloodied and you’re sure you’ve got glass in them from the tv by the time you’re done. You slide your gun back into your waistband and hurry outside. Lifting your phone up. Your hands shake violently as you look for your captains contact. He would know what to do. He always did.

“Y/N?” He asks. “Hey.”

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” He asks.

“Uh.. well.” You laugh. Holding back the pain that seeps through your every pore. “Not really. Is it okay if I come back to base? I won’t need that week off after all.”

“I’ll see you in 10 sergeant.” He sighs. He could hear the pain in your voice. You can’t hide it from someone like him.

“Everything okay?”

The other 4 members of the task force sit around the oak table in the conference room. “No. Something happened. She’s on her way back to base.”

“Shit. I hope she’s okay.”

“She’s fine. She’s a fucking brick wall. Probably just that scumbag she’s with.”

You don’t think to clean up. Your upper lip and around your mouth have blood around it from the hit you took. Your knuckles are busted and bruised. You’re sure you look like shit. You speed to the base, you shouldn’t but you needed to get there. The only people you could even handle anymore are them. Your family. The only family you’ve ever had that give a shit about you.

After identifying yourself on base, you pull into the parking lot. Parking where you usually do. Next to Johnny’s truck. You lock your car up and make your way inside. You don’t know what awaits you. You don’t know what they’ll say or if you can even keep it together.

“Hey.” A voice drags you out of your thoughts. It’s Laswell.

“They’re waiting for you in the conference room sweetheart.” She smiles sympathetically. “Thank you Kate.” You smile. Your heart aches in your chest.

She would talk more, but she knows who you’re after. Your bothers.

You open the door and step inside, closing it behind yourself. “Shit- you okay?” Gaz stands up immediately. Soap follows suit. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Price beats him to it and he steps closer, tilting your face to get a good look at your nose. “It’s not broken but it’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch for a while.” He mumbles. “Did he do this?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Start talking.” He pushes you further up with his hand in your lower back. Helping you sit down in a chair. You sigh. He disappears out the door for a second, coming back with a washcloth. He washes the blood from your nose first, moving to your knuckles. It takes you a few minutes before you can talk without breaking down.

“I.. got home before he did. Found a phone on my coffee table.” You sigh. “It was.. a burner phone. He’d been using it for the last few months to meet up with other women online.” You look down. “Jesus.” Soap mumbles.

“Asshole.” Gaz groans.

“Prick from the start.” Ghost rolls his eyes.

All of their commentary makes you laugh. “I told him to pack his shit. He had a girl come help him move his shit and she sucker punched me. So I.. I guess I blacked out. I was on top of her, got a couple hits in. And than I-“ you freeze up, “I just told them to leave and they left.” You flinch slightly as he picks a piece of glass from your knuckle. “But.. maybe it’d be a good idea that someone keeps this for a couple days.” You tug your gun from your waistband, setting it down on the table.

Soap laughs. “I’ll keep it safe for ya lass.” He slides it closer to him. “Why do you say that?”

“Ah, it’s how I made em leave.” You mumble, looking down. Captain Price nods his head.

He nods his head to the door. “Boys, a minute?” He asks. The three of them stand up. Each patting you on the shoulder as they exit.

John licks his lips, he’s got your knuckles cleaned up. They need some bandaging but you’ll be alright. “You gonna be okay?” He asks. You nod your head. “Yeah, I’ll be alright.” You look down at your hands. “I’m gonna have to stop myself and the others. To not go track him down and disappear him.” He laughs. “I wouldn’t stop you.” You laugh. “Things haven’t been good. Obviously. I took a week off to see if we’d be able to work things out. Take some time to work on our stupid relationship and that backfired like a motherfucker.” You laugh. John shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you.. but that’s why none of us are in a relationship. Relationships and the military just don’t mix. I think just about every single one of us have been in your situation.” He sighs. You nod your head. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.” You laugh.

The room settles into a comfortable silence.

You break it.

“Something weird happened to me.” You mumble.

“Hm?”

“When she hit me, my nose started bleeding. And I wiped it off. When I seen I had blood on my hands.. my brain just got foggy. And I blacked out. Couldn’t control myself.” You look confused.

“It’s probably just the aftermath of our last mission. It was a pretty tough one on all of us. You know?” You nod your head. “It’s hard to adjust back to the real world when you’ve been out on the battlefield. You know how it goes. You’ll be alright though. The strongest girl I know.” He rests his hand on your knee. “Thank you Captain.”

“Hey, this is 141 we’re talking about. We got you, nothing to worry about. And this hardship, it’ll pass. Just like it always does. Your wounds will heal. Physical and Mental. You’ll be alright.” You nod your head. “I think you should get some rest for now, sweetheart. Get those bandaged up and head on to your room.” He pats your thigh. You smile, standing up. “Bloody knuckles and a broken heart aren’t good enough to get out of drills either, see you in the morning.”

“6am sharp Captain.”

“Good girl.”

[adnauseum11]

Non- Mission Essential (John Price x Reader)

John owes Kate a dinner and makes good on his promise. You are introduced to people from John's work life.

3k words

CW: swearing

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog

The restaurant is based off a real one that exists elsewhere in the world. It's a sumptuous affair so it's sprawled over two chapters.

If it wasn't clear that I grew up before cell phones, this chapter should solidify that. I'm roughly the same vintage as John and can confirm life before caller ID and knowing who is calling.

Feedback welcome!

The evening is lit up by streetlamps by the time you arrive at the Chop House for dinner, the cold air heavy with threatening snow. The sidewalks gleam wet under the streetlamps and headlights of the passing traffic. John looks dapper in a dark grey three-piece suit, the tie and handkerchief patterned with a deep green that compliments your dress. You had smugly assumed John would be the problem tonight, his gaze heating every time he caught a glimpse of velvet stretched over your curves as you got ready.

He had been preoccupied with getting himself dressed so he had missed your initial lingerie selection, a strapless bra and no panties – the dress too tight for anything else without showing lines. Not much escapes the big man’s notice but you are thankful that seems to have flown under his radar, although with his inclination to be handsy with you, you wonder how long your luck will hold. As it turns out, however, the tailored lines of his suit keep drawing your eye, distracting you completely. His broad shoulders fill out the jacket like it was molded to his measurements with exacting precision. He’s caught you out twice so far, not paying attention at all to what he’s saying, wrapped up in fantasies that glaze over your eyes. The second time he smiled deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gently jolted you out of your X-rated daydream to put your high heels on. You’re wearing a long black pea coat over your dress, the velvet doing a decent job of keeping your legs warm as you step out into the cool night air.

You share a secret smile with him when he helps you out of the car, the valet waiting for the door to close behind you before taking the car to be parked. You have butterflies in your stomach, wanting to make a good impression on these women. John spoke highly of both of them, although he’s only worked with Kate. His presence is soothing, an anchor to your tumultuous anxieties. You run your hand over the front of his jacket, unnecessarily smoothing his lapels down, letting your eyes wander over the material wrapped around his deltoid.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that-”

John’s voice is pitched low, for your ears only, but he gets cut off by someone calling his name. You’re slightly disappointed you don’t get to hear the rest of the threat, John’s hand landing low on your back, steering you forward.

“Kate. Michelle.”

A pair of women step towards you, one dirty blonde with shorter hair and the other slightly taller, wearing her dark, thick, curly hair slicked back, gathered into a high bun at the top of her head. It creates a halo effect, framing her face beautifully. John greets them both with brief hugs before introducing you first to Kate, the blond, and then her wife, Michelle. Kate has no jewellery aside from a wedding ring that you can see, but Michelle has golden hoop earrings that complement her honey skin and her matching wedding ring. As John advised earlier you forgo air kisses for shaking hands with them both, Kate’s grip is firm where Michelle’s is gentle.  

“Shall we?”

Kate asks, her accent not as twangy as you had anticipated. John leads the way, holding the door open for your group as you file in behind him. You hand your coat over to the attendant at the coat room, waiting for the rest of the group to do the same. Kate is wearing a suit herself, a dark blue with black silk lining the slim lapels and a crisp black button-down shirt. Michelle is wearing a retro off the shoulder A-line cocktail dress, thick pleats of navy-blue fabric gathered around the waist of the skirt creating a classic feminine silhouette. A chunky gold necklace matches her earrings and catches the subdued lighting.

“Oh, I love your dress!”

Michelle says as she turns to rejoin you after handing over her own coat. You feel heat crawl over your cheeks, shooting a look at John before thanking her and telling her you were just admiring hers. John looks smug, and his hand resettles on your lower back, sparking the low simmering desire in your belly. A part of you knows you will never be able to wear this dress again without thinking of him, buried deep inside you and telling you he thought of you wearing it when he was alone, off working somewhere in the world. John’s warm hand stays on your lower back, a tactile reminder of those recent erotic memories until you reach your table, when he pulls your chair out for you.

The restaurant is styled in classic old-world opulence, the wingback chairs wrapped in leather and the table tops made of marbled quartz.  Kate repeats the gesture for Michelle, pulling out the chair opposite yours for her to sit. John and Kate exchange a look you don’t understand before taking their own seats. John sits beside you, looking like the cat that got the cream. Kate notices as well.

“You’re looking well John.”

John looks up from the drink menu, casting an assessing eye over Kate before responding.

“Been resting up at home the last few days. Are you looking forward to getting home soon, Michelle?”

John redirects the conversation, and you smile to yourself. You know better, his definition of ‘resting’ in this context broad enough to include making dinner every night and doling out regular toe-curling orgasms.     

“The townhome Kate’s work puts us up in when we’re here is starting to feel like home. It’s the weather I can’t get used to. This wet cold is the worst.”

Both Kate and John make sounds of agreement, but you’ve never been anywhere with any other type of cold. Isn’t snow just frozen water?

“What’s a dry cold? How is that better?”

You venture and John turns to answer but Kate beats him to it.

“A wet cold means you have to dry out first before you can warm up. Dry cold doesn’t have the moisture in the air.”

“Doesn’t get in to your bones in the same way, love.”

John adds. Kate’s face softens for a brief moment before she carries on. Her delivery style is no-nonsense but kind.

“You only really get dry cold in places with low precipitation.”

You already know better than to ask how they know this, assuming it’s something learned first-hand. You’re realizing, not for the first time, that there is a significant part of John’s life that you aren’t privy to. Silently you wonder if Michelle is equally left in the dark about her wife’s work life.

“Is it a dry cold where you live then?”

“Washington gets its fair share of precipitation but it’s nothing compared to this country. It’s a good thing the rental comes with umbrellas ‘cause we didn’t pack any.”

Michelle answers you, and you smile at her quip, agreeing that they’re more necessity than accessory here. The waiter stops by, delivering the menus and water. John looks at you for your drink order so you don’t have to raise your voice across the table and you ask for a glass of full-bodied red, letting John choose on your behalf. Kate notices everything, her vigilance reminding you somewhat of John’s inability to relax in crowded spaces. John orders himself a single malt whiskey and your glass of wine and Kate orders a gin and tonic but Michelle sticks to water which elicits a remark from John.

“Rough night last night?”

