#International Stuttering Awareness Day

[murderousink23]

10/22/2023 is International Stuttering Awareness Day 🌎, Aliyah Day 🇮🇱, National Color Day 🎨🇺🇲, National Nut Day 🥜🇺🇲, National Mother-in-Law Day 🇺🇲

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[thephantomsdream]

Simon "Ghost" Riley that likes to be pampered, to be taken care of and let me tell you, he's just so not used to it. He's never had anyone to really treat him anything close to good.

In all honesty, he genuinely thought it was fine, being alone. He's a solitary creature, as life taught him to be, and deep down he convinced himself it was best. It didn't matter if there was a small, minuscule, pained tug at his heart every time he thought about it.

What he didn't expect was to be whipped immediately, one glance into your eyes and he was a goner. It went against his reasoning, this instinct of his to have you, battling everything he's been trying to avoid at all costs. But that one glance, that small smile you gave him, and he just knew. And months of tedious yet slow opening up and trying not only for you, but for himself, Simon was yours somehow. Baffling as it was, he now had someone to go home to. A sweet angel that in no time he plans to up and move into that bare house he has and take care of. Only thing is, the man did not expect to be taken care of himself, as if he forgot that was an option.

The first few times you two dated, officially, as he had to clarify this wasn't what kids these days mean by "hanging out" or "talking to" or whatever the fuck Johnny and Kyle were babbling to him about their dating lives (it's dating or not, Simon likes things clear), the man was surprised by how sweet yet determined you were. "Can I hold your hand?" You asked him a little flustered, and this big boy almost stuttered. He found himself nodding while gulping before taking your hand in his, internally beating himself up for acting like such a... boy? Having a silly crush on a lovely sweetheart that made him nervous by just exiting around him.

God, it felt fantastic when he finally got to kiss you. Simon thought it was gonna be just a kiss, big fucking deal (he was trying to cope, his hands were sweaty but whatever, big deal), but the way you sighed and melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck made him shudder. It ignited something in him and his heart tugged again, this time not painful but hopeful.

It was the way you touched his scarred face that really astonished him, especially the first night you spent in his house. Whatever movie you babbled about the last date, vampires or whatever, was now playing on his flat screen on the new profile he created for you on whatever streaming service Simon just bought just to watch it. Another tiny bit of you in his life, it seemed. Movie was fucking awful, truly, fucking dumb teenagers and vampires, but whatever, your boyfriend (bloody fucking hell it felt fantastic and scary to think that he's now yours officially) was determined to watch it even if he snorted and made fun of it every three seconds, yet having you giggle by his side made his cold heart warm up as it beat a thousand times per second. Once again, he found himself about to mock something jokingly when he turned to you, finding your beautiful eyes already on him, expression warm and relaxed.

"Come here." At that moment, Simon Riley realized he'd follow anything you'd order him, as his body moved without any thoughts, just closer to you. Like a stray dog that's learning what a home is, something he's never really had, and when your lips touched his cheek while caressing the other, the world slowed down.

Having you move closer to him, placing a leg over his, smiling at him sweetly while gently kissing the scar near his lower lip, all he could do was stare dumbly as his face felt on fire. Little did he know that his pale cheeks reddened so adorably that you started to giggle. God, he fucking loved that sound.

"Lay on me, c'mon." You ordered gently again, grabbing his calloused hands to tug him onto you as you laid down on your back. Simon knew he looked like an idiot in awe, very much aware he's always had a staring problem. But as he crawled gently over you, expecting you to push him off after abruptly changing your mind, all he could do was to look down into your cleavage and stare like a muppet. " 'S aight?" Being all he asked before hearing a nice hum, approval for him to lay on you.

That day, Simon learned what heaven is. Your fingers into his hair, slowly, gently playing with his dirty blond locks, his face in your soft tits, your voice oh-so clear as he pressed his ear into your torso, the slow rumble almost putting him to sleep while his eyes were focused on the silly movie. His arms were wrapped around you while he just laid down between your legs. His dumb jokes still delivered as he muffled them out lazily, getting you to laugh and make him smirk as you(r tits) jiggled under him, and his reward, because you're a fucking angel, of course, was a sweet kiss on his temple every single time. The man could be turning into a clown by the end of the night as long as you kissed him so tenderly.

You spoiled him too. How dare you, really? Bringing him sweets, asking him what he wants to eat, adjusting your schedule to fit his (man's off duty, he can camp outside your house and come in whenever you want him to, if you'd be willing, like a good obedient dog), just making him feel wanted. It was odd. And new. And addicting.

You cared. You cared for him. And in his wonky yet honest way, he cared too. Always making sure that you know he's somehow thinking of you. He wanted to try. He wanted to make sure you'll stick around. The military has taught this man a lot of things, and apart from his head-strong conviction that he indeed can do anything if he puts his mind to it, another was how to not fuck up something good, all through the hundreds of stories from many other soldiers about failed relationships. He knows all the perspectives, all the failures, all the erros and all the aftermaths, so he learned to listen and not blame, to pay attention, to be there even if he was half a world away. Simon is determined to keep you around, coming back to you battered, wounded, traumatized, exhausted, and is greeted with his angel, all ready to pick him up, wrap him in a warm blanket and fuss over his ass. He'd roll his eyes at you, but his emerging smile said it all.

His heart now tugs when he's about to pick his luggage, a duffle bag filled with essentials and nothing more. A week earlier than expected too, relief washing over his body like never before, knowing you're at home waiting for good news. And he's heading that way too, determined, unrelenting, head first, no thoughts. He's going home to you.

Home to warm, delicious food, instead of stale and plain. Home to sweet laughter and love, instead of orders barked and indifference. Home to his, your comfortable bed, arms and legs wrapped around each other, the plump delicious curves of your body pressed against his hardened one. Home to gentle, home to calm, home to soft, home to himself, home to everything. Home to his heart, that is tugging him closer and closer, where he left it with you.

I'm just gonna dump this here and leave. Not proofread because we're old and lazy here.

[cupids-diner]

The kiss he can’t forget - Damian Wayne

Warnings: none!

Rating: fluff

The early morning light filtered through the towering windows of Wayne Manor, casting a soft glow across the polished wooden floors of the library. Damian Wayne sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a collection of books he was meticulously sorting. His usual scowl was absent, replaced by a rare look of concentration.

You entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb him. But Damian, with his sharp senses, noticed you immediately. His green eyes flicked up, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Good morning,” you said cheerfully, moving to sit beside him.

“Morning,” Damian replied, his tone casual, though his heart rate quickened just slightly at your presence. He wasn’t one to show much emotion, but you had a way of drawing out the softer side of him, something he’d never admit out loud.

You reached for one of the books he’d set aside. “What are you working on?”

“Categorizing,” he said simply. “These volumes were misplaced.”

You nodded, flipping through the pages of an old, leather-bound book. “You know, you don’t always have to be so serious,” you teased, glancing at him with a playful smile.

Damian huffed, but there was no bite to it. “Someone has to be.”

You laughed softly, leaning closer to him. The scent of your shampoo filled his senses, and for a brief moment, Damian found it difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that you were inches away. He steeled himself, maintaining his calm exterior.

“I’m serious too, sometimes,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “But it’s also okay to relax.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just then. There was a comfortable silence between you as you both continued sorting through the books. Damian found himself stealing glances at you, the way your hair fell across your face, the way your lips curved into a smile as you read something interesting. His heart thudded in his chest, a reaction he couldn’t quite suppress.

After a while, you finished your stack and stretched your arms above your head, sighing contentedly. “Well, that was productive.”

Damian nodded again, feeling an odd sense of contentment himself. Being around you had that effect on him. It was something he was still getting used to.

As you stood up, brushing off your jeans, you looked down at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Thanks for letting me help,” you said, leaning down quickly to plant a light kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best, Damian.”

The kiss was brief, a featherlight touch, but it sent a jolt through Damian’s entire body. He froze, his expression carefully neutral, though his mind was anything but. His heart raced, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the spot on his cheek where your lips had touched.

“Of course,” he managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos inside him. He kept his gaze on the books, pretending to be utterly unfazed.

But inside, Damian was anything but calm. His thoughts spiraled, his mind replaying the moment over and over. Did that just happen? Was it a sign? Did you like him as much as he liked you? A thousand questions raced through his mind, but on the outside, he remained stoic.

You didn’t seem to notice his internal struggle, or maybe you did and chose not to comment. You simply smiled at him, a bright, carefree smile that made his heart stutter.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” you said, already heading for the door.

“Yeah, later,” Damian replied, watching as you left the room, the door closing softly behind you.

The moment you were gone, Damian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He touched the spot on his cheek where you had kissed him, a small, almost imperceptible smile forming on his lips.

“Maybe,” he whispered to himself, his heart still racing, “just maybe…”

And for the rest of the day, the thought of you and that brief kiss occupied his every thought, a secret thrill he kept hidden beneath his composed exterior.

A/N: tumblr was genuinely tweaking out when I made this. It’s crazy. It was lagging and took ages to load.

[cursingtoji]

ᥫ᭡ — EXECUTIVE AFFAIRS: In a cutthroat world of boardroom battles and power struggles, you must navigate ambition , corporate intrigue, and unexpected love affairs.

✧ PRELUDE

— contents: CEO!reader, construction worker!Toji, lawyer!Nanami, therapist!Geto, ex-husband!Gojo; power imbalance, sexual frustration, manipulation, use of 'darling', 'baby', 'dear' & 'boss', 4k words, on-going series

— note: osha is the occupational safety and health administration agency in the USA, even tho i'm not american seems easier to just say osha (also a fun word to pronunce)

A young man opens the rear door of the Jaguar as soon as your driver stops by the construction site, “This way ma’am” you accept his hand, touching the cement with your stiletto first before getting out of the vehicle.

As scheduled you are heading to a meeting with the architect responsible for this particular project, a big one. Normally the CEO wouldn’t be involved in such routine visits like this, but you definitely don’t want to be like the previous CEO, who barely stepped out of his office for anything.

Besides, you have to make a good impression with the other directors that would be there today as well, and what better way to do that if not going to the construction site yourself, even though you clearly do not belong there given the way your heel wobbled as soon as it touched the uneven ground.

“Excuse me, miss” you’re stopped by a man twice your size — horizontally and almost vertically — extending a white helmet in your direction, “I’m sure that hair costed a lot and you don’t wanna cover it, but every person on site, even the ladies, ‘gotta wear it.”

You stand a bit shocked at the man addressing you like it’s not your last name on his uniform.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I should inform you that it’s your CEO you’re talking to” the boy beside you speaks up, he’s wearing a white helmet and the unknown man a yellow one.

“Great, so you are able to afford the OSHA fine if they decide today is a good day for inspection, but I’d rather not have another pointless safety training just ‘cause no one had the balls to tell you to protect your pretty ‘lil head” his expression doesn’t change a bit with the new information. You find that respectable, especially having so many people stuttering when talking to you.

If you were to say that you don’t get even a little bit amused by people being nervous in your presence Nanami would have to warn you about perjury. 

It’s quite a change to have a blue collar employee sticking to the rules and not batting an eye when the highest possible authority of the company is standing right in front of him, especially when that someone looks like he just got out of a sexy construction men calendar… not that you have ever seen one of those. That’s just what you think they might look like, plus that scar only adds up to fantasy.

You clean your throat, “I appreciate your work ethic, Mr. Fushiguro” you repeat the name so you won’t forget, “I wasn’t aware of the rules” you side-look the young man beside you who’s now staring at his own feet embarrassed since it was his duty to inform you.

“Call me Toji” you take the helmet and put it on, “By the way, you’re supposed to wear trousers too and… literally anything but that” he points with his chin to your high heels thinking how that alone was a safety hazard not just on a construction site. Toji leans closer “but I’ll let it slide, ‘cause you have quite beautiful legs.”

You are left mouth agape, internally appreciating that he didn’t say that out loud — after all being sexualized when you are trying to impose respect would require you to put a show and fire the man — but also makes you question if he was straight forward with you because of his work ethics or because he does not respect you as his superior. 

Not that you wouldn’t let him do disrespectful things to you, but still!

You’re taken to where the rest of the directors are, they’re easy to spot — a bunch of men in suits that clearly don’t belong to the place — surrounding a table with the blue prints. They greet you and you realize this is the first time you see all of them around a table and not sitting, poor guys must be dying for a room with AC right now.

It’s not like you belonged there either, with your tailor made beige suit that had a pencil skirt instead of the newly-discovered-necessary trousers and how-the-fuck-you-thought-that-was-a-good-idea high heels. But in your own defense you did visit a lot of construction sites when you first started at the company all those years ago and that’s much more than the white collar men in front of you can say.

The main architect starts to give you all an status of the project being interrupted by the senior engineer every few minutes, the last one clearly thinking he’s better than the first even though neither of them lifts a finger in this ground.

Your sight is drawn to the man that scolded you before, while the architect is pointing to something on top of the construction and everyone else is shielding their eyes from the sun to find it, you’re looking straight ahead to Toji who’s currently lifting an apparently very heavy sack of cement on his shoulder and taking it all across the site. God, he’s strong.

His handsome face shines with sweat, you’re sure the wife beater he has on also violates some OSHA code, but who would be crazy enough to report that? Not you for sure, the view is worth the OSHA fine.

Especially when he drops the sack with a grunt and uses the shirt to wipe his face, revealing a torso you’re sure Michelangelo would die to use as inspiration to sculpt into marble then having people saying ‘whoa that’s real art’. 