“No, we have a Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Trying to keep the system primed. Want it to take this time. As much as I love our semi-regular jaunts across the pond, I’m ready to sit a few out.”

“You complain about not having direct access to Gregg’s sausage rolls when we’re home for longer than two weeks.” Kate deadpans, unconvinced by her wife’s statement.  

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, that’s exciting.”

John ignores Kate, and Michelle rewards his discernment with a smile. He turns to you and explains the doctor in question is a fertility doctor which crystalizes your understanding of the conversation.

“That’s very exciting! Congratulations, I hope it works out for you tomorrow. You must have a generous boss to let you travel as much as it sounds like you do.”

Michelle grins, her excitement palpable.

“Thank you, I’m nervous but looking forward to it. As far as bosses go, I own my own consulting business; I do environmental data analysis so I can work from anywhere and generate my reports. I have some university students who work in placements doing the data collecting and then we assimilate it and generate a report.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!”

“Yes, and varied, each project is a new challenge. I love it.”

“She’s highly sought after in the area, there are a lot of National Parks nearby. A lot of businesses have to do impact studies if they’re operating in or near the parks.”

Kate clarifies for you, pride bleeding into her tone.

“Well, that’s lovely, built in clientele. Is that how you two met?”

Michelle tips her head back and laughs as her wife turns slightly red, but smirks nonetheless.

“No, we met in a bar in Annapolis, her boyfriend at the time was being an asshole and I de-escalated the situation.”

Kate supplies, and you suspect that’s not entirely true given Michelle’s bout of laughter. Once she’s calmed herself, she colours in Kate’s bare bones explanation.

“I was dating a man who had a delicate ego-“

Kate scoffs but holds her tongue when Michelle shoots her a look.

“-and he didn’t like that I was thinking of quitting my job at the time to start this business. He didn’t think I could make a go of it and was going to blow my life savings. Kate listened to him berate me for about ten minutes at the bar before she brought her beer over and joined us, without asking, and proceeded to counter every negative thing that man said with a potential positive. You should have seen his face. She talked me up so much I ended up leaving the bar with her that night and broke up with him the next day. I’d never dated a woman before but the confidence was so sexy, I was like a deer in the headlights. Couldn’t look away. Still can’t.”

“Aw! that’s the definition of sweeping you off your feet-“

Kate changes the topic you before you can comment any further, clearly uncomfortable with being the object of praise.

“So, how did you and John meet?”

“Oh, nothing as romantic as that. John was mates with a boy I was seeing at the time.”

It’s John’s turn to scoff but unlike Kate he doesn’t hold his tongue, adding his two cents to the story.

“Boy is right, his mouth was writing cheques his ass couldn’t cash.”

“John.”

You admonish gently, more to keep him from getting worked up about something that happened over two decades ago than anything. He sits back, gesturing for you to continue as the waiter returns with the drinks. You wait until John requests some more time with the menus before continuing, taking your wine out of his outstretched hand smoothly as you speak.

“John found out his mate had been harassing me after we broke up. Following me home from school. Waiting for me outside shops, not taking no for an answer when I told him to leave me alone. Repeatedly calling my home and asking for me even after I told him I was done. Making my life a general hell. John caught him bullying me on the way home one day after he got back from basic training. He’d been hanging around waiting for his mates to let out from school and watched my ex badger me down the lane. John got into a fist fight with him about it. Broke his cheekbone. The ass left me alone after that but John gave me his number in case he started following me around again and we stayed in touch after that.”

John sips his whiskey, seemingly satisfied with your version of events. Kate is clearly not, however.

“How come you weren’t charged with assault? None of that is in your transcript. If the MP’s got wind of it, it would have been.”

Kate asks, clearly mystified. You can’t help but note that she’s read John’s transcript and wonder what else she knows about his life.

“The lad’s parents were convinced that the natural consequences were better than their son standing trial for a stalking charge that had multiple eyewitnesses.”

“Who convinced his parents?”

It’s your turn to ask, never having considered that part before and John slides you an even look before he answers.

“My father.”

“Ah. Well, that tracks.”

John hums in agreement with you and Kate looks from you to John and back again.

“Sounds romantic to me.”

Michelle offers and you can feel heat creeping over your face again. You had been given a front row seat to a bloody and painful exchange; it had never occurred to you to think of it as romantic. Heroic maybe, but you had attributed that to your gratefulness of having the harassment finally put to a stop.

“John was just doing the right thing. We stayed mates for years after that. We only started dating a few months ago.”

You explain to Michelle but the back of your mind is now trying to rehash the past for clues of John’s feelings. Was it romantic that he beat up your ex? As if the man in question can read your racing mind he reaches over and rests a big hand on your tense thigh, his thumb stroking over the velvet in tiny circular motions. The distraction works and redirects your attention to the present moment in time to catch Kate’s words.

“Sounds like John. Can’t watch a situation go sideways without mixing in.”

She’s looking at John with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The man beside you doesn’t argue, raising his whiskey in salute to the dirty blonde.

“So, you’ve known each other for a while then?”

Michelle gets the conversation back on track, her eyes bouncing between you and John.

“Oh lord, yes. I couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 when all that went down? Put me right off dating for a while. My brother would tease me that I’d be a spinster.”

“You have a brother? What was he doing when you were being harassed?”

Kate is indignant on your behalf which is endearing, considering you barely know the woman.

“He thought it was funny. He’d answer the phone and tell me it was one of my girlfriends to get me to pick up. He’s younger than me, so thought it was all a good laugh to see me scared. My parents thought it was just teen drama and told me to sort it out myself. They both worked and weren’t around much.”

John’s hand squeezes your thigh before retreating, a comforting warmth rolling through you at his easy familiarity in front of his friends. You shoot him a smile as the waiter returns to the table to take orders. Unsurprisingly, John makes the most of this opportunity and orders a porterhouse steak. You and Michelle both order smaller servings of filet mignon, and Kate surprises you by requesting a lobster and steak combo. The women seated across from you exchange a glance, Michelle clearly wanting to say something about Kate’s ambitious selection. You hide the smile that wants to erupt behind a sip of your wine at the unspoken conversation happening across the table.

“How’s your wine, darling?”

John’s eyes are on your hand, wrapped around the stem of the wineglass you are holding aloft. You’ve painted your nails a deep red, matching your lipstick, the contrast against the green of your velvet gown eye-catching. You finally let the smile that’s been threatening to creep across your face loose, John’s distraction a small victory as far as you’re concerned.

“Very good, French this time?”

You ask, his interest in all things food and drink related an endless source of fascination to you. You suspect it’s partly due to the military food he’s been eating for half his life that drives his taste to the more refined when he’s given a choice. You trust his judgement and he’s rarely steered you wrong.

“Spanish, small vineyard.”

Kate’s new line of questioning interrupts your reply to John.  

“So, you have a younger brother, what about your parents? Are they still together?”

You feel your heart drop, even though you’ve fielded this question many times over the years. It never seems to get any easier for you, nor have you developed a simple way to gloss over the loss to make it more palatable. You set the wineglass down on the table while you take a breath, forcing the smile that was stretched across your face back in to place.

“Yes, they were killed by a drunk driver in a head on collision. I’m told it was instantaneous.”

Michelle’s gasp has the smile slipping but you rally, John straightening up in concern at your side.

“Shit – I’m sorry-”

Kate tries to apologize but it’s your turn to interject, waving her concern off.

“No, it was years ago now. It’s fine, I just never know how to casually slip that in when it comes up. I’m going to freshen up before dinner arrives, excuse me, won’t you?”

Your heart is thrumming against your breastbone as you stand up, John half out of his chair before your palm on his shoulder stops him. You just need a moment alone to take a few deep breaths and recenter yourself. John’s concerned hovering will only muddy your waters.

“It’s alright, I’ll be right back.”

You reassure him quietly, your voice thin against the sudden wave of emotion. Your fingers squeeze the broad muscle of his shoulder before weaving your way across the large room to the bathrooms. You don’t have to look behind you to know John’s eyes are following you, you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back sending pinpricks of awareness through you.

Next Chapter

Ao3

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[thollandneedy]

The hot interviewer- Tom Holland

A/n: One of my ideas while i was took shower this evening

Warnings: Sexual tension, swears and mentions of sex

Summary: Tom hitting on his interviewer

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

Night was falling, and Thomas's strength seemed to drop along with the sun. The white light used to film the interviews was making him increasingly dizzy. All he could see from a nearby window was the sun mixing with shades of pink and red. Once again, the same ritual was repeated. An interviewer came in, greeted him, asked her questions and then left. The beauty of the city of São Paulo, Brazil, beckoned him to admire its grand buildings mixed with colorful streets and nightclub lights. The brunette grunted to himself, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and watching the clock strike six.

- Thomas, we've only got one more. She'll be in 10 minutes. Would you like something to eat?- one of his agents asked the brunette, who seemed impatient. 

-"No, thank you.- The brunette said no to the man, who then left the interview room.

Faced with such a tropical and desirable place to explore, he felt like he was in a box. The actor couldn't think of anything else but a nap and a party later in the evening. His brother, Harry, approached him, touched him on the shoulder and said in his ear:

-"I think you're going to like the interviewer.-The redhead comments, drawing a confused look from the brunette, who then smiles at him.

-Why?

Then one of the filming and journalism coordinators from one of the São Paulo newspapers enters the room accompanied by Y/n. The woman smiles at Thomas, pushes her hair aside and walks towards him with one of her hands outstretched in a friendly greeting. The actor, wearing a black shirt showing off his muscles, suddenly stands up, looking at the interviewer from head to toe. Y/n was the kind of woman who walked into a room and everyone could sense her presence, even if she tried to hide from the malicious stares. The woman in the pink silk shirt smiled and said:

-Hi, Thomas, I'm Y/n M/n. It's a pleasure to finally meet Marvel's sweetheart.- The woman comments with a laugh.

-"You can be sure that the pleasure is all mine.- The brunette comments, smiling with his eyes, and sits down in the soft chair in front of the poster of his newest Spider-Man movie. 

-"How has your visit to Brazil been? Have you enjoyed it?-the interviewer asks, taking her cell phone out of her pocket and handing it to her assistant.

-"I've been enjoying it more and more, thank you for asking.- The actor crosses his arms. -Do you live here anyway?

-"Yes, I do. I go to college here, so I have to work for broadcasters who have their headquarters in the city.- The woman sits down in the chair opposite the man, crossing her legs covered by black pants.

-"You have a bigger bonus than me. At least you have a college degree.- Holland looked down at his feet, making fun of himself to get a smile out of the interviewer.

-"You studied acting and gymnastics. I can barely touch my toes without bending over.- The woman laughs.

"What a fucking smile" Thomas thinks to himself

-"How do you know all this? Did they ask you to do your homework today?- Thomas asks, wanting to investigate the woman in front of him more and more.

Apart from her structural beauty, you'd expect her to be nice. However, it was quite new for women not to be surprised by her presence. She didn't seem to care what he was doing there, and just wanted to do her job and leave like he did. Why wasn't she nervous? 

-"I had to,- she replied, rolling her eyes at the actor and then laughing at her own sarcastic gesture. -Actually, I always like to know a bit about everyone I interview. 

-Really? Tell me about me then.- The brunette was interested in the journalist's brief knowledge.

-"Well, you have three brothers. You were born in Kingston upon Thames. You like to play golf and most of your girlfriends were blonde.- The woman adjusted the microphone that was stuck in one of the open buttons of her shirt.

Holland couldn't lie about not wanting to lower his eyes to the woman's bust, but he knew it wouldn't be professional. While his common sense spoke louder than he did, his eyes still observed every detail of the woman's body in front of him. Those eyes, that body, that smile. She would easily be a great choice for casual sex, if he wasn't curious to know more about her.

-"Was that last one a statement or an indirect question?- the actor asked, receiving a silent denial from the woman.

-Let's get started?-The voice of Thomas' coordinator catches the attention of the two, who settle into their chairs, briefly applying make-up and adjusting small details in their appearance so that they don't look too tired after a long day's work. 

(...)

-And, cut! Time's up.-A male voice warns, causing the recording to end just as they were both saying goodbye. Thomas has to get his things and they're going to dismantle the room.

-Of course. -The woman stands up, straightening her blouse. -It's been a pleasure, Tom.

Holland gets up promptly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room because of his speed.

-"I want her to stay.- The actor asks, causing low voices.

-"Thomas, we.-The actor's agent tries to say and is cut off.

-"Dismantle the room. Let's talk in the meantime.- The brunette casts a subtle glance, as if mentally asking if she would like to stay with him for a few more minutes.

-Of course. If that's what he wants, that's fine with me. It's only a few minutes, isn't it?-The woman says, returning his gaze.

The room falls silent as the coordinators and agents try to organize themselves. Thomas's agent denies it to himself, raising both arms and saying: “dismantle the room and leave the girl.” 

All those present, such as make-up artists, film crew, etc., go ahead with the command and begin to dismantle the interview room and put their equipment away. Harry laughed to himself, realizing what his older brother was proposing to the interviewer, and left the room to call his other brothers to tell them what had just happened.

The bright lights went out and the air conditioning was turned off. The chairs were being carried through the door, and then they both approached each other, laughing at the situation.

-"Why did you want me to stay?-The woman crossed her arms, looking down.

-"Because I need recommendations for clubs, so I can take you out.-The brunette smiled sideways at the woman, who replied with a scoff.

-"Are you kidding?- The girl asks.

-"I hope that's a yes, because I'm not used to being dumped, darling.-The affectionate nickname makes the woman's cheeks turn pink.

-"I have a paper due later. The article from our interview today.- Y/n complains.

-"Let me take care of it. I'll ask your boss to let you go myself if that's the problem.-The brunette man stands his ground.

-"Are all Brits like you? Because I've heard that everyone in England is antisocial.- Y/n stared at him, looking as if her intimidating eyes were going to pierce his soul. 

-"Is it possible to spend 20 minutes in a room with you and not want to take you on a date?-The brunette insists.

The lights in the seemingly white room began to fade, leaving only the lights of the great night city to illuminate the room. The building they were in had large windows that showed the night, and a few avenues of cars that caused rush-hour traffic.

-I know a place. But I think it'll be hard not to be recognized, even if it is a private party.- The woman and Thomas walked alongside each other, heading for the exit door.- Do you like dj's?

- It depends. Do you like 22-year-old British men?

- You're not going to stop, are you?"-The woman laughs again, leaving the room and leaning against the wall of the long corridor.

- "You want me to stop? Because if that's what you want, I can leave.-The man leaned against the wall next to her, finally managing to get so close to her that her perfume enveloped his body.

Thomas stares at Y/n's lips, which open in a smug smile.

- Do you have a pen and paper with you?- she asks, but then rephrases her question. -Oh, I forgot that rich people don't carry school pens and paper in their pockets. Can I write down my address and the address of the party on a 100 euro note?

Thomas approaches the woman once more, making both their breaths become one.

- You can do whatever you want to me, love.-The actor replied with seductive eyes, crossing his arms to show off the black T-shirt that was about to be ripped. 

After exchanging numbers, Holland puts his cell phone in his pocket and says goodbye to the woman with a formal handshake. The cream-colored walls blended with the multicolored carpet in shades of blue and the white lights that led to the opposite elevator briefly reflected the journalist entering the metal elevator.  A silly grin broke out on her face as she was caught up in her mischievous thoughts.

-"I've got pen and paper in case you need it, Thomas.- Harry rests both hands on his brother's shoulder, saying in a seductive voice that only irritates him.

- Get out of here.-Holland laughs.

- By the way, I called Sam and Harrison while you were having indirect sex during the interview. They'll text you to find out about the hot journalist.- The redhead comments, typing on his cell phone as he speaks.

- Fuck you. And by the way, it's called envy that today I'm going to have sex, and you're not.- The actor jokes with his brother, and gets into the black car as soon as he comes down the stairs.

As soon as he sits down and puts on his seat belt, his cell phone vibrates. One of his hands reaches into his pocket and there is the message:

"See you later, webhead ;)"

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'm Setting Off, But Not Without My Muse

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 7

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

4.8k words

Warnings: Language, heavy kissing, pining

Keeley lounged on Roy’s couch, looking comfortable and familiar with crossed her legs and messy hair. She smiled when Roy handed her the soda he’d brought from the kitchen, throwing Roy back to all those lazy days they’d spent together on that couch, days of kisses and laughter and love. Days he missed.

“My sister should be here soon,” he murmured as he threw himself down on the couch beside Keeley. “Remind me what you and Phoebe are doing again?” He resisted the urge to grab her hand or press his palm to her thigh, the way he used to.

Ignoring or missing Roy’s pining, Keeley grinned and sipped her soda. “We’re going to a museum,” she explained slowly. “And we’re going to take turns closing our eyes and trying to draw the art we see. Whoever does the best wins, and loser pays for lunch.”

“Where the fuck did Phoebe get money from?” Roy snorted.

Keeley blinked at him, as if it was obvious. “You, you dolt. Girl’s a little millionaire with all your swearing.”

The sound of knocking at his door stopped Roy from retorting; not that he had a defense, to be fair. His wallet was constantly empty thanks to Pheobe. Maybe the knock at the door saved him from admitting Keeley was right, he thought to himself as he opened it.

Those familiar eyes sparkled at him. “Hey, Roy.” She stepped inside, looking comfortable in a simple sweater and jeans. The moment she saw Keeley on the couch, it was like a switch flipped. Her hand was on Roy’s hip, tugging him to herself so she could plant a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Missed you,” she hummed.

Roy froze. Even after all this time, all the kisses, he still had moments where her seemingly easy affection caught him off-guard, rendering him frozen like a statue. This was definitely one of those moments, with his ex-girlfriend on his couch watching with quirked eyebrows and amused eyes.

Just as suddenly, she stepped back and smacked her palm to her forehead. “Shit,” she chuckled awkwardly, her eyes focusing on Keeley again. “I’m so sorry. I forgot I don’t have to do that in front of you.” She adjusted Roy’s shirt where she’d grabbed him. “My bad, Kent.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Keeley teased, shooting them a wink. “Kiss him all you want. I doubt he’d complain too much.”

“Keeley-” Roy started to growl, wondering if both women could spot his heavy blush and the way his fists clenched at his side.

But Keeley wasn’t focused on that. Instead, she patted the spot next to her, urging the popstar to sit beside her. “So, have you two planned your holiday yet? I know Lanie’s been on your ass about it.”

With a glance at Roy, the singer settled by Keeley, noticeably stiff compared to the former model. “Uh, Roy found some spot in this little lakeside town,” she said quietly. Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so timid. What the fuck had her so shy? “That’s why I’m here,” she added quickly, eyes on Keeley. “So we can finish planning everything.”

“That sounds lovely,” Keeley said in a soothing voice, almost as though she was trying to comfort the singer. “I think you and Roy-o are going to have a great time.” She shot Roy another wink. “Sounds very romantic.”

Roy cleared his throat. “I think it’ll be a great writing spot,” he said. “She can focus on the album, I’ll get some reading done.”

There was that smile, that small grin that made Roy soften. “I’m excited,” she admitted to Keeley, although her eyes were still on Roy. “If nothing else, it’s nice to get away before the tour begins. Because now, with this album, I’m not going to get to relax much before it starts. At least I’ll get to relax a little on this trip.”

“Or not relax,” Keeley hummed with a wink.

Roy didn’t know what he hated more: Keeley implying he’d be interested in anyone other than her, or feeling embarrassed in front of his fake girlfriend. Probably the latter, he realized when he saw the alarmed look that appeared on that pretty face. Now she was going to spend their little getaway worried that Roy was going to make some sort of move on her, he panicked with silent groan.

Fucking Keeley.

~

“Shit, sunshine, what’s in this one? Bricks?”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the admittedly heavy backpack out of Roy’s hands. “Old notebooks,” I corrected. “I’ve gotta dig through these things to find some usable lyrics, remember?”

Roy’s little grunt was the only answer I got. He loaded my suitcase into his giant black car before taking back the backpack and tossing it inside. He squinted at my empty hands for a moment before gazing back at my house. “I made sure the place was pet-friendly, you know.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, cocking my head. “What, did Keeley make you rent a dog for our vacation? Make us look all domestic?”

“No,” he huffed, obviously fighting the growing curve in his mouth. “For Sydney. I figured you’d be bringing her along.”

My heart melted as I blinked at Roy. I knew he liked my cat- and she, amazingly enough, liked him in return- but I wouldn’t have expected him to include her in our plans. Most of my real boyfriends tolerated Syd well enough, choosing to mostly engage in mutual indifference. Roy, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely like having Sydney curled up in his lap during Scrabble games and was keen to feed her if he woke up before me.

Stupid thing better not get too attached, I thought bitterly as I mumbled something about going to pack Sydney’s things really quickly. He won’t be around forever.

As I gathered some cat food and toys and urged Sydney into her travel carrier, I wondered if I was worried about Sydney or myself. With Roy’s help, I packed the cat and her things into his car, reminding myself all the while that this was a business trip of sorts. We were going for publicity, I scolded myself as I buckled into the passenger seat. This was for work.

My reminders were interrupted when Roy turned on his car and my own voice suddenly filled the vehicle.

The tips of Roy’s ears were red as he quickly turned off the car stereo. “Phoebe,” he mumbled simply. “She always turns it up way too fucking loud.”

I fought the smile that was desperately trying to break through. “Sure, Kent,” I chuckled. “You weren’t blasting my song on your way to pick me up. You absolutely didn’t sing every word at the top of your lungs. Totally believe you.”

Damn, why did he have to wear bashfulness so well? “Fuck off, sunshine.”

Slouching in my seat and defeated by the smile on my face, I turned to him. “What is your favorite song by me? If you don’t mind me asking.”

His fingers tapped the steering wheel as he turned off my street, off on our little adventure. “D’you think I have a favorite?”

“Of course you do,” I scoffed. “I saw the way you sang Our Song. You’re a bigger fan than you let on, Kent.”