You wonder if someone would scream at you for touching that piece of art.

Unfortunately you don’t expect to get caught ogling by the subject himself. So the best thing you can do is find whatever the architect is pointing to and pretend to pay attention like you should have from the beginning instead of eye fucking one of your employees.

“Hey, boss” you hear on your way out of the site and back to your cozy office where you wouldn’t get your ankle broken that easily. You turn around and see Toji catwalking his way to you.

“Technically I'm out of the hazard zone, mr. Fushiguro” you justify your lack of a helmet which you ditched a few seconds ago.

“Toji” he corrects you, taking his own helmet off “and I’m not this uptight, unlike some people here today” he mutters the last part looking behind him to some of the directors that seemed to be looking for tiny errors on the project so they could fix it and justify being there.

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you're being robbed.” 

“What?” you look around, “What do you mean?”

“You’re paying for double the stuff that’s actually being delivered” he took a sheet of folded paper out of his pants, you reach for it but he pulls it back, “I have proof and I can say names.”

“Did you say that to your field supervisor?”

“Please, who do ya think it’s signin’ under this?” he rolls his eyes.

“So you came to the CEO instead? You’re going behind some big backs here, sir.”

“Look, miss, I want a promotion, I know a lot of big shots will go down for this and I’m the only one capable of handling the people here. Besides I stand by what I said before, no one has the guts to do this so I’m taking a big risk and I deserve compensation” he hands back the paper and this time he let you take it. You stare into his deep green eyes suspiciously, the man has the looks of a fantasy villain with his sharp features and dark eyelashes, you're not entirely sure if you should believe him.

“Give your number to my assistant, we’ll schedule a meeting in the office, you tell me everything you know and I see what I can do about it.”

“In the office? Didn’t know you allowed commonores in your castle” he smirks.

“Only the pretty ones” you wink and his smile grows wider. 

“How long have you known about this?” Nanami questions.

“Not even 24 hours” you sit on your white couch signing for him to take the seat in front of you.

Your lawyer does that thing you find really hot where he unbuttons the coat of his five digit worth suit before sitting down. You admire Nanami’s elegance while he roams his eyes through the paper, he has a vest between the coat and the dress shirt. Navy blue suits him so well, matches his eyes. He makes you think every man should wear vests, but of course not every man can pull it off. Honestly, you find it hard to believe there's anything Nanami can’t pull off, but you haven't seen your lawyer without a suit… ever. 

Maybe he looks bad with a plain T-shirt? 

No way. 

Perhaps with an overall and cowboy hat? 

Mmm the image makes you wanna ride something. 

What about emo hair, eyeliner and a band tee? 

No, you can’t imagine Kento with emo hair, no chance he had a rebellious phase except if his parents wanted him to be a surgeon and he became the best lawyer in the city just to piss them off. 

“I’m glad you came to me first, but we’ll need to involve auditing and probably internal affairs. That’ll probably put the project on hold for some weeks, also I’ll need more evidence than this” he shook the one paper sheet that was merely a quotation of supplies even you could understand is way too much for a single building.

“I got the guy for that, say the word and Yuuta will arrange a meeting” you pointed to your assistant sitting outside.

“Tell me, dear” he put the sheet aside, taking that posture that intimidated you a bit, “A blue collar worker just saw your pretty self on the site and handed criminal evidence? Just like that?”

You open your mouth, thinking what to say that won’t sound like you are being taken advantage of, and failing.

“Oh darling” he says a bit too condescendingly for someone that technically works for you, “Thought I told you about being too naive” he leans on the couch, making himself comfortable like you’re about to have The Talk.

“Kento, is not like that” you cross your arms defensively, “He said he wants a promotion, how risky that would be?”

“Thought you would say that” he takes his phone and hands it to you, “So I did my own little research.”

“What’s this?” you find yourself looking at a picture of the man you met yesterday. 

Only now you could see tiny numbers behind him indicating his height and he held a plaque with his name. He looks way younger, still very handsome, you wonder how popular he used to be in his youth, with a face like that and the implication he was arrested was enough to make every girl’s bad-boy-dream come true.

“What was he accused of?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Not relevant, also sealed records” he breaks eye contact and that’s enough for you to understand he actually knows it and he did not get this information by any legal means.

“So what? The man got a bit of trouble with the law when he was young” you shrug, remembering even your ex husband had a little rich boy “criminal” file, if you can even call the dumb shit he did outta spite for his parents an actual crime.

“HR will find out about this, then you’re going to have to justify why you’re recommending a filled man for a managing position.”

“And I’ll tell them he actually found out about a theft scheme and whatever public-pissing crime he did will surely be overlooked.”

“Darling, you have to start thinking about your image, we’ve been through that before” he tilts his head.

“You don’t like my image?” you question playfully twirling your hair, Nanami smiles for a brief second.

“You know what I mean: your image towards the board, you barely made the votes necessary to be where you are today.”

Indeed, you owned the company and no one could take that away, but the CEO position needed to be voted and you only got the necessary votes because your ex-husband had the strongest voting rights and part of the divorce agreement was that he voted for you, so his, plus a few more other members of the board's votes and you made chief executive officer.

“Fine, then write a contract, he tells everything including testify if he has to in exchange of the supervisor position and I’ll pitch it to the board before any decisions are made” you uncross your arms raising from your seat.

Bringing the board into the conversation made you nervous, most of them don't like you and you’ve been trying to prove yourself for months. Even though you worked your ass off way before marrying the owner all they saw was a hurt ex-wife making pretend.

“Atta girl” Nanami raises too, buttoning his coat back and placing his hands on your tense shoulders. Nanami smells like what you think it should be every handsome lawyer's trademark scent, cause damn that smell would make you sign anything he gives you.

“Don’t worry much, you’re doing great” he presses a bit and you melt.

“Take me out to lunch?” you pout.

“I would love to” he lets go of your shoulder, “Unfortunately I have a hearing, but I'll be back for that meeting soon, okay?”

You sigh in defeat, getting even a few minutes of Nanami’s time for yourself is as hard as it can get, only a corruption scheme to get him to come to your office in such short notice.

“Ma’am” Yuuta says from the speakerphone, “Your ex-husband is calling” you groan, throwing your head back.

Of course he would want to interrupt your moment with Nanami.

“I can get you a restriction order” your lawyer offers jokily (or not).

Aside from being the company's lawyer, Nanami Kento was also your divorce attorney, which you managed to get only after agreeing to give him your company's account if he managed to land you the CEO position. Like everything in this merciless corporate world, it was give and take, you got what you wanted – not surprisingly so, afterall Nanami, even though is not a divorce specialist, is the best. Still, you like to think of him being more than another contractor of yours.

“I appreciate the offering” you smile tiredly, Nanami kisses your hand like the gentleman he is before leaving your office, “Yuuta, I’ll take him– it. I’ll take the call” you sit back behind your desk massaging your temple “Put him through.”

“Hello, beautiful” he greets over the speakerphone in that always so cheerful tone.

“Satoru, what do you want?”

“No chit-chat? It’s the least you could do for me after I gave you the company” entitled as always…

“You didn’t give it to me, you gave it up for the rest of your assets” you remind, already sick of this same discussion over and over.

When the divorce was officially on the table you told Kento exactly what you wanted: the company. The one thing you knew your ex husband would hate to lose, but also didn’t love as much as his lifestyle – which would be brutally affected if you decided to go for the 50% you were entitled to.

So through a carefully written agreement you accepted way less than you were owed in the form of full ownership of the respected construction company and title of chief executive officer.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. How have you been?”

“Fine. Just tell me what you want, I actually take this job seriously and have important things to do.”

Oh god, he would tease you so bad if he knew about the corruption scheme, and the worst part is that, eventually, he will know. Gojo has ears everywhere around here.

“Nanami” he says simply. You start to look around your office, wondering if he has cameras there.

“You… want… Nanami?”

“Yes, beautiful” he confirms slowly like he's talking to a kid that has just learned the alphabet.

“Why? You know what? Nevermind, I don't want to know. No, you can’t have him” you lean on your chair, denying Gojo gives you great satisfaction.

“It’s not for any bullshit reason, alright?”

“I don’t care, Satoru. Besides, I don’t own Kento, you can approach him anytime” you smile knowing he would never be able to do that without you.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” condescension drips from your phone and onto your desk, “He won’t represent me even if I run for president.”

“So you need legal representation? You’re not calling me from jail, are you Satoru?” you mirror his condescending tone, surely he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Thought you didn't care, or would you bail me out? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have the money for that” he laughs, arguing was never a thing with him, he would mock you and find a way to make you doubt your accusations. Gaslighting is it? “I’ll give it a shot, just so you know, but this is a great opportunity for you to ask something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Think about it, baby, I’m sure there's plenty of things I can do for you” his tone is lower, more seductive.

“Doubt it” you roll your eyes hearing his chuckle.

“Yeah? When was the last time you had–” 

You hang up.

Then sigh loudly and press the button to talk to Yuuta.

“Yes, ma’am?” you scrunch your nose, still not used to being called that, Nanami said you should let your sweet assistant call you ma'am or madam at least in front of others since you could use the recognition of your authority.

“Please put Geto on the line.”

“Certainly” you wait, stepping out of your heels and digging your toes on the fluff carpet under the table.

“Hi, doc” you salute your psychologist.

“Sugar, I told you there’s no need to address me like that, hurts my feelings” his honeyed voice is everything you need to hear in such stressful times.

“It does? Maybe you should see a therapist to talk about that, I have a great recommendation” you can’t help but smile like a little girl when talking to him, being playful is a way to cope with your harmless crush.

“Just great?”

“He’s the best, I can assure you” he laughs, “Do you have a few minutes?”

“For you, absolutely” your face warms up then you remember the subject of the call and cools down again.

“It’s Satoru.”

‘It’s always Satoru’ Geto thinks.

“He just called wanting something, I told him no and he made that same old joke about me not having money” you huffed.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Helpless? I don't know, he must think I’m poor now or something” which is ridiculous, you’re not nearly close to his patrimony as you used to when you were married but what you have is still fuckload more than what it takes to be considered poor.

“He’s trying to remind you of what you lost when you left him, this is just another manipulation technique, my love. Don’t let him get in your head” you need this as a mantra to hear every time your ex-husband calls, “Did he bring up sex this time?”

“No, but he was about to.”

“And what did you say?”

“Hanged up” you hear him snorting.

“Well, that can work on the phone, but what if you were talking face to face? What would you have done?”

Geto knows a lot about you. Obviously since you pay him to listen while you ramble and complain. Still, feels overwhelming having someone recalling your previous actions, especially the ones you're not exactly proud of.

“Tell him to shut up, throw a stapler on him, call security, threaten him with a restriction order.”

“Would you really?” Geto likes to take a joke you make and dig on that.

“Well, probably not the last two…” 

“Have you been looking up restriction orders?”

“No, that was a joke my lawyer made early. A restriction order would be too… bureaucratic? Also unnecessary, afterall Satoru he never physically hurt me or threatened to.”

“That would be a good way of making him leave you alone for a while since you're not able to fully detach from him” you sat up.

“That's not true! I’ve been doing everything by myself lately, don't even have time to think about him! I’m detached, doc.”

“Wanna know what I think you would have done if he made that sexual comment face to face with you?” you gulp and Geto takes your silence as consent to continue, “I think you would let him go forward with it.”

You make an offended sound but don't fight his statement, “And what would happen next?” he tones the question like a professor trying to make the class complete a sentence, you keep your head down and mouth shut, “You would’ve let him sweet talk you into sleeping with him again.”

“You don't know that” you murmur.

“It’s a pattern, love. This is how abusive husbands keep their wives from leaving them or even telling anyone about the abuse. They use sex to make them think how good it is to be with them despite everything else.”

“Satoru was not abusive.” you defend your ex-husband firmly, “And I already left him!” you defend yourself less firmly.

“And he still thinks he can have you back! You know why?”

“Because I’m a catch that he shouldn’t have cheated?” Geto stays quiet for a few seconds and you feel a lump in your throat forming. The comment was supposed to sound more like a joke but you're still too hurt for that , clearly.

“That as well, but you really think he regrets it?”

“He seemed pretty sorry in the divorce mediation” you murmur recalling his lost-puppy expression.

“The meeting where he signed a paper that would make him lose his company and his wife? Gee I wonder why” the little sarcastic remark made you smile and shake your head, your psychologist using sarcasm against you is quite funny, “My point is, if you really want to be independent from him you ‘gotta stop letting yourself be attracted back like a magnet” you let his words sink in hearing some papers being ruffled on his side.

“I’m giving you homework.”

“Oh no…”

“Find your sexuality by yourself, you can watch porn, masturbate or even better: have sex with someone. Anyone but Satoru, because right now that’s what he’s using to control you.”

“Geto, I don’t know about this. Porn is too gross, masturbation is too ineffective and sex is too…” you trail off.

“Vulnerable?” he completes.

“I guess…”

“It’s been a few months since you last slept with Satoru, right? What’re you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” you rub your face.

“You know what I mean” he's strict and you let out a long sigh.

“I feel frustrated, sometimes stressed and distracted” all caused by the men you have to deal with including the handsome psychologist putting some sense in you. Not exactly what you wanted him to put in, but oh well…

“Exactly, in your current state it’s only a matter of time until you end up on his bed. You gotta decide if you are willing to: find porn that is not gross, masturbate more effectively or let yourself relax and be vulnerable.”