“Touche.” He bobbled his head as he stared straight ahead. “You’ve got some really good songs. Nothing New was phenomenal. I’ve listened to it a few times and it just leaves me fucking breathless.” A frown crossed his face. “But it might be Happiness,” he said quietly.

My eyes traced his profile. “Why that one?”

He sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s mature,” he said slowly. “Accepting the end of this relationship, acknowledging the good and bad of it all, hoping for forgiveness that goes both ways.” He sighed. “I’ve got to admit, I used to think you were just… fluff. I mean, Pheebs always likes your sugary pop stuff, that’s what’s on the radio. But after Nothing New-” He shook his head. “I went and listened to some of your other things, and fuck, you’re a great songwriter.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. “And I liked the Gatsby references, sunshine.”

I tried to tell myself that my warm cheeks were the result of feeling humbled by kind praise, not feeling flustered because Roy was telling me he liked my song. “Thanks,” I murmured. I picked at the hem of my shirt. “It was kind of a hard song to write. Emotionally, I mean. But it felt really good once I’d finished recording it.”

“I bet,” was all he said.

The rest of the drive was calmly quiet. I rested my head against the window, watching the city fade away and become green, green, and more green. Roy didn’t say much, other than ask how Sydney and I were doing. After a while, I took out a notebook and began jotting down some words, words that just kind of flowered onto the page before I could even really comprehend what they were saying.

Roy eyed me curiously as I scribbled. “Lyrics?” he asked simply.

I nodded, scribbling down the last couple of words. “Just a few lines,” I admitted. “Who knows if it’ll become anything. But you never know, so I’ve gotta write everything down. Sometimes the silliest little lines can become something special.”

“Read it to me.”

I swallowed hard, staring at the words I’d jotted down. “It’s just a couple little scribbles-”

“Come on, sunshine.”

Unable to say no to his gentle tone, I cleared by throat and slowly read, “Wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark… show me the places where the others gave you scars… Now this is an open-shut case, I guess I should’ve known by the look on your face… Every bait-and-switch was a work of art.”

When I dared to look at Roy, he wore a large, infectious grin. “What the fuck,” he chuckled, smacking the steering wheel. “What kind of a mind d’you got in that pretty little head? You just came up with that right now? Out of fucking nowhere?” He let out a sharp breath. “Fucking amazing.”

His words were overwhelming, drawing a deep blush to my cheeks. He sounded so real, so genuine as he praised the couple of lines I’d jotted down. I decided to believe he really meant it. Friends could gush over each other like that- right?

I also decided to ignore him calling me pretty.

“Thanks, Kent,” I murmured, slouching into my seat. “Dunno what it’ll become but…”

“Well, whatever it is,” he said, “it’ll be fucking great.”

He knew he’d guessed right when he saw the smile on her face at the sight of the instrument. She turned to him, eyebrows raised and cat in hand.

~

It was a nice house. Bright and airy with a gorgeous view of a lake, a couple of cozy bedrooms, a sweet little kitchen, and, most importantly, an inviting sitting room with a piano. As soon as Roy saw a photo of the instrument online, he booked the house, figuring it would be a perfect spot for some songwriting.

“There’s a piano,” she said simply.

Roy nodded, warmth in his chest as he took in her pleased reaction. “Figured between that and your guitar, you’d be all set,” he explained. “Is it fine? The piano? I didn’t know what kind you like, or if this one’s any good.” He was blabbering now, suddenly anxious that he’d done just the wrong thing.

But she shook her head, letting Sydney go so she could approach the little bench. She sat and began plucking at the keys, creating a simple little melody that Roy felt like he knew. She glanced at him, the music never stopping. “You ever play?”

“No,” Roy scoffed. “Only thing I’ve ever played is football.” Not knowing what came over him, he strolled over and sat beside her, watching her fingers move with ease over the ivory. “Is this one of your songs?”

She nodded and opened her mouth, letting her sweet voice fill the house.

Roy nodded along. He’d heard this one before; it always sounded so childish when he heard it over the speakers, and half the time he skipped right over it, ignoring Phoebe’s complaints about ever skipping her songs. But maybe it was hearing the authoress in person, or maybe it was how down-to-earth it sounded like this, or maybe it was the way the setting sun was hitting her pretty face, whatever it was, Roy thought the song sounded nothing short of charming.

School bell rings, walk me home

Sidewalk chalk covered in snow

Lost my gloves, you give me one

"Wanna hang out?"

Yeah, sounds like fun

Video games, you pass me a note

Sleeping in tents

It's nice to have a friend

She turned to him, still playing, and nodded to the keys. “You try.”

“Fuck no, I-”

All it took was her raising her eyebrows expectantly, and Roy found his fingers touching the cool keys. She paused, freezing her fingers and nodding down at them.

“Set your fingers like this,” she instructed. When Roy had taken the same position, she looked at his face. “Just copy my movements.”

She moved her fingers slowly, delicately, and Roy did his best to mirror them. He hit some wrong keys, and he was so stilted and awkward, but he created something resembling music. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders started to dissipate, all the embarrassment in his head gone, making room in his brain for the simple melody they created together. A quiet, almost domestic bliss settled over the two of them, the kind of quiet that didn’t need a single word. He tried to remember the last time he felt such a calmness; probably with Keeley. He didn’t realize how much he missed it, just the pleasure of someone’s company.

And Roy definitely wasn’t complaining about the glowing little smiles she offered him.

It was nice to have a friend, indeed.

~

It was the sun, I told myself as I forced my eyes back to my notebook. I was suddenly feeling warm because I was lying out in the sun. That had to be it.

~

The sun felt good on my face, warm and inviting. I was supposed to be diving through an old notebook and searching for usable lyrics, but Roy kept distracting me. Not on purpose, of course. He just stretched out on our picnic blanket, eyes on the book he’d brought along, pausing only to take a sip of beer or grab a piece of fruit to pop into his mouth. But I couldn’t stop glancing over at him. He looked so incredibly relaxed, kind of like he had the night of his championship celebration, and he had this tiny grin on his face as he read, as if he was amused by the book in his hands. And then I noticed his hands, how strong and firm they looked holding the book open. And today he’d opted to wear shorts, showing off muscular legs I rarely got to see.

“Alright there?”

That gruff voice had me snapping back to reality. “Fine,” I choked out, shaking away thoughts that I really shouldn’t have been having. “How’s your book?”

Roy shrugged and flipped through the pages. “It’s good. I’ve read it before, but it’s nice to revisit?” He raised an eyebrow. “Like you and Gatsby, I guess.”

My eyes scanned the cover I hadn’t paid much attention to earlier. “A Wrinkle in Time,” I read aloud. “I’ve heard that’s a good one.”

“You could borrow it sometime. If you want.” Roy grinned. “When you’re not being pressured to write an entire album of love song for a man you’re not really in love with.” He shook his head, missing way I squirmed at the ‘L’ word. “Freaking Keeley, making you do this. You’re a trooper for saying yes, you know that, sunshine?”

“It’s fine,” I assured him with a little chuckle. “Who doesn’t love a challenge?” I paused, picking at the grass at the edge of the blanket. “Speaking of Keeley…” I let out a little breath, suddenly even warmer in the face. “She didn’t, er, send you any messages recently, did she?”

Something in Roy’s face fell for a flicker of a moment before relaxing again. He quickly shook his head. “No. Did she send you something?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes, pretending my heart wasn’t slamming in my chest. “She says we’re both way too hot to be so… chaste when we’re out together.” I offered an awkward grimace. “She wants us to, like, get caught being hot and heavy.”

The choking sound sputtering out of Roy’s mouth had my face burning even worse than it already was. “Oh.” He blinked a few times, the gears in his head almost visibly turning. “Do you… want to make out then?”

Despite the absolute mortification I was feeling, I couldn’t help laughing at his words. “Jeez, Roy, that’s so high school of you,” I managed between chuckles.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he finally joined me in laughter. “Fuck me, that was terrible, wasn’t it?” He shook his head, offering a sheepish grin. “But I mean…” His eyes shifted somewhere over my shoulder. “That papps Keeley tipped off is over there somewhere. Probably has a clear view of us.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless…”

The laughter left my lungs as I looked into those brown eyes, just as unsure as I suddenly felt. This shouldn’t be difficult; we’d been kissing each other for a couple of months now. And I’d filmed plenty of kissing scenes for music videos, I reminded myself. Steamy ones, even. Surely, I could manage to get a little heavy with my supposed boyfriend, couldn’t I?

“Anything for the job,” I joked, suddenly hating the way that had seemed to become our motto.

“For the job,” Roy echoed with a smirk.

Without warning, he grabbed my hips and tugged me onto his lap. A surprised squeal slipped past my lips, prompting a chuckle to rumble in his chest. His hands skittered up and down my back as he smiled up at me.

“This alright?” he hummed. His eyes were on my mouth.

I managed to nod as I rested my hands on his shoulders. “Sure.” I hoped my voice was casual and unbothered.

“Good.”

His lips felt so comfortable against mine, warm and familiar now. I let myself settle onto his lap and closed my eyes, focusing on being as natural as possible. Roy pulled me close, chest to chest, until I felt his heartbeat against my body; he could probably feel mine slamming against my ribs. He tasted like the beer and fruit he’d been enjoying all afternoon, a beautiful, summery combination I wanted to taste forever. Without thinking, I gave a gentle grind against his lap. His grip tightened on me as a curious little hum vibrated against my mouth.

My body was buzzing, on fire, drunk on Roy’s mouth and hands and body. While the little voices in the back of my mind kept reminding me this was an act, this was all pretend, the rest of my mind was screaming Roy’s name, wanting to take him back to the house and make this real.

Taking him back to the house felt like an especially good idea when his hands began to slide down my back, lower and lower.

“Should I…?” he rasped against my lips.

I nodded, refusing to open my eyes and break the spell I was under. “Probably.”

Roy’s hands cupped my ass tentatively, as if he was waiting for me to snap at him; he was probably remembering the night we “met”, where I warned him about his hand placement. Oh, how far we’d come since that night of snarking at each other and trying not to roll our eyes. Trying to assure him he was fine, I pressed down against him again, swallowing back my reflexive groan when I felt the beginning of a bulge against my increasingly needy parts.

Apparently he understood the permission I was giving him, because Roy’s grip on my ass tightened, fingers digging into the material of my jeans. I tried to remember the last time I’d been kissed like this- in public no less. It felt like something was waking up inside me. No, it wasn’t arousal from the kiss, from Roy’s hands on my body like he wanted me. It was a feeling that was settling deep in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that was making itself right at home as a melody and words began to bloom in my mind.

Dammit, it might be love.

~

~

For the last few decades, Roy Kent had spent plenty of time around impressive people. Politicians and rich people who made him want to barf. Actresses and models that looked good on his arm and in his bed. And, of course, some of the most famous, talented athletes in history, athletes he was proud to play against and stand beside. Hell, he was a legend in his own right, something he seemed to conveniently forget.