Is easy to like Geto Suguru, he’s handsome, has a sweet voice, he listens without interrupting (manterrupting is a big no-no for this job thankfully). Though sometimes it’s easy to hate him too, you have to remember he's saying what you need to hear not what you want to, even if your ears could use some tickling from time to time.

“Still with me?” he asks after you remain quiet.

“Yes, doc” he says your name in a warning tone, “Sorry, Suguru.”

“All good for our appointment next week?”

“Hm” your thoughts go to the newly found out corruption scheme that will need your attention the following days, “I’ll ask Yuuta to confirm with your secretary alright?”

“Whatever works best for you, love.”

“Bye, Suguru.”

“Don’t forget your homework.”

🏷️ @rinntvrou @sakurasimppp @sad-darksoul — to be tagged in future works of this series please comment “@ me” in this post.

note: i’m not sure if tickle the ears is a known term worldwide but means “saying or suggesting things to please even if untrue”. also i have some big plans for kinktober so next chapter might take a little while to be posted, let me know your thoughts <3

© all content belongs to cursingtoji; do not repost!

[augustvandyne]

Addie x reader where Addie knows reader has a crush on her and flirts with reader to mess with her

this is short too. i’m sorry!! i’ve been sick for a few days and im just starting to recover.

a choice with me

“Hello darling,” Addison slides behind you, her body pressing against yours. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine,” You blush, turning your head away as Addison leans against the nurses station beside you. “I’m not on your service today.”

“I know,” Addison tilts her head, placing a hand on your arm to get you to face her again. “I’ll miss you.”

“You will?” You roll your eyes sassily.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Addison runs her finger across your jaw seductively.

“Y— you’re not the boss of me today,” You stutter nervously.

“No, but I will be in two days.”

You scoff, “Yeah, whatever.”

All you want to do in Addison’s presence is cry, scream, and smash your lips against hers. It’s unprofessional, you know that, but it’s the truth.

There was just something about Addison that you couldn’t comprehend. She made you feel good and seen, but also made you flustered. She was one of the only people you could trust.

She knew things about you not even your own friends or family knew. And she hadn’t told a soul.

“What are you thinking?” Addison’s face turns serious.

“Nothing,” You frown. “I should go before Burke has my head.”

You walk away, leaving Addison standing by the station on her own.

She struts up beside you, and you aren’t even surprised at how fast she catches up to you, considering her height. One of the many things that makes you feel what you feel for her.

“Talk to me,” Addison insists.

“Nothing is wrong,” You shake your head, chuckling slightly.

Addison pulls you to the side, “You swear?”

“I swear,” You nod.

Addison runs her knuckles across your cheek, and your cheeks redden again.

“Come get a drink with me tonight,” Addison gives a breathtaking smirk. “That’s not a request.”

“Yes, Dr. Montgomery,” You look down nervously, but she lifts your chin back to her.

“Good girl,” Addison lifts her brows suggestively, leaving you a blubbering mess in the middle of the hallway.

The door rings with your entrance to Joe’s Bar, and Addison’s eyes are drawn to your body in an instant.

You weren’t wearing anything special— it was the same thing you arrived in this morning— a simple sweater and some leggings.

“I’m here,” Your hands find your hips with attitude. “My presence was demanded.”

Addison squints at you, taking a sip of her drink, and you’d be lying if you said your eyes didn’t watch her throat contract as she drank the bitter liquid.

“You actually came,” Addison places the glass on the bar.

“I wasn’t aware it was a choice,” You tilt your head.

“You always have a choice with me,” Addison’s eyes move down to your lips, but back up to your eyes.

You had a feeling that her words had more than one meaning.

You let out a breath that sounds like a laugh and a scoff, “Good.”

Addison keeps her eyes on yours, internally fighting herself from looking at your lips again, afraid she’ll give in to you if she does.

You swallow nervously, “Addie..”

“What?” Addison’s eyes continuously dart between your eyes and your plump lips.

“Stop playing,” Your eyes look hurt. “You know how I feel for you.”

Addison runs her thumb over your bottom lip, “And I feel the same for you. I’ve just been trying to deny it because you are an intern, and I’m an attending.. but there’s no more denying it. I want you, too.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, “Really?”

“Really,” Addison confirms and leans in to place a small kiss on your lips. “I don’t care about age or anything like that anymore. I only care about you.”

You look down, a blush taking over.

“You’re adorable,” Addison places another small kiss on your cheek and leans back. “Now, let me take you to get some food.”

“Okay,” You bounce on your toes as you slide off the stool, Addison’s arm making its way round your waist.

[rodolfoparras]

share the angstttt

-⚰️

Thinking about sexually repressed Price | 18+ MDNI

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Content tags: angsty porn, internalized homophobia, closeted character, angst with a happy ending, masturbation, anal fingering, pining, slow burn

A/N: this isn’t meant to be a proper piece of writing, consider it a stream of consciousness author was clearly working through something here 💀 and bear with the awful grammar spelling mistakes ooc moments etc , also this wasn’t supposed to be this big nor this angsty but I was listening to hozier so things took a turn also to really set the mood I’d suggest listening to from Eden by hozier, work song by hozier, like real people do by hozier and then finally treat yourself with willow by Taylor swift to ease any remaining pain

Sexually repressed Price who’s the only one on the team without a spouse, who likes men but is deeply closeted, who’s starting to think that the liquor and tobacco smoke is starting to taste a bit more like loneliness

Sexually repressed Price who’s got grays in his hair, lines on his face and crow feet around his eyes when he finally meets the type of man he’s always desired

Sexually repressed Price whose hands shake and heart pounds every time your knees knock together or your hands brush, whose face burns and he stutters every time he tries talking to you, who’s so acutely aware of every glance every touch every word he says who gets so in his head about every interaction that he decides to keep himself locked in his office just to avoid any more awkward interactions, who’s never had this issue before because he’s never been attracted to the other men in his circle, attracted to men the words prickle at his throat like whiskey and cigar smoke

Sexually repressed Price who does his best to keep your relationship professional, who treats you no different to how a captain would treat his subordinate.

He’ll send you out to a strenuous training session during heinous weather conditions without thinking twice about it, even though he’s trying his best not to pull your shivering form in his warm embrace.

Price wont think twice about scolding you when you mess up during a mission, will grab onto the scruff of your neck and get all up in your face, even though he’ll also visibly get nervous once he realizes he’s just a hair away from your lips

Price will only speaks to you in a professional tone, words sharp and tone firm but then there are instances where he’ll catch himself slipping up, sharp words rounding out, tone softening up by just looking into your eyes.

Sexually repressed Price who somehow ends up with one of your belongings in his hand whether it be a shirt, a glove, a mask and can’t help but notice how well the tangy smell of your sweat mingles with the sweetness from your cologne, can’t help but think how much it smells of a man and God knows he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in that smell so he press his nose against the fabric of your shirt, glove or whatever and just loses himself in the scent.

He promises himself he’ll return it but it ends up staying in his rooms for weeks, and he smells it when he needs comfort, when he goes to sleep, when he’s being reminded of the fact that it’s there with him, til it no longer smells like you

When the last trace of your scent lingers on the fabric, he ends up doing something stupid. During one of those nights when he’s drinking liquor like it’s water and inhaling tobacco smoke like it’s his last day on earth, his eyes will land upon your shirt or glove or whatever it is and he’ll make a bee line to the material, before taking it to bed with him

Sexually repressed Price who doesn’t even like to masturbate, who just squeezes his thighs together in hopes of getting some relief or rubs his cock against the sheets until he’s spurting ropes of cum all over it, who doesn’t know how to finger himself properly, experiences it painfully even but can’t help but sneak a hand down his pants while pressing the fabric of your shirt or glove or whatever it is, against his nose.

You do a lot of things without thinking when horny or so Price has heard so he justifies that as being the reason as to why he presses the material against his nose while jerking off. It’s so strange, this new feeling, it feels like you’re there in bed with him, shallow breathes escapes his lips as he imagines you pinning him down to the very same bed, squelching sound getting louder as he imagines you grinding your clothed cock down on him, he’s never had his scenarios be this vivid before he can even see the flush upon his own cheeks, the way he bites down on his bottom lip as you continue to grind down on him and within seconds he’s spurting ropes of cum all over his fist, the fabric still pressed up against him

It’s weird- the sensation that he feels, a humming sensation strumming though his body and mingling with the ever lasting guilt he feels

Sexually repressed Price who ends up with the army catalogue in his hands, who flips to the page where your picture lays, one hand holding a glass of whiskey while the other traces over your features

You look like everything Price had dreamt of in his younger years, smart, handsome and with a promising career in the army maybe if he’d met you back then things would be different maybe he’d be open to dating you, maybe you’d want him too even. Back then he’d been fresh faced and eager to drink up the knowledge of the world not knowing it was eager to swallow him whole. He tears out the page, for reasons he doesn’t even know but it’s the very first picture of a man he doesn’t crumble and hide under his bed but instead neatly folds up and keeps in his wallet.

Sexually repressed Price who ends up breaking one of his rules who treats you more than a captain treats a subordinated when he invites you out to a bar with the rest of 141, it’s a celebratory event for a successful mission, but it feels anything but that, because you get so drunk out of your mind that you start spurting nonsense, stumbling upon the topic of masturbation, and sharing how to get yourself off properly, how to use your hands or mouth when with someone, mind too drunk to register what you’re saying, going in such far detail Price feels his ears burn and hands shake as he runs off into a dirty bathroom stall, splashing water on his face and staring down his reflection,

He thinks about the words you said when you’re cleaning your weapon, skilled fingers easily disarming something that’s presented as untouchable, can’t help but think about them when he sees you pinning soldiers down during sparring sessions, caging men under your weight without actually hurting them, He thinks and thinks and thinks until he breaks his rule again, lays down on his side on his bed, feels the cold sheets sending chilies down his spine only for the sensation to intensify once his chilly fingers touch the cleft of his ass,

Price doesn’t like fingering himself but he still circles his puckered rim with his slicked up fingers, relaxing the muscle just like you’d suggested that one drunken night. Price doesn’t see a point in fingering himself when his cock is hard and weeping between his legs but he still slides the tip of his finger inside the tight ring of muscles, gently grazing the wall of nerves like you’d slurred out that one drunken night. Price knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he continues to work his finger deeper inside of him, eyes fluttering shut and teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, even managing to working himself up to a second one as moans escape him, continues to work himself til there’s no point in stopping despite knowing how wrong it is because he’s teetering closers to the edge before finally cumming all over his hand.

Sexually repressed Price who’s almost broken all of his rules when he starts spending more time with you, beyond ways that are considered normal for a captain and his subordinate. It’s not like you’re forcing your way into his office and it’s not like he’s dragged you to sit next to him yet for whatever reason you’ve decided to do paper work next to him, claiming it’s the most quiet room on base and before he can argue you’ve already put down your pen and papers.

The very first time you do this he’s hyperaware of your presence, wondering if he’s being too obvious with every glance, hands subtly shaking as he adjusts his own papers, wondering if he should say something when the silence goes on for too long, wondering if he’s disturbing you when you’re the one doing work in his office.

Slowly but surely he gets used to your presence, doesn’t glance as much but instead looks at you properly and manages a soft smile even, his hands no longer shake and he can now comfortably offer you his cigar without embarrassing himself, and soon the long pauses of silence turn into comfortable conversations where you do anything but paper work and sure he still blushes when your hands and knees knock together as you’re passing cigars back and forth and he still messes up a sentence or a word when trying to make casual conversation with you but it’s comfortable, that is of course until the universe decides to laugh in his face.

It’s when you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to prep his cigar for him. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything you just thought you should do it for him since he’s kind enough to share them with you but he can’t help but notice the way your fingers gently roll the cigar , the way your lick your lips when trying to cut it precisely the way your half lidded eyes and lazy smile will meet his gaze as you’re playfully blowing the smoke in his face

Once the paper work is finished up and you’re back in your room, he’s still seated in his office chair, his cigar tucked between his fingers and he can’t help but remember the way you’d prepped the cigar, how you’d put the tobacco between your lips, can’t help but remember the playful smile on your face, eyes falling closed as you took a break from the draining paper work and all of sudden he feels himself harden in his pants

His eyes wander to his office door, it’s locked he knows it’s locked, then his fingers wander down to his zipper, undoing his pants and easily wrapping a hand around his dick, and gently pumping it

Thoughts of you whirl around in his head much like the cigar smoke that had whirled in the air and before he knows it he’s cumming all over his fist, the same feeling of shame and guilt bubbling inside of him

Sexually repressed Price who once again finds himself in a dirty bathroom stall, hands shaking and ears burning as he stares at his own reflection.