But he couldn’t help being impressed watching an artist at work, something he hadn’t had the opportunity to witness before now. He was a little nervous for her heading into this holiday, wondering if she’d be able to work under so much pressure. But once they arrived, it was like a dam had broken. She was constantly in her notebooks, scribbling furiously and scrambling through old pages. Or she was strumming away at her guitar or picking at the piano, creating melodies that Roy found himself humming as he relaxed around the house.

She didn’t play much for him, just little snippets here and there that she quickly critiqued and went back to work on. Still, he kept asking her to play him something; but they weren’t ready she insisted. Roy didn’t care; he found himself craving pretty tunes and a prettier voice.

A couple days into the trip, he was in the little kitchen, making some dinner while Sydney padded around, meowing up at him and drowning out the twinkling sounds of the piano. He mumbled back to the cat, reminding her that her owner would not be happy if he snuck her a treat without checking first. But the cat kept chattering, so Roy finally threw his hands up in defeat.

“Fine,” he huffed, unable to believe he was having a conversation with a cat. “Let’s go ask your mum if you can have a bit of fucking carrot.” He scooped up Sydney and let her climb onto his shoulders- a spot he had quickly realized she liked- and made his way into the sitting room.

She looked so comfortable in her sweats, her hair up in a sloppy hairstyle. She was so engrossed in her music, she didn’t notice Roy leaning in the doorway, a ghost of a smile on his face as he listened to her quietly sing.

Sydney’s little meow caught her attention. She stopped playing and looked up at the duo in the doorway, eyes a little wide. “Oh, hey,” she chuckled, smoothing down her wild hair. “Sorry, too loud?”

I spy with my little tired eye

Tiny as a firefly

A pebble that we picked up last July

Down deep inside your pocket

We almost forgot it

Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

“Not at all,” Roy assured her, reaching up to scratch Sydney behind the ear. Damn cat, interrupting his private concert. “That’s really fucking nice. You should keep going. I’d love to hear it.”

A tiny smile graced her lips when she saw the earnest way Roy was looking at her. “Fine. But you stay over there. I want to pretend you guys aren’t here, alright?”

Roy did as he was told, staying in the doorway as she picked up that sweet little melody and focused her eyes on the notebook in front of her, the words almost indiscernible; she seemed to be able to read the rushed writing with ease.

She took a deep breath and snuck a glance at Roy before continuing to the bridge- her strength as a songwriter, Roy recalled from Keeley.

On the way home

I wrote a poem

You say, "What a mind"

This happens all the time

'Cause they said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was nothing

Her smile grew as she went on, looking less like a glamorous popstar and more like a girl, alone in her room, playing with music as if it was a toy, creating something out of nothing but emotions. It was nothing short of magical, Roy admitted to himself. This album was going to be something special, he realized.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors

And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

And he’d have to take credit for being its muse.

She looked straight at Roy, not hiding that radiant smile as she sang-

They said the end is coming

Everyone’s up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they’re push and shoving

She played a sweet little outro, eyes still on Roy. Once finished, she offered him a tiny shrug, eyes bright with curiosity. “What d’you think?”

Roy’s in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

They said the end is coming

Everyone’s up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they’re push and shoving

You’re in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

“Fuck,” Roy laughed, finally walking over to sit down next to her, letting Sydney slip down into his arms. “That was lovely. Really lovely.” Before he could stop himself, the question he dreaded asking blurted out of his mouth. “Who’s it about?”

He felt so sure he’d stepped in it when her eyes flickered down, away from his gaze, before looking at him again. “Well, when I originally started writing this one, it was about my mom,” she started slowly. “I had been thinking about this time my parents visited, and we went to Ireland together. It was amazing, getting to show them places they never thought they’d visit.” She shook her head, as if the memories of that trip were fluttering through her mind. Then her eyes found his again. “But it’s also… well, about you, Kent.”

Roy nearly dropped the cat. “Me?” he asked incredulously. “Fuck d’you mean me?”

She chuckled awkwardly, rolling her eyes a little. “What you said about my mind, when I was writing in the car,” she explained. “And how you’ve been just, I dunno, really sweet about everything I’ve been working on here. And, I don’t know, you’ve become a really good friend.” She reached out and placed a hand on his leg, giving a small squeeze. “So I guess this song’s about the people who make me feel safe, happy, despite all the idiots in this world.” She wrinkled her nose. “Does that make sense?”

His heart felt like it stopped dead in his chest. It was such a candid, honest answer- and not the one he expected. He knew she’d have to change lyrics to fit him before finalizing songs, but he didn’t think she’d write about him. Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever been so… flattered? Sure. Flattery. That was the warm feeling nuzzling in his chest, the same warm feeling that was spreading to his cheeks as she blinked at him, waiting for him to say something, probably to assure her that he liked being her muse.

“Oh,” was all that came out of his stupid mouth. “Wow.”

He saw it. He had seen it when he brushed her off the first time she talked to him about The Great Gatsby. He saw it when he walked brusquely out of the room when she first played Nothing New for him in her living room. And he was pretty sure he saw it when he ignored her at the Greyhound’s celebration to pay attention to Keeley.

It was some mix of disappointment and hurt. Something that made Roy wish he was capable of being someone other than himself.

Still, she put on that tiny, shy smile and removed her hand from Roy’s leg. “Yeah,” she chuckled. “Anyway, sorry for interrupting your cooking.” She cleared her throat and stood, scooping Sydney out of his arms. “I better go feed her.” Not quite looking at Roy, she walked out, leaving him all alone at the silent piano.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme

[arcane-vagabond]

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter One

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter One

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Swearing, Bradley Bradshaw being a flirt, suggestive language. I think that’s all?

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Here's Chapter One!! I hope you all enjoy. As always, validation of any form (reblogs, comments, and likes) are always appreciated. And if you want to swing by and leave me a message or ask, you are always free to do so! I love talking about my works. 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I will be posting these fics as well!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

Maverick had taken you home and let his wife, Penny, help you get settled in to your temporary home. Penny was a lovely woman, smile lines clear on her face. While she was easily one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your entire life, her easy confidence is what ultimately drew you to the older woman.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” you had gushed as Maverick led you into their home. It was a simple, white house close to the edge of town, and the interior gave a particularly cozy atmosphere that had you relaxing almost instantly.

“You as well, darlin’,” she smiled, green eyes twinkling. You went to shake her hand, but she pulled you into a tight hug instead. “No need to be so formal, sweetheart. You’ll be staying here until we can find something else for you, after all.”

“Of course,” you sighed. Penny pulled away and rested her hands on your shoulders. Peering over at her husband, the corners of her mouth dipped down in disapproval.

“Speaking of which, Pete, when are you going to get that school house built?” she griped. Maverick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and offered her a small smile.

“We’ll start it here soon, I reckon,” he murmured, causing Penny’s frown to turn into a full blown scowl.

“You’ve been saying that for months now!”

“And when I find the workers, we’ll get right on it,” he replied pointedly. “Besides, we just now got ourselves someone to teach all the little hellions.”

Penny rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch. She turned her attention back to you and smiled, guiding you towards the stairs. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go get you situated. Mav’ll bring your things up in a little bit.”

You followed her dutifully up the stairs and down the hall until she stopped in front of the the last door on the left.

“This is you, sweetheart,” she said, opening the door. It was a simple room. A four poster bed was placed against the far wall and a wardrobe on the wall to your right beside the window. A small vanity sat at your left, and as you took it all in, you felt the excitement of the day wash over you.

“I love it,” you said quietly, grinning from ear to ear. Penny’s smile matched your own.

“I’m glad. I know it’s not much, but you’re free to do with it what you like until we get you your own place. It even has a view of the mountains.”

At her words, you moved over to the window, drawing back the curtains and leaning in to look out. There were no words to describe it. You had been a little worried to move out to the middle of the desert, knowing how much you’d miss your sprawling green landscapes. The mere thought had you feeling a mixture of guilt and homesickness. Your parents were probably beside themselves at that very moment, despite the note you had left them explaining where you were going. You could practically hear the wails of your mother from hundreds of miles away. But the view of the mountains before you almost made up for those awful feelings within you. It was like a painting you had seen once at the market. The blue sky popped against the muted oranges and brown that lay underneath, and the white clouds that floated by looked almost unreal.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed quietly, and Penny chuckled.

“It is, isn’t it?” she began, coming over to stand next to you. “It’s even more beautiful at night when you can see all the stars in the sky.”

“I can imagine,” you said, already smiling at the thought. Penny straightened up and clapped her hands together.

“Right! Well, how about you and I go downstairs and get supper started? The butcher sold me a prime cut of beef today, and there’s a recipe I’ve been dying to try.”

You followed her out the door, the smile still plastered on your face. “I’d love to.”

Your dinner with Maverick and Penny had been full of conversation and laughter. Maverick told you about how he had come to found the town with his best friend, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, who also happened to be the towns sitting sheriff.

“He’s a stubborn son of a gun,” Maverick had said with a hint of a smile, “but there’s no one I trust more.”

Penny had cocked an eyebrow at him at that, and Maverick chuckled, placing his hand on top of hers where it sat at the table. “No one else but you, of course darlin’.”

“Do you know when Bradley and the others are getting back into town?” she had asked him some time later. Maverick sighed, sitting back in his chair with a wistful look on his face.

“I don’t. You know how those boys are. Here one minute, gone the next. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a thousand times, ‘keep me posted so I know you’re still alive.’ Do they listen to me? No, I’m just an overly cautious, old man.”

“You’re not that old,” Penny smiled, causing the corners of Maverick’s mouth to twitch into a small, returning one. “You’ve still got a couple of years, I’d say.”

“How kind of you to say,” Maverick laughed. He stood up from the table, stretching. “That was a mighty fine meal you two girls cooked up. But, I have some things I need to tend to before the night is over. Y/n, you’ll be joining us at church in the morning, won’t you?”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure I was allowed to,” you said, setting your fork down sheepishly. Penny smiled at you warmly.

“Of course you are! You don’t need an invitation to attend service. The reverand will be happy to meet you, and I’m sure it’ll be a good opportunity to see where you’ll be teaching the young ones. When did you want to start? We can announce it while everyone is gathered tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you said, thinking. Much like every other decision you had made recently, you decided to dive head first into the opportunity. “I can begin on Monday. Let’s say, eight o’clock? I can start getting things ready tomorrow afternoon after the service, provided that’s alright with the reverend.”

“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” said Maverick. “I’ll let him know as soon as we get there tomorrow morning. Have a pleasent evening, ladies. Penny, I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.”

“That man never stays still for long,” Penny sighed, smiling fondly after her husband. Standing, she stacked the dishes in her hands and made her way to the kitchen. “You go on ahead to bed, sweetheart. I’ll get the dishes tonight.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, following after her, and she waved you off.

“‘Course! You’ve had a long day, and you’ve still got some unpacking to do. You can help me after breakfast in the morning.”

“Alright,” you relented, turning to head upstairs. “Goodnight, Penny.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

The following morning came quickly, and you found yourself excitedly walking into the sanctuary of the church in your Sunday best. A few people milled about you as they took their seats in the pews up and down the aisle. Some looked at you curiously, but you paid them no mind as you followed Maverick and Penny to the front of the church. You all sat down in the front pew and waited for the service to start.

“Did you hear?” said a girl to your left. “The Dagger Gang is back in town!”

“Really?” squealed her friend, earning looks from some of the older townfolk. “When did they arrive?”

“Just last night! Oh, that Jake is so handsome, isn’t he?” the first girl giggled. You heard someone snort, and turned to see a pretty girl a few rows back from you roll her eyes. She sat next to a handsome man who looked like he might be her brother and a pretty girl with dark hair and deep, brown eyes who smiled at him affectionately. The two girls continued, not paying any mind to the one who snorted.

“He is, but that Bradley isn’t so bad on the eyes either! It’s been horrible going this long without seeing all those handsome men walking around town,” said the second girl.

Her friend nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right. A month is simply too long.”

Before her friend could reply, the reverend made his way to the front to begin the service. The chatter died down as the reverend began to speak. It was a lovely service, and before you knew it, the hour had passed. The reverand gestured to Maverick, who stood up and turned to face the rest of the congregation.

“Mornin’, folks,” he said, earning a cacophony of “good mornings” from those around him. “You all know me, and you also know that we’ve been doin’ our best to get a school established here in Maverick. Well, I’m happy to announce that as of yesterday, our humble, little town finally has a new teacher!”

He gestured to you, and you stood up shyly, waving at the people surrounding you. Several people clapped and you could have sworn you heard a few people say “finally!” Maverick continued.

“Unfortunately, we still don’t have a schoolhouse built for our little critters, so for the foreseeable future, I’ll be looking for volunteers to help me build not only a schoolhouse, but a home for our wonderful new addition.”

“Thank you, Pete,” said the reverend as Maverick sat back down. “If anyone should have any questions for our new teacher, I believe she’ll be taking some time to get our sanctuary ready for school tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock, was it?”

“Yes,” you chirped. The reverend smiled.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning is when school will start. I hope to see many young, shining faces here on time ready to learn! That’s all I have for today. May God bless you all this fine Sunday.”

You sat back as the congregation began to file out of the sanctuary. Once everyone had left, you got up and walked up to the front. Behind the pulpit, you found the slate tablets that Penny had told you about earlier that morning. You grabbed a few of them and began to place them in the first few rows of the pews. You began to hum a little melody as you worked, allowing the sound to roll through you. Your mother had always been proud of your ability to sing.

“Like an angel here on earth,” she had said once. You had shied away from the compliment, but it never deterred you from enjoying the hobby.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” you sang as you walked back up towards the pulpit to grab more slates. “That saved a wretch like me.”

Turning, you moved to the other side of the aisle, repeating the task from before.

“I once was lost, but now am found,” you continued, turning back to grab the last few remaining tablets. Gathering them up in your arms, you turned. “Was blind, but now I see.”

Your finished the last note, looking up towards the door and nearly dropping the slates in your arms as you jumped. Standing in the doorway was a devistatingly handsome man. His skin was golden like it had been kissed by the sun itself, and chestnut brown hair curled at his forehead. His mustache sat above his lips that were curled into a small smile as he watched you with deep, brown eyes.

“Hey, little songbird. Don’t stop on my account,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. You didn’t say anything, to nervous to speak. This only seemed to amuse him, and he pushed off from the doorframe and started walking over towards you.

“That’s a pretty voice you got there,” he continued, causing you to tighten your hold on the tablets. “Maybe I can get a private show here soon.”

“C-c-can I help you?” you asked, cursing yourself for stuttering. The man hummed, coming to a stop in front of you. He was so tall, that you had to crane your head back in order to meet his gaze. He looked at you thoughtfully, biting his bottom lip before leaning down so close that his breath fanned over your face.

“That depends,” he smirked. “What are you offering?”

“I don’t,” you started, but your sentence was cut off by a squeak as the man cornered you against the wall by the pulpit.

“You gonna let me have a taste, darlin’?” He asked huskily, sliding his hand down to grip your skirt.

“We’re in a church!” You gasped, your brain struggling to catch up with what was happening. You put a hand on his chest, trying to use the tablets to push him back. He chuckled, taking them out of your hand and tossing them to the floor.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your pulse skyrocketed and your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, close enough for you to see the green in his eyes.

“Oh, Rooster,” called a voice in a sing-song tone. You glanced over to see another tall, handsome man. This one, however, was blond and just a breath shorter than the one currently caging you in.

“‘M busy,” the man—Rooster—grumbled, softly stroking your cheek. You felt the skin in where he touched you blaze, and you tried to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine. Rooster’s smirk returned as he pressed in closer to you.

“Rooster?”

Rooster continued to ignore the man, cupping your jaw. He leaned in so that his lips hovered over yours, and you let out an involuntary whimper, feeling your resolve weaken.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed softly. “I’ve got you.”

“Bradley.”

“What, Hangman?” Snapped Rooster, Bradley, whirling around to glare at the man, thunder in his eyes. The man, Hangman, didn’t seem phased by the sudden hostility of his friend. In fact, he looked bored as he inspected his fingernails, propped up against the door frame where Bradley had just been minutes before.

“Well, Roo, I hate to interrupt your,” Hangman paused, casting you a quick glance before smirking, “fun, but we do have some things we need to take care of.”

Bradley didn’t say anything, still looking at Hangman with a thunderous look. Hangman cocked an eyebrow as if to challenge Bradley to argue.

“Have you even found Maverick?” Hangman asked exasperatedly.

“Maverick?” You questioned, your sense slowly coming back to you now that Bradley wasn’t quite so close. “He left already.”

Both men turned to look at you.

“Do you know where we can find him?” Asked Hangman, standing up straight now, hand on his hip.

“I believe he and Penny went home,” you said carefully, unsure of what these men wanted with your host.

“Well, thank you kindly, darlin’,” Hangman said, throwing you a wink before sauntering out the door. A moment passed and Bradley turned back to look at you, but your gaze was focused on your hands. Bradley’s hand reached out to cup your cheek again, pulling your face up to look at him. An unreadable expression was on his face as he studied you. His thumb gently stroked your bottom lip, and you once again found yourself having difficulty breathing and focusing on a single thought. His hand was so warm.

Bradley seemed to make up his mind about whatever it was he was thinking about, and he pulled away with another smirk. He turned and walked down the aisle of the church and out the door without another word to you. You shook your head in an attempt to clear it.

You quickly placed the rest of the tablets in the pews and waved goodbye to the reverend who had wandered back in from outside. You dragged your feet a little more than what was necessary as you made your way back to the house. You spotted several horses tied up by the gate outside, and you took a steadying breath to brace yourself for what, or who, was on the other side of the door. You stopped just outside and debated on whether or not it was too late to run off to another town. Deciding against it, you swung the door open before you lost your nerve. A group of six men were sprawled across varying pieces of furniture in the parlor, two of whom were now familiar to you. Both looked at you in surprise, but Bradley’s shock quickly turned into a lazy smirk.

“Well, hi Birdie,” he drawled, earning looks from both Maverick and Penny. “What’re you doing here?”

[13as07]

Weekend #1

(Neji Hyuga & Shikamaru Nara)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to BM (?). Sorry, I couldn't find the original source but I really liked it so meh]

Requested by: xxziggy

Word Count: 3,462

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

First half is a lot a bit smut so be warned; not a full smut cause I wasn't feelin it for whatever reason

Love triangle (obvs)

Fingering (female receiving)

Blindfold

Temperature Play (Lighter/Ice Cubs)

Hickey

Getting called "pet"

Not me accidentally making this a nature (growing up with Shika) vs nurture (Neji taking care of you) situation

———————————————————————

     "This is such a drag," Shikamaru says as soon as I open my front door.

"If you don't want to help me pick out a swimsuit, I'm sure Ino will," I grumble, leaving the door open as I walk away.

"You always say that she 'likes anything you try on' and that 'Ino is no help' so, no. This is less of a drag than listening to you bitch for the whole weekend," he grumbles back, closing the front door before trailing after me.

Shikamaru and I are friends... a little more than friends. Fuck buddies, we're fuck buddies. We hook up from time to time but that's what friends are for, right? Hookups and opinions. And late-night snack runs.

"I think you should just stick to the yellow one you wore on last year's weekend trip."

"And I think you're stupid. I can't wear the same one I wore last year."

"Why not? I've worn the same swim trucks for the past three years," Shika groans, feet dragging as he follows me into my room, closing my door behind himself.

"Because I wore it last year! All the other girls are going to have new ones so I need a new one. I can't be the only one without a new swimsuit," I tell him, ushering him toward the bed.

"You girls have the weirdest rules about clothes," he grumbles, flopping on his back with his feet rested on the floor, and knees bent at the edge of the mattress. "Just wear the yellow one. Your titties look good in it."

"Thanks, Shik. That's what every girl wants to hear," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I dig through my closet for the four or five suits I bought. He throws up a thumbs up, the promise of his eyes being closed and him being half asleep paired with it. What a lazy sass of a friend I have.

"Okay, there's four of them."

"Great," he mumbles, drawing out the word.

I ignore his sarcasm, stripping my clothes off as I decide which one to try on first. "Alright, this one is a black one-piece," I narrate, wiggling myself into the material.

"Hey, here's some crazy shit," Shika says, sitting up right now. "When I look at you, I'll be able to see the style and color of it."

"Hey Shik?" He lets out a hum, the feeling of his eyes coating my back as I check myself out in the mirror. "Stop being a douche."

He rolls my eyes at me, resting his arm on his knee, and his head on his hand. "Do a little spin," he grumbles, a finger on his free hand making a circle in the air. I do as I'm told, slowly spilling so Shikamaru can check the swimsuit out. "One-pieces are for grandmas and women without body confidence. No."

"That's a little harsh."

"Do you want me to sugarcoat it like Ino?"

I grumble out a no, tugging the suit off myself. Shika's eyes stay locked on my nudity, sights ping-ponging alongside my movements until I turn back around. "The next one is also a one-piece - "

"No."

"Shik - "

"I already told you no. You are a hot chick with a hot body. Show it off or else my weekend will be a waste."

"No, it won't be a waste. You can googly eye Ino or Tenten or Hinata or Sakura," I point out, flipping between which of the remaining two to try on next.

"Ino would pretty much be incest, Tenten scares me, Sakura has too much attitude, and Hinata doesn't have enough attitude," he explains, rolling his eyes at me again. I swear, one of these days I'm going to poke his eyes out.

"Alright, the third is a string bikini, it's powder blue and I think it makes my ass look good," I ramble, tying the strings the best I can alone. "What do you think?" I ask, doing another slow turn.

"No," he pushes out, shifting his position as he adjusts his pants. "You look..."

"Hot?"

"Easy."

"Easy?!" I yelp, crossing my arms across my chest as I glare at Shikamaru. "I'm not easy!"

"I didn't say you were! I just said that... you look easy," he mumbles the last three words, eyes locked on my chest as he adjusts himself again. "Are you easy?"

"No! What the hell, Shik?"

"You should be... easy. Like... right now. For me."

"I asked you over to pick a swimsuit, not for a fuck," I grumble, slowly walking towards him. "This isn't picking a swimsuit," I continue, using my knee to push his open before sliding between his legs.