You’d casually mentioned you were seeing, someone no, casually mentioned that you were seeing a man, there was no shame on your face no hesitation in your tone when you said the words, said it like you said how to please yourself the night you were drunk, but this time around you were stone cold sober, price pukes into the toilet bowl like he’d been the one drinking

Sexually repressed Price who can’t help but think of your attraction towards men, who stares at himself naked in the mirror, keeps wondering if you’d ever want someone like him, who becomes so hyper aware of your existence, who scoops and digs for any sign that you’re attracted to him only to bury it as far as he can into the ground when he finds hints of it

Sexually repressed who has his room next to yours, who can hear whomever you brought home for the night, who can hear its a man, who can’t help but sneak his hand down his pants and imagine it was him pinned on your weight, with you showing him how to take your mouth, how to take your fingers, how to take your cock, what it’s like to have a man in bed

His mind fills with thoughts of you pinning down the man as if he were another soldiers, but those arm would continue to trace down his shoulders chest and abdomen. His mind fills with thoughts of your fingers, who so easily takes apart deadly weapons, taking apart the man in the very same way

Sexually repressed Price who finds himself back at the very same bar, this time with just you alone, drunk out of your minds and talking about something other than cigar liquor or paper work, who gets so drunk you have to sling an arm over his shoulder and carry him to his room and somewhere on the walk back, between the steps the drunken talks the heavy breathes from trying to carry a full grown man he slips up, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes and before you know it the two of you kiss

He feels scared once he realizes what he has done eyes wide and mouth agape, desperately trying to explain himself but you’re ever so calm collected a gentle smile on your face , briefly pecking his lips before pulling away

He’s still drunk as he were moments ago but sober enough to pull you in for another kiss and it’s clumsy teeth clashing, smacking sounds echoing loudly smiling so much you’re practically barely kissing but he loves it so much at one point you fall down onto pavement and stay seated there, maybe it’s the liquor maybe it’s the adrenaline but for the first time he doesn’t feel any of the guilt brewing inside of him as he interlocks your hands and rests his head on your shoulder

The next morning there’s just a tad bit of guilt at the back of his throat but it may very well be the liquor and tobacco smoke, he wakes up next to a glass of water and pain killers for the headache that’s already making itself known

When he arrives to the first meeting that morning he thinks you’ll confront him about that night, pulse roaring in his ears and hand shaking as he takes a seat at the table but nothing of that sort happens, you carry a conversation with soap, you listen through the debriefing and you part ways after the meeting

Later that night he seeks you out on his own, voice soft, gaze avoidant as he leads you to his office under the disguise of doing paper work and of course you take him up on that offer

You barely do paper work instead you share a cigar til you’ve smoked for so long you’ve lost interest in the tobacco leaf and there’s only a silence lingering in the air for a good couple of minutes. Finally he says something apologies tumbling past his lips hands gesturing for what he doesn’t dare say

It’s okay, you explain to him, there’s no need to worry about it, but he won’t stop apologizing til you ask him if you can kiss him again and he halts his movements and falls silent, you can almost hear a pin drop before he nods his head and you lean in and cup his face and gently slot your lips together

You kiss and you kiss and you kiss til you’re caging his body against the sofa like he’s dreamt of so many times, hands racking alongside of his ribs like dissembling one of your weapons and eagerly kissing his lips and he looks so blissful so at ease soft gasps escaping his lips with every kiss as he claws at the sofa under him finally his eyes flutter open hands cupping your cheek and the biggest smile overtakes his face as you kiss again and again and again

And that’s how this thing starts This relationship that really isn’t a relationship where you and him do everything two lovers would do but he’s not yours and you’re not his but you don’t seem to mind despite the thoughts that plague him at night

You’re always so patient so understanding don’t mind sharing kisses and caresses in hiding but it eats at him and eats at him but doesn’t make him any more braver

You deserve something more and when he finally thinks he’s ready to give you that the opportunity is taken away, and he’s sent out on a mission in which he almost doesn’t return

But you don’t give up hope, you sit outside even and wait for him to come home you don’t know how much time has passed but you’ve slept and showered and eaten a handful of times until you finally see a figure making its way towards you

It’s price

It’s your John

Funny how the sky cries just as tears fall down your cheek and within seconds you’re holding him in your embrace and you’re both crying before he finally cups your cheeks and you kiss, under the night sky, in front of the base, in front of the whole world to see

[elliesbelle]

Hi!!! i was wondering if i could maybe request an abby x fem! reader where abby is like a nervous wreck around reader? like, sweaty, beat red in the face, stuttering, and tripping over her own feet and readers super sweet but completely oblivious ?? i’m a sucker for that that trope!! thank you!!

loser!abby around her crush

abby had only recently come out, having realized she’s a lesbian only after she was finally in her 20s

she’s had crushes on girls before, of course, but it wasn't something she'd fully processed at the time

and now when she develops crushes, it’s much more different in that she’s more aware of herself

doesn't stop her from being a complete anxious mess, though

the first time she laid eyes on you, she goes almost slack-jawed and nearly drools on herself

abby’s usually a very cool and confident person

but girls? she’s unfortunately the definition of a "useless lesbian”

you'd been out for longer than she has, so you're a bit more collected when it comes to being around the girls you like

so when you met her for the first time, you were able to handle yourself well enough in the moment

but it didn't stop your heart from fluttering and your breath from hitching

your inner struggle about your attraction to her distracted you from abby's face flushing and her jaw tightening and her shifting her weight back and forth on her feet

of course you liked her, but you didn't do anything about it because you were absolutely convinced she just saw you as a friend

because of that, you remained completely oblivious to the true reason behind her sudden tense behaviour when you entered the room

you eventually just assumed that was the kind of person she was

you tried not to be too physically affectionate with her because she didn't seem to enjoy it (she did, but the way she reacted to it visually just made it seem like it stressed her out), but that's just the type of person you are, so sometimes you slip without meaning to

whenever you stood next to her, she'd be swaying slightly from side to side in total nervousness

when you're conversing with her one-on-one, she tries to avoid direct eye contact with you out of fear that you would somehow be able to read her yearning thoughts about you

abby's definitely chewed on her lip a little too hard that she's broken skin a few times when she'd be watching you just go about, performing what would seem like the most mundane things to other people. but to her, she would watch you endlessly in awe if she could

you've definitely wondered if you'd made her upset a few times because she'll be rigidly crossing her arms, looking very stiff and uncomfortable when you'd just be hanging out

when in reality, she's just internally chastising herself for pinning so pathetically after you

there have been a few times that your face has gotten a little too close to hers, and her breathing would suddenly get uneasy and she would not stop stuttering and repeating herself and eventually just forgetting any train of thought

any time that your skin would make contact with hers?

on top of her heart beating approximately 100x more than usual, her head and fingers and toes tingling, every beautifully sculpted muscle of hers tensing up, sweating in every crevice possible,

she'd just about nearly passed out every single time from the slightest bit of your touch

it wasn't until one day when you were both walking to a restaurant for lunch, just the two of you, that your obliviousness was lifted ever so slightly

you were walking alongside each other on the sidewalk (abby making sure to keep just enough distance as not to accidentally brush up against you), and you were laughing at some joke abby made

it distracted you enough that the tip of your foot got caught in a crack in the pavement

you would have absolutely eaten shit and gotten a face full of pavement had abby not caught you just in time before you'd completely tripped

you felt her strong, warm arms tightly embrace your figure from behind you, protecting you from the fall

your usual calm composure when it came to your little crush on abby was shaken, with you suddenly sweating and quickly getting woozy

she pulls you up from your bent position, keeping you still wrapped around her arms, and turns you to face her

she inspects your face intensely, unsure if she really did prevent you from getting hurt

you watch her with wide eyes, extremely aware of how her own face was mere inches from yours

when she sighs in relief that you're unharmed, she finally realizes how close you are to each other

you stay completely frozen in this moment of her still holding you tightly, staring at each other intensely

you notice how her eyes drift between your eyes and your lips, and for a second, you think she might actually do something

but the moment passes as she clears her throat and finally releases you before making a joke about your clumsiness

you laugh nervously at it, still nervously reeling from what just happened

there's absolutely no way she could feel the same way about you. right?

author's notes:

sorry this request took forever to get to but here it is finallyyyyy, y'all know i'm slow about requests cause i'm an anal perfectionist, saury

i really need to write more for my girl abby, she deserves the world. y'all just know my heart (and vagina) belong to my wife ellie.

hope this is what you were looking for, anon!

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

[stylesispunk]

"would you kiss me under the mistletoe?"

Ceo!Joel Miller x f! Reader

summary: Christmas is coming, and the annual party at the company might be the night you get to kiss your boss. Warnings: none. Just fluff. word count: 3k>

a/n: I wrote this one yesterday during my break, so since Christmas is around the corner I got inspired by the magical spirit, I hope you enjoy it 🤞💌 reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

masterlist

dividers by @/plum98

Christmas wasn’t special for you. You had never celebrated the night over dinner surrounded by your family, at least not since you were a kid. 

The holiday season was just a reminder of the absence of belonging somewhere, to a home, and those sweat-warm nights with your family had been left behind, the laughter, and the joy of the anticipated wait for Santa was just a tear slipping down your heart, becoming memories fading away each passing year. 

But you still love it. You loved the twinkling lights, finding solace in the love filling the air, even in people losing their minds over finding an important gift to give to their loved ones. And you just loved the scent of freshly baked cookies, and the songs playing on the radio. You just found magic in the season in a certain way, creating your little bubble of coziness inside the four walls of your apartment. 

Even at work, the lights and decorations seemed to envelop the place into a festive atmosphere that made your heart melt. 

The days leading up to the company's annual Christmas party create the joyful spirit of the upcoming holidays in the atmosphere. Everyone around you received lovely greetings and well-wishes from your coworkers. You couldn't help but admire and smile at the picture because it was the closest you could get to being surrounded by a crowd during these days. Before returning home to an empty apartment with a tiny Christmas tree in the corner of your living room, next to a door and a picture of you and your mother who was thousands of kilometers away.

You were engrossed in your own self-pity and didn't notice Joel approaching you. He'd been your employer for the previous year and a half, and his cute face had been on your mind from the day you walked into this office for the first time, and his kind personality didn't help you get rid of the crush you'd developed on him.

Joel, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggles, flashed a warm smile. "Hey you”

You, shaken from your thoughts, managed a smile in return. “Mr. Miller”

Joel chuckled, “How many times I’ve told you just to call me Joel”

"I-I know, it's just... force of habit, I guess." You stuttered, feeling the red rushing into your cheeks.

Joel's laughter filled the air, and he leaned casually against your desk. "So, any exciting plans for the holidays?"

You sighed, glancing toward the horizon, almost picturing the small Christmas tree in your apartment, the twinkling lights casting a soft glow in the dark "Not really. Just the usual. Quiet night at home, maybe watch some movies."

He laughed, perhaps thinking it was just a joke.

“Are you coming to the party tomorrow, right?” he asked you, his eyes shone under the soft light of the day.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'll be there. It's a good time."

"Great! Looking forward to it," Joel said with a smile, the kindness in his eyes reflecting a genuine excitement “Besides, secret Santa tomorrow? Exciting!”

You beamed at him, lost in the urge to kiss him right now, and ending with the thoughts that had tormented you for over a year. "Yeah, I guess so," you said. "Last year I had Betty, I'm glad she liked the present I got for her"

"That's because you're attentive and nice," he explained, "and everyone here is aware of it. "This is why we all love you."

Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped beating.

"I mean, why do they love you," he clarified, clearing his throat.

He panicked when you didn't respond.

"And you're my best employee." he added, trying to dismiss the words that escaped from his lips "My favorite," he added, just to make you smile.

As Joel's words remained in the air, the hot flush spread across your cheeks.

"Yeah," you said, your voice a little lower than normal. " Thank you, Joel. I'm grateful."

He grinned, obviously oblivious to the effect his words had on you.

Then, the conversation shifted to work-related topics, yet the questions lingered.

Why does he appear more excited about my presence this time? You questioned yourself.

The next day, the sharp winter frost made you shudder, and the frozen ground, now draped in a white cloak, rushed the coolness into your rose cheeks, leaving you with a soft blush of pink color on your skin.

However, soon you entered the workplace, you were embraced by the warm atmosphere of everyone gathered together, and all the cold bones in your body melted. The lights and laughter were buzzing with excitement for the approaching party.

As you approached your office, everybody greeted you with infectious smiles that made your heart skip a beat. When you arrived at your desk, your eyes were caught up by a small, carefully packaged gift placed in front of your computer. You couldn't stop yourself from being curious.

“I hope you wear these at the party tonight”

-Your secret Santa

The corners of your mouth curled in a smile. It was a nice gesture, and you couldn't help but appreciate the time and effort that went into selecting such an appropriate and beautiful gift for you.

You caught yourself stealing glances at everyone throughout the day, wondering who may be your secret Santa. All you wanted was for it to be Joel.

Amid your thoughts, one of your colleagues, Lisa, burst into your office with an animated expression. "Hey there! So, who's your secret Santa? spill the beans!"

Lisa's enthusiasm made you chuckle, a combination of enjoyment and a little embarrassment. "Well, Lisa, it's a secret. That is the entire purpose of Secret Santa."

"Hey, what's all this excitement about?" Joel inquired; his tone lighthearted as he stepped further into the room.

Lisa, unable to contain her curiosity, smiled at him. "We're attempting to determine who this lady's Secret Santa is!" "Do you have any ideas?"

Joel pretended to be innocent for a minute, scratching his chin as if deep in contemplation. "Hmm, let me think about it." Isn't it a real mystery?"

You flashed him a playful gaze, thinking he was hiding something.

"Oh, Joel, come on. You can't keep us waiting forever." Joel's face softened into a discrete giggle as Lisa demanded. "All right, okay. I might know something."

Lisa's eyes expanded with excitement. "Of course, you're in charge!

You lifted an eyebrow, meeting Joel's gaze. "How do you know this?"Spill it!"

Joel leaned in, his voice low, as if passing on an exclusive secret to you. "Well, I heard your Secret Santa got you something just perfect." Something that will make you happy."

You lifted an eyebrow, meeting Joel's gaze. "And how do you know that?"

He laughed. "Let's just say I have my sources"

Lisa giggled, fascinated with the enigma "So, do you have any guesses, Joel?"