"The... the fourth one," he mumbles, fingers curling around the thin material, sliding back and forth as his eyes drink me up.

"You haven't even seen it yet," I complain, crossing my arms over my chest again, trying to hold onto my anger that's being drained by arousal. "How do you know it'll look good?"

"You look good in everything. You look better in nothing, though," Shika tells me, eyes still jumping around as he tugs the flimsy material to the side, leaving me exposed for him to enjoy. "Though, you also look really good in this swimsuit."

"Then I'll wear this one."

"No!" He races out, eyes snapping up to my face, his face scrunched up. "I mean... no, you still look easy."

"Do I look easy or is someone getting a little jealous?" I tease, cupping his chin and forcing him to shake his head yes. "Aw, is Shika worried he's going to lose the 'fuck' benefit of being m buddy?"

"I'm not that shallow," he mumbles, rolling his eyes at me again. "We're friends cause I like being friends. Not because you let me hit it on occasion."

     "Then I'm going to wear the swimsuit."

     "Pack the goddamn swimsuit and I'll set it on fire."

     "Set it on fire and I'll go skinny dipping all weekend."

     "Or," he starts, a single finger slowly cruising through my folds, landing on my clit to rub light circles into it. "I can make you cum and in turn, you wear the fourth swimsuit."

     "Ya alright," I give in, decking down to press a kiss against his lips. Shika's finger pushes into me, lightly curling against my walls as our lips dance against each other. "I have a question." He hums in acknowledgment, sliding kisses up and down my stomach as he curls another finger in me. "Did you only agree to my fashion show so we could fuck?"

     "Oh, ya. I'm not going to get any this weekend so might as well empty out now so I have a little more control while you girls walk around half naked," he admits, a third finger added before he starts thrusting them in and out of me. Shikamaru's tongue slides out, slowly trailing from the string of my bottoms and stopping at the connection string of my top. "Take your top off."

     "Demanding, aren't we?" I mock, tugging on the skippy strings and letting the material tumble to the floor. "You're such a tit guy."

     "I'm an ass guy too," he says, squeezing my butt with his free hand before it jumps up to my breast. He toys with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers as his mouth sucks on the other one. After some time he switches his places, eyes flicker up for a moment. "You take forever," he groans, pulling his touches away from me.

"My bad, two-pump-chump," I grumble, a yelp spilling from me when Shikamaru grabs me. His arms wrap around my legs, tugging me onto the bed. "Shika!" I giggle, back landing against my mattress as he settles between my knees.

"Yes, Pet?" He murmurs, tongue sliding across my inner thigh. I toy with his hair, rubbing my nails gently across his skull, pulling a soft whimper from him. "I hate how well you know me," he groans, undoing the strings of my bikini bottoms, and dropping them on the top left on the floor.

"No, you don't," I tease, dropping my hands down to his shirt, and tugging him up my body before I start pulling it up. Once he's free from his shirt, his necklace hangs between us, dangling in my face. God I swear, I don't know what it is but it's so hot.

"You're not paying attention to me. What a drag, you're not even into it."

"I am," I hum, lifting my hand, and using a finger to toy with our clan pendent. "I'm just getting a little bored with our routine."

"The fuck am I supposed to do with that?" He grumbles, shifting his weight back and forth between the hands pressed next to my head.

"I don't know, you're the genus here, not me."

Shikamaru lets out a long, deep sigh of annoyance, his eyes falling into their 'I look pissed but I'm thinking' look. His brows are pressed together, eyes set forward and slit. "Are your parents home?"

"No."

Silence falls between us again, Shika's eyebrows shifting as the gears in his head turn. "If I blindfold you are you going to lose your shit?"

"We're known as the Shadow Clan. I think I'll be okay with a little bit of darkness."

With that, Shika climbs off of me, his focus shifting through my dresser drawers. He stays silent when he finds my Shinobi band, carefully tying it around my eyes before whispering in my ear. "I'll be right back. Just chill."

I do as I'm told, relaxing in bed as I wait for him to return. It doesn't take long for his aura to fill my room again, my curiosity sparked by what he'll do. "What do you have planned, Mr Genus?"

"If I told you," he starts, the feeling of his breath sliding over my pussy startling me a bit. "It would ruin the plan, Miss I'm Getting Bored." My thighs are gripped, being tugged further apart. "Make sure you tell me if you're not good."

"I know, Shik."

"Just making sure," he mutters, brushing kisses against my thighs again. As the kisses roll around my skin, I'm slowly lulled, the gentleness of Shikamaru threatening to put me to sleep.

The sound of a click fills my senses with the feeling of heat licking at my thighs. "What the fuck, Shikamaru!" I yelp shoving his hand away.

"Is that a 'surprised' fuck or a 'I don't like that' fuck?" His voice is followed by soft clinking. The sound is followed by something chilled pressed to the spot previously accompanied by some kind of flame.

"Surprised fuck," I murmur, shivers running up my spine as the chilliness melts, dripping down my skin. It's an ice cube, isn't it? And the click and flame combo was Shika's lighter. What a smart but bored man.

"Mmm, good," he mutters, dropping the ice cub, making them clink against each other again. His tongue slides across my leg, lapping up the water left behind. "Is this exciting enough, Miss Bored?"

"Yes, Sir."

He hums again, climbing up my body. "Alright, you needy girl. I'm going to rest in you until you're worked up enough cause you're too much work."

"Lair, you just want to feel me pulse around you," I tease, my hands crawling down his body. Shikamaru has stripped since I've been blinded, sparking my excitement even more.

His necklace taps against my skin as he moves, the feeling of his lips mapping out his slow climb. "So what if I do? We're doing this because - "

"Hey, Sweetie? Are you home?" My mother's voice rings out, pulling a disappointed sigh from the both of us.

"You need to move out," he grumbles, tugging the headband off my eyes as he crawls off of me. "For now," he starts, mouth clinging to my throat, sucking on my skin as hard as he can. "We're going to greet your mom, excuse ourselves for lunch, and then we're going to continue our new game at my place," he finishes before sucking on the same spot, promising to leave a dark bruise on my neck.

     "Shik," I whine, knotting my hands around his ponytail before I try to pull his lips off me. "You're going to leave a bruise."

     "Ya, that's the point," he grumbles, his tone not matching the smile being pressed against my skin.

     "So much for not being jealous," I tease, managing to pull Shikamaru off me, a loud pop following the loss of his suction.

———————————

     "Nara-Chan!" Neji calls, waving at me as his squad and him walk towards our squad. "You look... good," he mutters, eyes jumping over me before he gives me a closed-eyed smile, a soft pink dusting his cheeks.

It's an open secret among our generation that Neji has started forming a bit of a crush on me. With the aftermath of the war, neither one of us has had the time to move the relationship past playful flirting. Though, hopefully, after this weekend that won't be the case anymore. The soft rumor of Neji asking me out filtering around helping that.

Every year, the twelve of us have taken a weekend away from the village to go do something other than work. It usually ends up being all of us camping near a river or lake and just spending the weekend relaxing. We're doing that again this year, hence picking out a swimsuit yesterday with Shika.

"Hey, Nej," I greet, returning his wave as he settles in front of me. "Are you excited for the trip?" He hums a yes, eyes not-so-secretly climbing my form again. His eyebrows scrunch when he gets further up my body, making me a bit concerned. Is there food or something on my shirt?

"Hello," Shikamaru's voice rings out as my eyes jump down, checking for a stain or leftover crumbs from the chips Choji and I shared. "What's up, Neji?" He asks, stopping next to me as he greets our friend. Shika's hand jumps up, tapping against my neck before his focus shifts back to the pleasantries Neji and him are sharing.

My eyes flutter towards a smug Shik, cockiness waving off of him. Why the hell was Neji looking at me so weird? Why did Shikamaru tap my neck?... oh.

Heat blooms across my face as I remember the dark hickey present on my neck. The very dark and very big bruise Shikamaru left behind yesterday.

"Anyway," Neji says, tugging me out of my thoughts and embarrassment. "Do you want to walk with me, Nara-Chan?"

"Yes," I rush out quickly, the heat on my face now from being flustered instead of embarrassed. "I... um... yes, I would like to walk with you," I correct, keeping my tone soft and even this time.

"Great," Neji says, sending me another smile. "I'm going to go greet the others. I'll come find you when we're ready to go, alright?"

"Alright," I murmur, smiling back at him. My eyes trail after Neji, watching him walk away to greet the rest of my squad and his cousin's squad that just showed up.

When my eyes shift back to Shikamaru, who's gloomy, arms crossed over his chest, and a glare shot toward Neji. I swear if he was any moodier a storm cloud would form over his head. "You're walking with Neji instead of me?" He groans, the heat of his glare still stuck on the other man.

"Ya. You're walking with Choji anyway. Why do you care?"

"I don't!" He snaps out, his anger pointed toward me instead of Neji. "Okay, maybe I do," he grumbles, eyes softening as he rolls them at me. "You're pretty blind, do you know that?"

"Why? Because I have more friends than just you?" I tease, laughing at his shocked face as I walk away to greet Shino's squad.

———————————

     I nod along to the story Tenten is telling me, half paying attention as I look at the scenery. Most of the girls have switched to being carried, not because we're tired but because we're lazy and the guys all have a complex of wanting to be better than the others. So, Lee is carrying Tenten, Kiba is carrying Hinata, Shika is carrying Ino, and Neji is carrying me. Naruto offered to carry Sakura but that ended with him getting a bruise or two.

     "So ya, I packed two swimsuits cause the guys are no help," Tenten grumbles, rolling her eyes before she playfully glares at Neji.

     "If it makes you feel any better, Shikamaru wasn't much help picking out my swimsuit either," I tell her, the both of us giggling at the guys' incompetence. "I think you should go with the red one though. You always look good in red."

     "Alright! Break time!" Shino's voice rings out, paired with a hand clap. The bug shinobi - like always - has declared himself in charge because he's 'older and wiser' than the rest of us. The real reason he's in charge is because Neji doesn't want to put up with Naruto and Shikamaru is too lazy to do it, but none of us are going to tell him that.

     We all settle to the side of the path, a few of the guys decking into the forest for a pee break. "Are you ready to get down?" Neji asks, his head tilting backward to look at me.

     "Ya, I should probably stretch my legs and give you a break," I answer, wiggling around on his back. He bends down a bit, shorting my jump off him. "Alright, Nej-man," I chirp, stretching myself out. "How much longer until we're to the spot?"

     "I would say an hour. Maybe two depending on if we stop again or how many... issues Naruto has," He says, stressing the word 'issues' as his eyes bounce toward the blonde boy.

     "That's not too bad," I mumble, sinking to the ground to sit under one of the trees. I rest my head against the bark of it, my eyes falling closed to give them a break from the sun.

     "Nara-Chan?"

     "Neji?" I hum, slowly opening my eyes again.

     Since I've closed my eyes, Neji has pulled out a water bottle. The top off and wrapped up in his hand. "When was the last time you drank water?"

     "Uh..." I murmur, having to take a second to figure out the answer. "I don't know. Before we left I think."