Joel pretended to think for a bit, then smirked and pointed at himself. " We'll find out at the party, I'm sure." The secret will stay till then. That's our tradition"

Just as Joel was going to say something else, Tess's voice echoed from a distance, desperately calling out for Joel. Tess and Joel exchanged a few words before Joel excused himself to join her, leaving Lisa and you behind.

Once Tess and Joel were out of earshot, Lisa turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, those two would make such a hot couple, don't you think?"

Your heart sank a little at the thought, and you managed a weak smile, trying to brush off the sudden wave of emotions. "Yeah, they do seem to get along well."

It was true though, starting by Tess being Joel's business parter to her being gorgeous and closer in age to Joel, they had always gotten along. They had the same kind of fancy life, they had always traveled together everywhere and shared time beyond office hours. They were just made for each other, but that didn't mean it hurt you less.

As the workday came to an end, you and Lisa couldn't get your minds off the upcoming Christmas party. The light interaction with Joel added an extra element of enticement, and the mystery surrounding your Secret Santa kept the optimistic mood intact.

When noon arrived, you and Lisa exchanged stressed glances before heading home to prepare for the evening's festivities. The excitement swelled within you as you went out into the cool winter air, and you couldn't help but wonder what surprises the night wold unfold.

So, once you get home, you carefully pick an ideal dress for the occasion. The dress you chose was a deep emerald green with delicate sparkles that would capture the light of the night. It moved with flow, reflecting the essence of the season. You paired it with the silver earrings your Secret Santa had given to you to wear tonight.

Later that evening, as you approached the building, the bright lights and festive decorations revealed the start of a beautiful night ahead. The sweet smell of festive treats filled the air, and cheerful chattering boomed around the venue.

You were greeted by the warm glow of fairy lights and the enthusiastic energy of your coworkers as you entered the party. The area had been transformed into a winter wonderland, with the season's magic filling every corner.

Joel, dressed in a traditional black suit, stood near the entrance, smiling as he welcomed everyone. A small connection lingered when your eyes met his, in a timid exchange of smiles between the both of you, anticipating the red flush of your cheeks. 

Once inside the party, the atmosphere was electrifying. The sparkling bulbs, giggles, and music generated a happy atmosphere. Coworkers chatted while exchanging anecdotes and enjoying the festivities.

As the Secret Santa reveal arrived, you found yourself scanning the room for a glimpse of Joel. The mystery of the gift, as well as his fun demeanor, had piqued your curiosity.

Joel subsequently joined the guests, arm in arm with Tess, your heart tugged at the sight, however, his eyes met yours, and he smiled at you, timidly. 

You didn't mirror his expression, instead, you focused on what was happening in front of you instead, at the moment of Secret Santa reveals.

The room buzzed with anticipation as each person shared and received their gifts. You couldn't help but appreciate the effort and consideration that went into choosing each present, smiling at the thought of it.

When it was finally Joel's turn, everyone was expectant. Since he was the boss, all the employees wanted to know who was the lucky person receiving the gift of the head of the company.

He stood in the middle of the room, with a beautiful wrapped box. The anticipation in the room grew as you, along with everyone else, awaited the revelation.

Then, he walked toward you, handing over the carefully wrapped box. The entire room seemed to stop breathing, and all eyes were on you and Joel.

The room seemed to fade into background noise, and all focus was on this exchange between you and your boss.

You could feel the strong beating of your heart in your chest, leaving a way for blood to rush all over your cheeks.

"Looks like I got the honor of being your Secret Santa," Joel replied, his eyes twinkling.

You smiled at him, receiving the gift in your hands. A delicate friction between your hands sent shivers down all over your spine.

As you unwrapped the gift, you discovered a charming necklace, a delicate pendant that caught the light of the room on it.

Joel's gaze was drawn to yours, and a real smile flickered across his lips. It had a delicate beauty to it; the unspoken connection you and Joel shared grew in that right away, but only both of you could feel it.

Before you could utter a thank you, everyone in the place cheered, and Tess came, leaning over to Joel and whispered something into his ear as applauses kept feeling the room. He nodded in return, his gaze fixed on you, walking away with Tess. and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at that.

But the party had to continue, and you found yourself engaged in conversations with your colleagues, even when your thoughts kept d drifting back to Joel and his gift.

As the night progressed, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Tess, wearing a mischievous grin. "Joel's Secret Santa choice was spot on, don't you think?"

You smiled a hint of blush on your cheeks. "Yeah, it was a really beautiful gift."

Tess leaned in a little closer. "He put a lot of thought into it. You can tell. It matches your earrings"

Tess pointed out the matching elegance of the pendant with your earrings, and your smile widened. The subtle coordination hadn't gone unnoticed by you, and it offered a further level of appreciation for Joel's considerate choice.

Tess laughed, her suspicious grin persistent on her face. "You should know that Joel isn't just good with gifts." He's been talking a lot about you."

You couldn't help but raise your brows in surprise, and you couldn't help but feel a curiosity"Really? "What exactly has he been saying?"

Tess shrugged, her humorous look still on her face. "Oh, he just thinks you're pretty amazing at your job and stuff. However, you did not hear it from me."

After that, Tess went away, leaving you with an increased feeling of affection and awe.

Later that night, while you were drowned in a sea of joyful beams and festive ornaments, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder. When you turned around, you saw Joel standing there with a real grin on his face.

"Hey there," he greeted, his eyes reflecting warmth. "I hope you're having a good time."

You returned his smile, the connection between you palpable. "Yeah, it's been great. Your gift was really thoughtful. Thank you."

Joel's eyes held a glint of appreciation. "I'm glad you liked it"

"It was really beautiful" you whispered, touched by the sincerity of his gesture.

"I just thought it would complete the set," he replied, his eyes holding yours.

Joel lifted his hand, and his fingers delicately tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a soft heat spread through you. The air around you seemed charged with a different energy, and the festive lights of the party contributed to a magical moment.

"Thank you, Joel," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The connection between you felt more profound with each passing second.

Joel's gaze lingered on yours, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. The world around you faded away.

“You look breathtaking tonight”

A warmth spread across your cheeks at Joel's compliment, his words adding a touch of sincerity to the already enchanting evening. The festive lights and laughter seemed to dim in comparison to the connection you shared in that moment.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a genuine appreciation for his kind words. "You don't look too bad yourself in that suit," you added playfully, a smile dancing on your lips.

Joel chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, I figured a classic suit is always a safe bet for these occasions."

You nodded, the emerald green dress and silver earrings reflecting the joy in your eyes.

Joel's gaze held a twinkle in his eye. "Having a good time?"

"Absolutely. And thank you again for the lovely earrings. They're perfect."

Joel's smile widened, and he glanced around the festive atmosphere. "I'm glad you like them. It's the least I could do for my favorite employee."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you felt the weight of their meaning.

Joel, with a genuine smile, continued the conversation. "So, any exciting plans for the holidays? Family gatherings, maybe?"

You chuckled, a hint of wistfulness in your response. "Not really. It's just going to be a quiet Christmas at home. I've gotten used to spending it alone."

Joel's genuine smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of surprise and concern. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine disbelief.

You shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of your words. "No, it's true. Christmas has never been a big celebration for me. I'm used to spending it alone, just enjoying the quiet."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, a mix of understanding and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "Well, that's not right. Christmas is a time for joy and togetherness. No one should be alone during the holidays."

You appreciated his concern, but a part of you felt a little embarrassed for sharing such a personal detail. "It's okay, really. I find my own ways to make it special. Movies, maybe a good book, you know."

Joel nodded, and his smile softened, and he excused himself to make a call, leaving you momentarily alone in the midst of the festive celebration. As you stood there, a sense of vulnerability washed over you, wondering if you had shared too much with him.

As you stood there, waiting for Joel to return after what felt like an eternity, a sense of disappointment settled in. The celebration continued around you, but a subtle shift in the atmosphere made everything feel a bit less magical for you.

After about ten minutes of waiting, you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that maybe you had shared too much, that Joel's concern had led to a sudden change in the dynamics of the evening. He may have felt pity for you and you debated whether to stay or make your way out, with a mix of vulnerability and disappointment.

With a heavy sigh, you decided to leave the party. The twinkling lights and cheerful laughter seemed to lose their polish as you made your way through the crowd toward the exit. Each step felt like a retreat, not just from the party but from the unexpected connection that had briefly sparked between you and Joel. But it seemed to be just in your imagination.

Once in the elevator, you decided to call it a night and head home, where the glow of your Christmas tree awaited.

Meanwhile, Joel couldn't get you to leave the party without saying goodbye. He felt a magnetic draw toward you, a want to be near you. He followed you outside, trusting his intuition, only to find you standing alone, staring at the city lights from the lobby. 

Joel paused for a beat before approaching you. As you glanced into the distance, looking deep in focus, the city lights shed a lovely glow on your face and he felt his heart squeeze at the sight.

"Hey," Joel said gently, breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, surprise and something he couldn't quite decipher in your eyes.

"I noticed you left without saying goodbye," he continued, his voice filled with a warmth that mirrored the glow of the soft light of the city.

You offered a small smile, "I thought you were busy. Didn't want to interrupt."

Joel shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "You're never an interruption, trust me. I was looking for you. Didn't want you to leave without a proper goodbye."

A quiet connection flowed between you two as you stood there. As Joel took a step closer, the city seemed to fade into the background, the space between you narrowing.

Joel's eyes moved up, and a soft laugh escaped him, as if on instinct. You followed his gaze to realize you were standing just beneath a mistletoe, hanging in the door of the lobby. 

He chuckled a genuine and welcoming sound that echoed through silence. "Well, would you look at that," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You couldn't help but laugh along with him, the suddenness of the situation providing a magical touch to the night. The noise and bustle of the city appeared to vanish, leaving only the two of you standing beneath the mistletoe.

Joel took a deep breath, a vulnerability in his expression. "I've been trying to deny it, even to myself, but I can't ignore it any longer, you know?”

You listened closely, the air thick with anticipation. The city lights built a protective shell around you two, pointing out your fragility.

"I think I'm… kinda in love with you," Joel admitted, his voice echoing with devotion.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand motionless. The revelation sat in the breeze, and you could feel the importance of his words. It was a confession that went beyond the cheerful mood of the night. It was a confession that contained a time of words held back. 

Joel's eyes were filled with both optimism and anxiety. "Would it be too forward if I asked to kiss you under the mistletoe?"

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you replied, "No, Joel, it wouldn't be too forward."

Joel leaned in, his eyes stuck on yours, under the soft glow of the city lights and the mute witnesses of the mistletoe, your lips touched in a tender kiss, and the world around you distorted.

Joel stared at you with pleasure and joy as you pulled away. "I've been wanting to do that for a while."

You laughed, your heart humming with new sensations. "The feeling is mutual."

"So, about tomorrow," Joel began, his voice soft, holding your face in his hands. "There's no way you're spending Christmas alone."

You looked at him, surprise in your eyes. "Joel, I appreciate it, but you don't have to—"

He gently interrupted, "No, I want to. Christmas is a time for love and joy, and I can't bear the thought of you spending it alone. If you're willing, I'd love for you to join me and my family for Christmas dinner."

The lights continued to twinkle around as Joel's gaze lingered on yours. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, and he leaned in once more. The soft press of his lips against yours sent a thrill through you, a continuation of the connection that had deepened under the mistletoe.

As he kissed you, his hands traveled from your face to your hands, interlocking your fingers. When he pulled away, a playful smile danced on Joel's lips. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, his hand still holding yours "I have better plans to spend the night."

[midnightscramble]

Heyy, could you make an Violet bridgerton x maid please??

Good luck, Maid! Part 1 (Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The Masterlist

Author's Note: So, so many creative liberties were taken, if it is not to your liking feel free to request a part 2 with a more detailed ask (don't be shy!) Happy readings to you.

Summary: Violet is in need of a new maid, Eloise implores the help of Miss y/n. Violet turns to a friend as she digests the new feelings being spurred on by y/n.

Warnings: slight internalized homophobia, age gap relationship, SFW, no Beta read

Anthony stormed into the drawing room in a fury, causing the rest of the Bridgerton family to look up from their places and the mindless chatter to cease.

“Mother, I’ve fired Miss Smith- she has irrevocably disrespected our family name. I’ve heard talk amongst the staff that she has been selling old clothes and pocketing the money.” 

Somewhat still startled, Violet looked upon her son with a grimace, “but what shall I do about the Kent’s ball tonight? I still need to get ready, and I hardly look presentable as is.” She pursed her lips in thought and turned her gaze to the rest of the room.

Before she could speak again, a very eager Eloise offered, “well that is simply unacceptable, you should have Miss Y/n help dress you tonight. However, dressing both you and I would pose a challenge to a timely arrival…So it would be most sensible if I did not accompany you tonight-“

Violet gently raised her hand, and smiled fondly at her daughter’s blatant attempt to weasel her way out of going, “That is a very generous offer, Eloise. Although, don’t let my acceptance be misconstrued, I am aware you look for any excuse to avoid these events.” Eloise shrunk slightly at getting caught but a closed mouth smile pulled across her face at her own victory.

“Thank you, Mother” she patted Violet’s hand and went to stand, “and not to worry, I will tell Miss Y/n of tonight’s change.”

…

Violet sat on her bed awaiting Miss Y/n’s arrival. She had only ever caught glimpses of the young maid. Eloise preferred to be alone most of the day and used her brothers as chaperones, so Y/n’s job had been significantly reduced, allowing her to spend the bulk of the day in the staff quarters.

She knew her daughter despised having social responsibilities, and with her upcoming trip to Scotland perhaps she would relieve her from forced outings until the departure. Such would free Miss Y/n to be the semi permanent solution to Miss Smith’s firing. 

In quiet reflection, she smoothed her hand across the comforter, tracing the designs. As busy as she kept herself, she could not ignore the subtle emptying of her house. While winter brought shorter days to the Ton, days spent by herself seemed to drudge towards the sweet relief of sleep. Although she loved Hyacinth and Gregory, their company could become quite tedious when their insistent arguments became less amusing and more predictable. Benedict was rarely home and when he was he joined the sibling banter. No matter where she went, a dreadful feeling of isolation followed.

Lost in thought, she did not respond to the initial knock at her door, “My lady, may I come in?” The muffled voice of Miss Y/n broke her from her trance. She rose from the bed in a hurry, “Yes, please do.” 

She stood with her hands clasped neatly in front of her, watching the door open with great anticipation. Miss Y/n’s face was revealed, and Violet’s mouth opened slightly. As if the world had slowed she watched Miss Y/n enter. Eloise’s maid was quite pretty. Her eyes held a wisdom that was uncommon for her age, and lacked the cruelty that usually accompanied it. 

Time quickly caught up with Violet as Miss Y/n stood in front of her, awaiting instruction. Violet smiled awkwardly and lowered her eyes, which proved to be a mistake as she looked upon Miss Y/n’s figure.

Stuttering slightly, “let us start with hair shall we”, Violet motioned towards her vanity and in a few short strides took a seat.

“Yes, my lady,” with expertise and nimble fingers Y/n plucked the pins holding Violet’s hair up, causing waves of the light brown locks to cascade down. 

Violet watched the young woman work through the mirror. She found herself entranced by the graceful movements of hands and suddenly envisioned them tangled in her hair, tugging her head back to expose her neck. She took in a sharp breath, surprised by the vivid imagery. Her eyes closed as she tried to ground herself. She felt her face get hot and opened her eyes quickly, and to her utter horror, her cheeks burned a bright red. 

It confused her, how could the simple presence of Y/n make her imagination run errant? Violet sat dumbfounded, perhaps her loneliness had caught up with her. She made a note to spend ample time with Lady Danbury after this, she was obviously feeling a deficit in emotional intimacy if her mind was playing such tricks on her.

…

Once at the ball, Violet let Hyacinth and Gregory run off with the Kent children to the garden, while she herself made haste to Lady Danbury.

“Ah Violet, wonderful to see you.” Lady Danbury smiled lightly and looked out at the crowd of young people dancing, “interesting how they can touch and dance so openly, yet it would be the talk of the Ton if they were to hold gazes too long in the courtyard.”

Violet laughed absently still thinking about the way Y/n hands flittered through her hair, “Yes. Interesting indeed, Agatha.” 

Lady Danbury glanced at her from the side, sensing her distractedness, reaching her hand out to Violet’s shoulder in concern she said “Violet, is something the matter…” 

It was the clear affection from a woman so formidable to the Ton that made Violet realize she was in fact not in a deficit of any kind. What she had felt for Miss Y/n today was a rather unique, isolated experience.

“Actually…” Violet pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder briefly, “shall we tour the gardens?” 

Catching on, Lady Danbury hummed in agreement, lacing their arms together as they began their walk, getting away from prying eyes. Once in the garden, Violet let out a sigh, unsure of how to phrase this.

“I felt something strange today,” Violet’s whispered words were almost carried away by the wind.

Ears peaked, Lady Danbury widened her eyes in questioning, “Should I presume this is about our earlier discussion of a certain garden being in bloom?”

With a guffaw, Violet nodded abashedly, “You always shock me with your blatancy, but yes, in a way it is about…that.”

In jest, Lady Danbury motioned towards the flora and fauna of the Kents grounds, “Well, have you found someone to tend your garden?” 

Violet laughed, “Not quite, I am afraid things are quite complicated.”

“Do you like them?” Lady Danbury questioned. 

“I am not sure…” came Violet’s quiet response. 

“Do they like you?” she tried again.

“Good heavens, most likely not.”

“Hmm complicated indeed.” She finally agreed. “I can only advise you to pursue what makes you happy, but you must know what that in itself is, Violet.”

Violet nervously sucked in a breath of the cool night air, “What if it were something unspeakable?”

“Why, Violet, I’d be impressed,” she laughed and grabbed Violets hands in sincerity, “We have all done unspeakable things, however between friends the unspeakable can be spoken without fear of judgment.”

Looking into her friend’s eyes, she squeezed the other woman’s hands, “You are a good friend, Agatha. For now I have nothing of tangibility to speak of... However, I may ask you to tea in the near future if that would be alright?”

“That would be perfectly fine, my dear, shall we head back to the party?”

“We shall.”

[catmomjudy]

I’ve often wondered if Buck is the actual introvert and Eddie is the extravert in their friendship.

I was trying to find something else over the weekend, and came across some articles on PTSD/trauma and damaged extraverts (who then appear to be introverts because they become afraid of trusting people). Eddie certainly presents as an extravert:

He seems to have a wide acquaintance/friends group (other firefighters, like Julie and now Tommy; the poker group; the basketball group; the dispatch ladies).

His first day at the 118 was classic extravert behavior—he fits in quickly and chats easily with everyone.

When Buck is standoffish on Day 1, Eddie pursues HIM. He wants to get along with everyone and wants to be friendly with all of his coworkers.

He chats easily with others about THEIR deep subjects (his conversation with May in season 5 comes to mind).

Extraverts tend to have a lot of people they know and are friendly with. They’ll still have deeper relationships, of course, but they’ll consider any number of people to be “friends,” and they are approachable and easy to talk to.

That doesn’t mean that they share their own inner thoughts, though—it’s often surface-level. It actually makes selecting and nurturing people/relationships where they can develop enough trust to share that innermost-feeling-stuff more difficult. And it’s that trust issue that made me wonder if Eddie was an extravert who had trouble diving past the surface relationships because of past trauma. He does trust people, but it’s a select few (Buck; Bobby). Otherwise, people only see the surface. An example would be his coworkers not knowing that he had a son and, later, a wife, until it became necessary (worried during the earthquake and asked a direct question) or beyond his control (Shannon showing up at the firehouse).

Buck appears to be an extravert, but I was actually thinking about Myers-Briggs types for the 118 at one point (while driving in my car, of course!!) and realized that Buck isn’t an extravert at all.

Think about HIS first day at the 118–he was shy and hesitant.

Buck being a “player” in season 1 was more about making connections—reveling in being Seen. Plus he’s incredibly awkward when HE tries to approach new people—I’ve always assumed that the women he slept with approached him because Buck-in-pursuit is just embarrassingly awkward. See his first conversation with Taylor for the cringe of it all.

The women he’s dated have, in most cases pursued him—or at least put the first step forward. Abby called him repeatedly. While he and Ali obviously exchanged numbers, she is the one who calls him and asks him out in 2x08. He met Taylor and Natalia on calls, and they were both inviting and forward. The one time HE tried to pursue dating, we got Veronica.

He doesn’t appear to have any close friends (or even people he hangs out with or activities he goes to) outside of the 118 circle.

Buck is outgoing within his friend/family group, but that’s common introverted behavior—they build that group and keep it close (they’ll fight for this—lawsuit, anyone?), and are comfortable being chatty to people in that select group. Outside of that group, and the awkward conversation and stuttering starts. They don’t necessarily have poor social awareness (particularly when observing OTHER people—I.e. people-watching), but they overthink and internalize it, making them self-conscious.

P.S. A true extravert would have gone to hang out at basketball with Eddie even if he sat and cheered (and razzed) on the sidelines and then got to go out for beers afterward with the group.

(My Myers-Briggs/Keirsey geekiness is showing again.)

(Expanded from comments on a reblog, so yes, you may have seen this before. Originally written after 7x04 and later updated, but nothing in his current relationship with Tommy refutes this.)

(Edited 8/10/24 to correct error.)

[murderousink23]

10/22/2022 is International Stuttering Awareness Day 🌏, National Color Day 🇺🇲, National Nut Day 🇺🇲, National Make A Difference Day 🇺🇲, National Prescription Drug Take-Back Day 🇺🇲

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Endure

This is just deeply self indulgent, inspired by @mumms-the-word's fic featuring chronically ill Tav (forgive me please; I want to read it but I have to be mentally strong to do so I think.) So this is just... a little bit of truth from my own life. The diseases are from the setting, but that's it. So this is a little bit of me, fictionalised. Be kind, please.

'I must become a lionhearted girl, ready for a fight.' - Rabbit Heart, Florence & the Machine

Taglist:

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard @silent-words

@netherese0rb @sorceresssundries

Tav stared into the campfire, walking cane across her lap. I’ll be alright, she thought. A tadpole is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. I’ve got this. Still, she felt the familiar sneak of anxiety in her gut. Now they were in the shadow cursed lands, and death loomed over their shoulders. Astarion was pretending to read a book, but she could feel his feline gaze on the back of her head. Gale was really reading, but she noticed he would glance up at her every few pages, as though checking she was alright.  Shadowheart was eavesdropping on Wyll and Karlach’s conversation, Lae’zel apparently uninterested in socialising, engrossed as she was in a githyanki slate. So Tav sat alone, thinking.

Why did you bring me back? She closed her eyes, furrowing her brow. I never asked for any of this. I’ve been so strong for you my entire life and you let this happen to me. Why? Without warning, tears slid silently down her cheeks. She heard the soft thud of books closing and felt Gale and Astarion settle on either side of her. Astarion’s cool fingers stroked her back soothingly as Gale reached for her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles, both of them comforting in the ways they could. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, not even opening her eyes to look at them.

‘Pish posh,’ said Gale softly, nudging her shoulder. ‘You don’t need to lie.’

‘Just having a crisis of faith, I suppose,’ she said, sniffing and opening her eyes. She wiped fiercely at them with her free hand. ‘Hating my lot in life a little bit tonight.’ She sighed, deep and tired. ‘I thought you could choose your deity. Not me. I was plucked from the brink of death, and I’ve been fucked ever since.’

‘The gods are bastards and wretches,’ said Astarion bitterly.

Tav shrugged. ‘Without him I’d be dead. Still, it’s not like he’s offered me a bounty of beauty or particular skill or-’ she gestured vaguely, ‘-magic. It’s just been a litany of hurts. I’m tired.’

‘I never asked,’ said Gale. ‘About…’ He gestured to the cane.

‘Don’t you dare pity me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I hate it.’

‘I wasn’t. I just want to know what you’ve been through. And not from some kind of morbid curiosity either. You’ll forgive my bleeding heart if I hate seeing my friends in pain.’

‘It’s not good form to ask these things,’ said Astarion tersely. ‘But then you always were incredibly intelligent and breathtakingly stupid, Gale.’

Tav almost laughed, a single huff of air from her mouth. ‘Sure, I’ll tell you. But remember you asked.’ Dimly aware the camp had quieted, and her audience was beyond the wizard and the elf, she spoke to the flames. ‘I was born too early for anyone to expect me to survive. My lungs didn’t function, there was a stutter in my heartbeat, internal bleeding on the brain, all that. I had some necrosis and blacklung and even spotted plague, all at once could you believe it? I should’ve been dead five times over. I was put through my paces. I don’t know how or why I made it and sometimes I wish I hadn’t. But I did. And I got to grow up.’ A bitter edge crept into her voice. ‘And then something happened to me later, some people happened to me, and now I’m in pain all the time. It never goes away. I can manage it, on a good day, with rest and the odd spell. Potions don't work for me at all. I can’t do too much though, you see.’ Her face hardened. ‘Because the god who refused to let me die was Ilmater. My suffering is divine. I can’t even walk away because I owe him my very existence. How does a baby bargain with a god like that? So I push on. I endure, because I must.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Gale. ‘I empathise, believe me.’

‘Right,’ Tav said, voice softening a little bit. ‘The orb.’

He nodded. ‘Still. Self inflicted. It’s different.’

‘Yeah.’

‘If I’d known…’ he continued.

‘You wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it and you can’t now,’ she snapped. ‘I appreciate it Gale, I really do, but this is just my life. And now we have these things.’ Jabbing her finger at her forehead she set her jaw in determination. ‘I’ve been through worse. Doubtless we all have. We’re going to win this fight. We don’t have a choice.’

‘Hear hear,’ said Karlach softly.

‘You deserve more credit,’ said Astarion. ‘You’re strong.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t want to be though. I want to be soft. I want to rest.’

‘You don’t have to do this alone,’ said Wyll, sitting across the fire from her. ‘You have us now.’ His smile was so gentle it broke her heart.

‘Your endurance is admirable,’ said Lae’zel, sitting on Astarion’s other side.

‘For once I agree with you, Lae’zel.’ Shadowheart stayed back from the fire until Karlach grabbed her wrist and plonked her down next to her.

‘Any spells or potions you need, I’ve got you,’ said Gale. ‘It’s the least I can do given you helped me with my condition.’

‘Sweet as that is Gale, perhaps you could start with dinner? Karlach’s stomach is snarling like an angry bugbear,’ said Astarion lightly.

‘I saw that archdruid whittling in the grove earlier,’ said Shadowheart. ‘Maybe he could make you a new cane.’