     Neji lets out a disapproving hum, paired with an equally disapproving look. "We have been out in the sun and the heat all day. You need to be drinking water."

"It's fine. When I'm thirty I will. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is. Dehydration is a big deal and not something I want you to suffer with," he lectures, sinking to kneel in front of me. "Now, open your mouth Nara-Chan," Neji says, his hand resting under my chin, tipping my head up. Reluctantly I snap my mouth open, eyeing the barely older man. He tips his water bottle, water-falling the liquid into my mouth.

"See? Isn't that better?" He mutters, his eyes locked on my neck again as he sets the bottle down. Neji's eyes shift, locking in mine. When I try to break the staring contest, he uses his hold on my face to put it back in place. "I'm waiting for an answer."

"Oh... um, ya. That's better," I finally answer, my breathing suddenly feeling more labored. Thoughts that would turn Neji red flicker through my mind for a moment. I guess Lee wasn't lying when he said his friend was planning to focus on forming our relationship this weekend.

"Good, now please excuse me," Nej says, squeezing my face gently before dropping his hold on me. "I will be back," he mutters, packing his water bottle back in his bag before disappearing into the trees.

"What the hell was that?" Ino shrieks, her sudden presence next to startling me.

"I don't know," I answer, my voice pitched and mind running wild.

"I don't either. What I do know is that Shikamaru is pissed off again," she tells me, shrugging towards the small circle of Shika, Shino, and Kiba a couple of paces away.

Ino is right. Shikamaru's eyes are locked on me, sight intense as he stares at me, occasionally glances at the spot Neji disappeared from. His arms are crossed too, jaw locked, and the gears in his head turning again. I was kidding when I was poking fun at him for being jealous. I'm starting to think it's not a joke anymore.

Dear Lord, this weekend isn't going to play out smoothly, is it?

———————————————————————

[juceynightmare]

the original sin - rhea ripley x fem!reader oneshot

my masterlist

pairing(s): rhea ripley x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, implied smut, bible references, dom/sub undertones, wrestling is actual fighting with no pre-determined winner

genre(s): fluff, angst-ish

summary: y/n and rhea are in a long-term rivalry with rhea's smackdown women's championship being put on the line at wrestlemania. y/n really shouldn't be messing around with rhea in the weeks leading up to their match, considering she absolutely hates rhea's guts. but that doesn't exactly stop her.

“i’m pretty sure they call this the original sin.” rhea mused, her lips brushing against the skin of y/n’s neck. she pressed kisses along the exposed skin, drawing out soft whimpers from the girl’s mouth. rhea’s grip on her hips just as soft as the wall that rhea had pinned her against. “eve trusting the snake above god.” rhea murmured against the skin of y/n’s throat, planting her lips firmly against her soft skin and sucking and nibbling against it.

y/n’s brows furrowed in annoyance, bringing her hand up and grabbing at rhea’s hair. she yanked her back, forcing rhea to meet her gaze. “i don't trust you. and if i wanted a lesson on the bible, i would have gone to church.” y/n groaned, hating the way a smirk had curled a corner of rhea’s lips upwards.

“if not trust, then what do you call this? i could break all of your bones right now and leave you unable to wrestle.” rhea mused, bringing a hand up to wrap around y/n’s wrist. she pulled y/n’s hand out of her hair, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before dropping to her knees in front of her. “besides, it's important to note that we are in church, and i’m about to worship at the altar.” she continued, guiding y/n to hook one of her legs over her shoulder as rhea pushed up the fabric of her skirt and pulled down the other woman’s panties.

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“you were off your game today.” came rhea’s voice as soon as y/n turned a corner into the emptier part of the backstage arena.

y/n rolled her eyes, her hand clutching an ice pack that she was given by the trainers to her shoulder. “more like you couldn’t just fucking sit your ass backstage. you’re just afraid that i’d get too much momentum before our match so you have to interfere during my match tonight and injure me for good measure.” y/n growled as she approached rhea. she let rhea pull the ice pack off of her shoulder, observing the bruise that was starting to form after rhea had thrown y/n into the barricade… over and over again until y/n was crying and begging her to stop.

“you should have expected it, baby. i’ve come out every week to fuck you up, why would this week be any different? that’s why i said you were off your game today, you didn’t expect it at all.” rhea laughed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to y/n’s bruised shoulder that had y/n shivering.

and when rhea meets her gaze, y/n swore she could see something like an apology in rhea’s gaze.

“are we going to fuck or what? because i’ll just go to liv or someone else.” y/n huffed, tearing her gaze away from rhea’s before she could start looking too into rhea’s feelings.

she felt rhea’s hands rest on her waist, and the sound of the ice pack dropping to the ground echoed off the walls. rhea dipped her head down to whisper in y/n’s ear. “we both know that little bitch can’t ever make you feel as good as i do.”

y/n raised her hand, tangling her fist into rhea’s hair and pulling her back forcefully, just how rhea liked it. “don’t think that just because you threw me into the barricade today means that you get to be in charge.” she grunted, backing rhea against the wall and letting go of her hair.

y/n watched as genuine shock appeared on rhea’s face at her words, before it was quickly covered by rhea’s usual overly confident smile.

“you can try, baby.” rhea mused, before y/n threw an arm around rhea’s neck and pulled the other woman down for a kiss.

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[trouble] why do you look so sad?

y/n looked up from her phone as soon as the text message appeared on top of her youtube video. she looked around the room, finding the judgement day sat at their usual table. and although the boys were laughing loudly and clearly engaged in conversation, rhea was absolutely horrible at hiding the fact that she was glancing over at y/n every now and then. when y/n caught rhea's gaze, she watched the other woman smile and wink at her before she turned her attention back to her phone to type up a response.

[y/n] stop looking at me, i hate you.

[trouble] you weren’t saying that last night when i came over to your hotel room.

[trouble] now, why are you sulking all alone in the corner? i watched you shoo away liv, so i know you’re in a mood.

[y/n] didn’t get cleared to wrestle tn because some whore threw me into the barricade like crazy a couple days ago.

[y/n] they don’t want to risk me getting injured before wrestlemania so i’m just here.

[trouble] why aren’t you going back to your hotel then? do you want me to order you an uber, baby?

[y/n] don’t call me that. and no, there’s a match i’m looking forward to watching tonight. i wouldn't be able to watch it if i went back to the hotel.

[trouble] it’s mine, isn’t it?

[y/n] in your dreams.

[trouble] i’m leaving this cinnamon roll here. it’s the last one and i haven’t seen you eat yet.

[trouble] let me know what you think of my match, baby.

[y/n] stop calling me that. also i’ll be leaving before your match even starts.

[y/n] thank you for the cinnamon roll though.

when rhea, dom, finn, and damian finally left catering, y/n stood up and walked over to the table they once occupied. she grabbed the stray cinnamon roll that was left on a small plate on the table and walked back over to the locker room.

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"what are you doing out here?" y/n asked as she walked out on to the balcony of her hotel room with the blanket from the bed wrapped around her frame. "it's cold in bed without you." she mumbled, walking up to stand behind rhea and wrapping her arms around rhea's waist from behind.

rhea was leaning against the railing, dressed in only her shirt and her panties. she wouldn't admit that she was absolutely freezing before y/n had hugged her from behind and enveloped her in her warmth. "nervous about tomorrow." rhea admitted, turning around in y/n's arms so she could face the smaller girl. she looked down at y/n, who was already looking up at her with a wide smile.

"what's there to be nervous about?" y/n asked as rhea wrapped her arms around the girl from over the blanket, hugging the blanket close to her frame so that the wind wouldn't have any space to slip in and reach her bare skin.

"i have a title to keep, and my opponent is, admittedly, the only other person in the locker room who deserves it." rhea admitted softly, the tenderness in her tone catching y/n off guard. y/n stared up at rhea with wide eyes, observing as a blush rose to rhea's cheeks and something like timidness had filled her gaze.

for once, y/n felt as though she had finally breached rhea's walls.

y/n leaned up, pecking rhea's lips gently and whispering, "well, i heard from a little birdie that she's hoping the champ doesn't go easy on her. she does want to earn it fair and square if she wins." she stepped back from rhea, hugging the blanket back to her frame and turning around. "come back soon, i can't sleep with a cold bed." she called out to rhea as she walked back inside the hotel room

rhea glanced out at the city skyline once more, smiling to herself before following y/n back into the room and shutting the balcony door behind her.

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pain shot throughout her body as rhea's music played. the adrenaline had finally worn off, and all y/n could feel was her entire body aching. she was unable to open her eyes, the bright lights were too blinding for her and the crowd's loud cheers were beginning to make her feel overwhelmed.

she didn't even know she was crying on the mat until she felt someone sit her up and wipe away her tears.

"you put up a good fight, baby." she heard rhea whisper in her ear, and suddenly, her entire body was being carried out of the ring.

something heavy was laying on her chest, and when y/n opened her eyes in the slightest, she could see the smackdown women's championship belt was resting on her upper body as rhea was carrying y/n up the ramp.

"shouldn't you be celebrating in the ring?" y/n whispered, her voice soft and weak with embarrassment of losing on the grandest stage of them all and having to be carried out of the ring by the woman she was supposed to be rivals to the grave with.

"i have more important things to attend to." rhea answered, ignoring her own pain until she finally made it past the curtain and into the guerilla where the judgement day were waiting.

despite rhea's protests, damian had taken y/n out of rhea's arms. the three men had speculated that something was going on between rhea and y/n, considering all the times they had gone searching for rhea backstage to only find her gone and to have run into liv who was also looking for y/n. however, they knew better to assume anything. tonight, though, after rhea's very public display of affection for y/n, the three men knew they were right in their theories.

finn and dom supported rhea by walking beside her with her arms thrown over both of her shoulders. it wasn't until damian had set y/n down on the table in front of the trainers that rhea had physically let the pain finally take over her body.

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[hhh] so, you and rhea?

[y/n] i guess

[hhh] happy for you, and congrats on your match

[y/n] thank you, boss.

[hhh] will you be fine by backlash? if you're up for it, i'm sure the fans would love to see a rematch. of course, everyone assumed you were sworn enemies, so we'll see how they will react to the buildup now that the hatred was actually just really bad sexual tension.

y/n looked to her right where rhea was reading the text messages alongside her. "what do you think?" y/n asked.

rhea met her gaze and grinned, bringing a hand up to cup y/n's cheek and run her thumb gently over the bruise that had formed on y/n's cheekbone. "you went easy on me at wrestlemania, i know you did just because of what i said that night." she hummed, and she watched y/n's cheeks flare red in embarrassment. "i didn't start this... whatever we are... because i wanted to get in your head and get an easy win, baby. so i'm hoping you're up for a rematch where you don't go easy on me." rhea mused with a chuckle.

y/n leaned back against rhea's chest, turning her attention back to her phone.

[y/n] i'll fight her.

[y/n] don't worry, we'll make the build up interesting. but sorry about the sexual tension, boss.

[hhh] don't forget we have cameras in the backstage area, y/n. even in the places where you and rhea usually run off to.

[hhh] have a goodnight, kiddo.