Tav looked down at the cane in her lap. It was crudely hewn and splintered; she’d done it herself. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, maybe I should ask him.’

[missmoonfrost]

A good day - a wolfstar microfic

April 5 - Bookshop AU - 811 words

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus was having a good day. He’d chosen to spend a free afternoon and some well-earned money in his favorite bookstore. Having picked up a few books he'd decided on beforehand he was now peacfuly browsing. As he moved from English classics to international ones, a man in skinny black jeans and a black leather jacket was blocking his way. Remus didn't mind waiting. In fact, he could watch an arse as fit as that all day.

"Keep looking, I'm cute, I know."

"No, I... I'm not..." Remus stuttered, "I'm waiting to look at the books behind you."

"Sorry, I didn’t realise."

The stranger immediately stepped aside, giving Remus full access to the shelves, but staying close by. Remus found his eyes dancing over the titles without taking in what they said. His mind was fully occupied with the annoyingly good-looking, and apparently well aware, man behind him.

"Sorry, were you not done? I'll let you finish."

"No", the stranger dragged his finger through bouncing black waves with an exasperated smile "I'm looking for a gift for my little brother, but it's seeming more impossible the more I look. I was actually hoping to see what you'd choose. You look like a guy with good taste."

Remus chuckled nervously and hid the covers of the books he was holding against his side. He wouldn't call cheap romance novels good taste, even if he loved reading them.

"What does he like then?"

"Everything? I don't know. He loves to read, though. And he likes real books. Hardcovers."

Like any sane person. Not much to go by.

"Hm. How old is he?"

"He's 21. Just two years younger than me. You'd think we'd be close, but... it's complicated."

That meant Remus and the stranger were both 23. Which of course didn't mean anything. Remus just found himself liking it.

"You're not giving me much to work with here. But something clearly brought you to the international classics?"

"Well, our parents are kind of racist and I guess I wanted to show him..."

Remus stared into pearl-grey eyes and couldn't help guessing: "That you're not the same?" because he couldn’t be, right? Not if he was trying so hard to find a gift for a brother he was for some reason not on the best of terms with. Not with these breathtakingly beautiful eyes.

The stranger nodded, but still corrected: "That I know he's not the same."

"Yeah? Well…” Remus worked hard to focus on something useful, “what about The Book Thief? Not a classic per se, buts it’s about the love of reading, and set in Nazi Germany.”

"Sounds perfect.”

“Really? I think I saw it over there, I can show you the way.”

The stranger held out his hand as for him to lead the way. And smiled when Remus pulled out a copy and put it in his hands.

"Thank you. May I see what you've picked?"

Remus hesitated. But the stranger had been generously opening up about family matters in their just a few minutes of conversation. And Remus would most likely never meet him again. He might as well return the generosity.

"All right. This is the last two books in a series called The Seven Sisters. The dialogue is a bit over the top, like little girls having a tea party and pretending to sound like adults, but I enjoy the stories and the historical settings."

The stranger smiled. "Sounds like the kind of book he'd claim not to like, then buy the rest of the series in secret.”

Remus showed the way again. He had to turn around several times to assure himself that the good-looking stranger was actually following. Not only was he taking Remus' advice, he asked interested questions and listened carefully as Remus told him more and more about books he read and wanted to read.

The stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger anymore eventualy decided he was done. Remus slowly and reluctantly led their way to the counter. He didn’t want their brief meeting to be over, but he couldn’t force more books on the poor man, could he?

“Thank you for helping me out”, he said and turned to put his books down on the counter.

“It was nothing.”

He turned back at Remus with a smile that made his knees go weak. “No, really. I appreciate it. You didn’t have to walk me around. Especially after I embarrassed you first, accusing you of staring at my butt.”

Remus felt his cheeks heat. The teasing smile widening on the man’s lips told him he understood the accusation wasn’t entirely false.

He finally held out his hand. “I’m Sirius.”

“I’m Remus.”

“Remus”, he tasted the name, “may I buy you a coffee after this?"

"Yeah. Yes. That’d be lovely. Yes,” he rambled, unable to conceal his excitement.

Remus was having a good day indeed.

[yorshie]

Scars

SFW Blurbs with the songs that I listened to

Leo (Oh Children by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds)

Leo pulled you closer against his plastron, face tipped up and eyes closed as he slowly allowed himself to relax.

Your fingers were soft on his scales, tiny points of connection that he was hyper aware of as you slowly mapped your way across his skin.

The tip of one nail scored along the side of his pectoral scute, and he shivered underneath you, letting out a low hum at the feeling.

"Sorry." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder in apology.

"S' alright." He said softly, not moving when your palm pressed flat agaisnt his bicep. "It's doesn't hurt, not anymore."

He was aware of how your expression had crumpled upon seeing the almost surgically clean crack up on side of his top left scute, though your expression and scent when his whole shoulder had been covered in bandages had been far worse. In a way, he's morbidly thankful that the blade had been so sharp and well maintained. Now that the wound was fully healed and filled with ceramic epoxy, there were no harsh edges to scrap against you, barely any sign of how deep the wound had been.

It hurt though, to watch you touch him so hesitantly. He loved it when you let your fingers travel over him, had lost count of the hours you'd gently explored his tattoo or the whorls on his shell.

And now...

He reached down, palmed the back of your head, held you close while you stared at the scar on his shoulder.

Now, if he could go back in time, he wouldn't have hesitated to gut his opponent when he had the chance.

Your head tilted upwards towards him, brows drawn up in the middle and lower lip quivering, and he blanked on what to do, had no idea how to make it better.

Slowly, so slowly, the very edge of your finger traced along the healed crack, and he fought not to let his breathe stutter at the feeling, chills erupting along his limbs.

"I love you, Leonardo." You whispered it against his skin, but he heard the words you were really saying.

I almost lost you.

"I'm here." He answered, and knew from the warmth of tears slipping across his collar that he was right.

Mikey (Another Love by Tom O'Dell)

Mikey was sure you thought he was asleep, the way you moved so slowly, your touch whisper soft as you pet over the curves of his arm, tracing the orange flowers and shaded dots, running your finger over and over the carefully ink lines. It felt so nice, and he was content to let you explore for as long as you wanted, until your finger whispered over to rest on the scar tissue right at the edge of his plastron.

You gasped when he moved, when he pulled your hand off the damaged, raised scales and tucked your appendage around the far edge of his chest. His heart twinged at the sound, so he pulled you closer so you wouldn't think he was pushing you away.

"I'm sorry." Your whisper was small, and the regret in those two words had him rubbing a hand soothingly up and down your back, internally cringing once more.

"Don't have to be sorry, baby." He said softly, pressing a kiss into your hair. "It's just a little sensitive when I'm not expecting it."

You were quiet against him for a moment, and he silently hoped that you'd drop it, that you wouldn't ask...

"What happened, Mike?"

He breathed out slowly, hope dashed, and tried to decide what to say. Some time had passed, he technically should be ok to acknowledge the wound, but whenever his thoughts trended towards that night, the hurt bubbled up once more.

He didn't want to spoil his time with you bringing up old ghosts. Didn't want to make you wonder if he had ever accessed you as a potential threat despite the length of your relationship.

"I love you." He said instead, giving you a squeeze and pressing his mouth once more to your hair.

Your arm tightened around him, holding him close, hoping one day he'd be able to tell you. That one day he'd let you help soothe whatever wound he hid.

Raph (Dangerous Man by Little Dume)

Raph could feel you, barely, draped over his carapace, your soft hands rubbing that coconut scented lotion across his scutes and making sure the various cracks across the surface were still filled with ceramic epoxy and smooth to the touch.

"Feels good, sweetheart." He rumbled, relaxing into the sweet treatment, letting a churr come out when you finished and simply splayed across the width of his shell.

"You'll have to let me do the front in a little bit, big guy."

He grunted at the thought of your soft fingers ghosting across his chest. "Not all the ones on the front are filled in yet. Don wants to give 'em another week."

You gave a little sigh at his words, and his heart twinged heavily at how weary the sound was. When you remained silent however, he shifted one arm back, letting his fingers curl around your ankle in silent askance.

"You always have new cracks, Raph." You whispered, voice almost breaking on his name, and something slimy curled up under his plastron, stifling his throat.

He had to swallow twice before he could gruffly say. "Sometimes it just happens, sometimes it's just the only way."

Your foot twitched in his grip, your next words pressed against the central scute on his shell. "No one else has this many cracks, Raph."

He let spark of anger in your sentence boil under his skin, tried to breath it back down before giving a little tug on your foot. He rose up and tipped to the side, sliding you off his carapace to land with a huff on the mattress.

"No one else has this many cracks because I take 'em for them." He said, trying to sound serious, knowing you probably saw through to the ire beneath. "These cracks could be on Mikey, on Don, hell a few even got Mr. Perfect Ninja's name on 'em. So don't-" He broke off, suddenly aware of how your face had done deathly still and red.

You were trying not to cry. He sighed heavily, letting his head hang and brush against the bed, taking a deep breath of the combined scents of you and him to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry I-" The feel of your foot on his plastron cut him off once more, when you used the leverage to push away from him and slid to the edge of the bed. You stood, turned to look at him, eyes red.

"You're more than just a protector, Raphael." When he opened his mouth to retort, you held up the empty bottle of lotion. "I'm gonna go get that disinfectant lotion from Donnie."

And then you were gone, and he slumped fully on his shell to wait for your return.

Donnie (Hey There, Delilah by The Plain White Tees)

Donnie doodled away one-handed on the notepad balanced on his thigh, his other hand softly rubbing back and forth across your lower back where you were tucked in close, snoozing away to the point a gentle snore burred in your nose.

The Lab was relatively quiet, only the sound of soft classic rock playing from his main computer around the bend and the gentle ping of the Atari game still on standby where you'd fallen asleep halfway through the game an hour earlier providing the background noise Donnie needed to sit still.

He didn't pause writing when your snore caught, and you sleepily turned into his hand, a secret smile ticking the corner of his mouth when you grabbed his hand with gentle pressure and moved it so he was palming the soft swell of your stomach.

"Time?" You asked, voice sleep laden and raspy, and he hummed back, letting his thumb press against your flesh in acknowledgement.

"Only an hour later." Donnie assured you, eyes flicking over briefly when your soft hands started trailing up and down his arm, over the bubbly texture that even after all this time he knew you didn't expect.

"S'cold." You said, nails gently scratching over his ruined scales, and Donnie twisted his hand, the stretch a burn in his wrist, to trail the rough texture of his thumb over your own, conscious of the pressure he was exerting against you.

"That hand's always colder." He could go into detail, explain restrictive blood flow and damaged, seared nerves, but the press of your lips against his palm quieted his mind, let him focus instead on the pressure and tingle that shouldn't be there instead.

You sighed, tucking his hand into the neck of your hoodie, and he huffed out a laugh that could have been a snort, returning to his notes, his half ruined hand slowly warning up inside your clothes.

"Are you doing your exercises?" You asked, sounding closer to sleep once more, and he nodded before remembering you couldn't see.

"I have to," He clicked the pen, set aside his notes, and sighed heavily, rolling over to spoon against your back. "If I wanna keep being able to grip my Bo."

He flexed his hand inside your hoodie, and you grumbled, hiking up his arm so the both of you could lay properly, trapping his misbehaving hand in a position that hopefully would keep it from falling asleep.

Donnie smiled against your hair, snout whispering over the soft texture, drifting off to the soft pressure of your thumb on his arm, high enough where he could truly feel the sensation.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone (Part 2)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: This is a continuation of "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" where the reader is a secretary at the Sheriff's Department and Hopper drives her to and from work everyday. Hopper gets worried when he finds out the reader is sick and decides to take care of her. This story is the aftermath and set a few days after the reader has recovered. Set before the events of Season One of Stranger Things.

Tropes: Mutual pining, angst, fluff, grump x sunshine, age gap (reader is fresh out of college), jealousy, shy reader

Warnings: No Smut, mostly fluff, self-deprecating talk, indecisiveness, occasional cursing/a lot of cursing, Hopper is a little OOC, contains a few references to sex (I'm going to label this one mature just in case, only because of Sandra.)

Word Count: 4.7k (I'm so sorry- but not really because it's great)

There is a minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you."

Internal monologue is done in italics

Honestly, this is kinda self-indulgent, but absolutely necessary. If you don't like, don't read. If you do like, you're my favorite!

ENJOY!

*********************************************************

Exactly four days later you feel 100 times better and are ready to go back to work. Hopper hadn't stopped by again, but he had called to see how you were feeling and if you needed a ride to work. You glance at your reflection in the mirror trying not to cringe at the memory of Hopper peeling you off the bathroom floor and tucking you into bed.

UGH. I can't believe he saw me like that. You groan to yourself. All stuffy, hoarse, and drippy. EW. You internally curse Marcie for bringing back the illness from work. But then you thank her.

You had spent an entire day with Jim Hopper and you weren't scared. It wasn't that you were afraid of him hurting you, but rather that you were shy and usually couldn't think of too much to say to him without blurting out how nice you thought he looked.

He made you soup, carried you to bed, and carried you to the couch. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how perfect it felt to be held against his large chest, how his arms seemed to be made to carry you. You glance at my reflection in the mirror, thinking about putting on some of Marcie's makeup.

After Jim had seen you sick, you thought that maybe today you should try harder to dress up to erase the image of your feverish and leaky self the other day. You stutter on the thought of his name. When he left you hadn't meant to say it, you just wanted to call him by his first name because what he was doing felt personal and in that moment calling him Hopper, sounded wrong.

Maybe I scared him. You snort at the thought of scaring a man almost three times your size.

You were aware that your feelings for Hopper had passed work colleagues and friends a while ago, and you had been successfully ignoring them, until he showed up like a knight in shining armor and took care of you when you were sick.

I mean the man peeled me off the bathroom floor and TALKED TO MY MOTHER.

You flinch at that though. That had been increasingly awkward when she demanded to know if you were sleeping with your boss, a question that Marcie asked you when Hopper left and she came out of the shower with a wide smirk. When you said no she then tried to convince you that he wanted to, but you shook her off and went to bed.

Bed being a relative term, because every time you closed your eyes you thought about how good it felt to be pressed against him when he carried you.

That entire day all you could think of was that it seemed like maybe he had feelings for you too, but then when you hugged him and said his name he bolted.

You sigh to yourself, applying a small amount of mascara to your lashes, that you will inevitably rub off, and spritz your tangerine perfume twice in the air before glancing one more time in the mirror and walking to the living room.

Hopper's car appears in the driveway and you practically float out the front door, smiling to him through the windshield before looking down at the ground with red cheeks.

"Hi." You smile at him while climbing up into the car with as much grace as you can muster.

"Hey." His smile is wide, but his voice sounds a little hoarse.

"Oh no are you getting sick. I'm so sorry-"

Hopper clears his throat. "It's okay I'm fine."

"Well just let me know and I can make you some chicken soup, return the favor- ya know." You smile wider moving closer to the middle of the car, to bump your knee against his.

"Yeah." Hopper leans away, making you feel like a bucket of ice water has been dropped on you.

What did I do?

"Well I made you some lemon squares anyway." You reach into your purse before pulling out the container to give it to him.

"Lemon Squares?" The corner of his lip quirks.

"Yeah I made them from scratch."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. It's what I wanted to do before I started working at the department." You place the box on the seat between you.

"Make lemon squares?"

"No. Open a bakery." You blush looking out the window of the car and thinking of all the plans you had. "Now that kinda feels like that is on the back burner for a bit, just until I get more comfortable in Hawkins."

"I didn't know you liked baking that much." He looks over at you curiously from under the brim of his hat in a way that makes you believe that he sees right through you.

"Yeah I went to a fancy schmancy baking school and everything and I was going to open a bakery where I lived, but Marcie called, said she had cheap rent here and we always said we would be roommates so-" You shrug your shoulders. "Ended up here."

"And you hate it?" Hopper offers.

"No. It's just different." You smile over at him. "I actually really like working at the department, everyone's really friendly."

He snorts. "Not everyone."

"So what? You're a little grumpy, I think it's kinda cute-" As soon as the words pass through your lips you suddenly think that you've said something wrong, because Hopper's entire body goes taunt and he looks away out the windshield. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" You begin to apologize, blushing deeply.

You honestly hadn't meant to say it, but it was all you thought when you walked by his office door and saw him scowling down at some paperwork on his desk or when Callahan would ask him a stupid question before Hopper had his coffee.

"It's okay." Hopper's voice is tight, but he doesn't look at you in the minute that follows before he pulls into the parking lot of the station. He practically jumps from the car before he puts it in park, which you don't understand because you believe it should be you that's embarrassed. You didn’t think it would offend him so much.

Your cheeks are still burning with embarrassment as you walk behind him through the front doors, that he holds open for you, without making eye contact.

"Hey (y/n)! Good morning! I got you coffee." Callahan gestures with a full mug in his hand so enthusiastically he spills some of it on the stack of papers on the edge of your desk.

"Oh-um- thanks Callahan." Your smile is tight lipped, still too focused on what just happened in the car to give Callahan your full attention.

Callahan usually said hello before his shift and did occasionally bring you coffee. And although you thought he was sweet, he was too sweet. You preferred Hopper's grouchiness to Callahan's happy go lucky attitude, but still appreciated Callahan's positivity in the office.

Hopper growls something under his breath and sidesteps around Callahan to get to his office without looking back. Callahan follows behind him obediently asking Hopper about something that happened yesterday.

You sit down at your desk and try really hard not to cry, but every second sit there what you said and Hopper's reaction chase each other round and round in your head.

How could I be so stupid? How could I say that? He's your boss- you shouldn't be trying to get close to him.

At lunchtime you try again.

Your knock at his office door is light, but after an audible pause he tells you to come in. Hopper's eyes are focused on the stack of papers in front of him, cigarette still smoking in the ashtray, and although you know he's working, you have the sneakiest suspicion that he is faking. The Hopper before this morning usually looked up as soon as you walked in and smiled, ignoring the stack of papers on his desk no matter how tall it was- but not today, not in the aftermath of your slip-up.

"Hey I just thought I'd bring you a lemon square to go with your lunch." You smile at him, hoping that he will acknowledge your entry into the room.

"Uh-thanks." He doesn't look up.

You place it just on the edge of his desk just out of his vision, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.  His gaze remains leveled at the paper. So you turn to go, defeated.

"Hey (y/n)-"

You whirl around, your heart surging-

"Um I'm going to be a little late tonight. Maybe you should call Marcie to come get you." He says it plainly, controlled, still looking down at the file.

"Oh-um-okay." Your heart breaks inside your chest and tears begin to bubble up in your eyes, but you hold back the tears. "That's alright I hope you don't have to stay too late."

You practically run to the bathroom before the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks, soft sobs shaking your shoulders. Why did I do this? Why couldn't I have kept my big mouth shut? Pretend that I didn't have feelings? The mascara you applied that morning blurs and stains the soft skin below your eyes. You spend another 8 minutes in the bathroom trying to remove it and finally when you emerge from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and bright pink skin, your day somehow gets worse.

Sandra breezes past your desk as soon as you sit down. Damn Sandra. You have to clench your teeth together to avoid the slew of curses that bite against the tip of your tongue.

"Hopper." She purrs sauntering over to catch Hopper just as he leaves his office. She's wearing a dark red dress that hugs her every curve and runs one hand through her perfectly curled black hair where two plastic earrings tangle into the strands.

What person wears a dress that revealing to work? You think to yourself, watching Sandra flash her perfectly tan skin when she pulls off her sweater, before leaning into Jim with a sickening smile.

You force your eyes onto a piece of paper on my desk, but the words all blur together into a haze of black and white.

Sandra was in essence... everything you wanted to be. She was confident, sexy, and beautiful. She also wasn't afraid to say what was on her mind, that became increasingly apparent when Hopper first started driving you to and from work and she cornered you in the bathroom.

*4 Months Ago*

"So you and the chief are getting cozy-" She was waiting at one of the vanity mirrors for you to come out of a stall while applying a fresh coat of dark red lipstick.

"Um I don't think we-" You had practically jumped when she appeared outside your stall door. Sandra hadn't said two words to you since you started working at the department. She worked in the call room and answered the phone, while you worked in the main lobby with Flo.

"Look Honey I’m gonna give you some advice, because I’ve seen this happen more than once.”  She makes eye contact with you, still swiping the dark colored stick back and forth, purposely plumping out her lips. “Sure he seems interested in you now, maybe he takes you out once or twice, laughs at your jokes, pays for dinner, is just the right amount of charming- Jim Hopper is the smoothest man who knows how to work any woman under him.” She pauses with a sigh. “He’ll screw your brains out- and it will be incredible, mind blowing-but at the end of the day Hopper is damaged goods. Can’t get it together enough to stay with a woman for more than one night, of course we seem to be closer than the others…” She trails off proudly with a shrug, before putting her lipstick in her purse and taking out a tube of mascara. “But I’m warning you now, you can’t have a relationship with him. He's only good for one thing and definitely not boyfriend material. Anything he says to you before he gets you in bed, is just a lie, broken promises. I've seen it time and time again, all these women who think they can change him. But no. He doesn't change. All that shit with his daughter and his ex-wife messed him up for all of us, which really is a shame because damn I’d like to have him all the time.” Sandra sighs mournfully.

She doesn’t even care what he’s been through, doesn’t even care what he feels. You stand there in stunned silence, trying to stop the all encompassing rage that surges up with her words. How dare she simplify him to just a piece of meat? Jim Hopper is one of the most kind, compassionate men that I've ever met. And yes maybe at the beginning he ignored me, which I've got no idea why, but he's not just something to be used for sex, he's a person. And that's horrible to act like what he went through was nothing. He lost his daughter to CANCER and then he had a divorce. Who wouldn’t be effected by that? I see everyday how it hurts him.

“But if he’s going to be with anyone it’s me. Because we make sense. Just wanted to give you a heads up.” She says swiping her right eye one last time before throwing the mascara in her purse. “He’s definitely not going to want a relationship with someone half his age with no experience. And he always comes back to me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Your jaw is clenched together, holding yourself back from throwing down with a coworker. But oh how she deserves it.

“Good.” Sandra winks. “Bye sugar.”

*Present Time*

You flash out of the memory before grabbing a pen from one the cups on your desk so you can pretend to be writing something when in reality you're shamelessly eavesdropping on them and  trying not to notice how Sandra is dragging her claw-like hand across the front of his chest.

"Hey Sandra." Hopper tips his hat with his free hand. You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I was hoping that tonight maybe you could come over? We just had such a nice time the other night and I was thinking that we should do that more often." You don't miss Sandra glance over at you when she says it.

You suddenly wonder how accurately you can throw the pen.

"Uh well." He chuckles.

"You didn't have a good time? Well it sounded like you were having a good time." She presses again, this time sending a flirty smile at him.

I'm going to throw up.

Honestly you had thought about being with Hopper once-well- more than once, but it wasn't just to reduce him to sex. It was because you loved him and you wanted him to just-. You watch the way he looks at Sandra, smiling down at her. You wanted him to look at you the way he looks at her.

He hesitates. "I did."

Hopper glances over Sandra's head at you, catching your gaze, but you immediately drop your eyes, blushing at getting caught. A sickening feeling fills your chest imagining them together, thinking of how he makes her feel, how she makes him feel.

Maybe he really likes her and he's just afraid to tell her or is afraid of the commitment. You consider sadly. I need to just get over this, move on. It’s only going to make working here harder. Plus he’s my boss. Might as well set boundaries… You think about the other day when he took care of you, held you close to his chest so tightly it didn't seem like he was just being friendly. He made me soup, tucked me into bed, carried me to my bed. How can he go from that to barely looking at me? Hot to cold so quickly that I feel like I'm covered in frostbite and sunburnt at the same time?

"Good. I'm free at 6 and I stay up late. Bring some more of that wine, you know how it makes me do crazy things." She winks, before kissing Hopper on the cheek and sauntering away, but not before glancing at you one more time with a smirk.

And there's the answer. He'd rather spend time with her.

You see her pouting her lips in the mirror again, making you feel inferior with just a look. Maybe that's why he doesn't like me, because I'm too young? Inexperienced? It's not like I'm a child. It wouldn't be that weird to date me would it?

You watch him turn and walk back to his office avoiding eye contact with you the whole way, making something tug at your heart as he does. Will today be the last day he drives me to work? All because I said that I thought it was cute that he was grumpy? Maybe this is because he's worried I have feelings for him and he just wants to be friends, which he's right I do, but I wish that he would just tell me, not avoid me!

The next few hours trickle by in a haze while you sit at your desk and try to pretend your heart isn’t broken. Hopper passes exactly twice and both times he doesn’t acknowledge you.

Just like old times I guess. You think about the two months before he started driving you home, when you were still relatively new and he avoiding speaking to you and would give you a tight-lipped smile occasionally that never reached his eyes, for a reason he never explained. You thought it was because he hated you, but it changed when he started driving you home and you hadn't ever asked.

When it’s finally time for you to go you don’t bother to call Marcie, instead you just begin to walk the 1.23 miles home and of course as soon as you leave, it begins to rain.

Exactly 30 seconds after you leave the station you're soaked to the bone and shivering, but you refuse to go back to the department.

I can’t go back and see him again. Everyone else has probably left by now anyway and the last thing I want to do is catch him sneaking off to Sandra's.  He probably wasn't staying late at work, just needed an excuse not to take me home ever again.

Tears fall from your eyes blending with the rain that trickles down your cheeks, making your hair tangle in a wet mat at the nape of your neck, but you don't care. Within 30 minutes I'll be home curled up on the couch after a hot shower, bawling my eyes out properly while Marcie hands me a pint of ice cream from the freezer. You raise your eyes to look at the desolate sidewalk ahead. Just a little longer.

Cars pass you along the road, illuminating your body for a moment before vanishing into the darkness beyond. Each yellowed streetlight stands like a beacon, but all they do is illuminate the raindrops that swirl from the heavens and soak through your thick sweater, that you guessed smelled like a wet dog right about now.

Appropriate because I probably look like a drenched poodle.

Finally a car races past you so fast you feel the wind tear across your body, but instead of vanishing into the night, the car screeches to a halt in the road. The driver shuts off the vehicle, and you watch them maneuver their large figure from the car, before stomping around to the sidewalk where you are walking with your arms wrapped around yourself.

Fear trickles down your back and you think about running. Your mother had sent you countless bottles of pepper spray and despite Marcie's incessant pleas for the two of you to take the only self-defense class in Hawkins, you weren't prepared for something like this. The pepper spray she sent was still on your desk and the self-dense class never seemed to be at the right time for you both to fit it into your schedule. Right about now you wished that you made time.

You prepare to run, when finally the street light above the imposing figure catches the face of the driver beneath his hat and you realize that it's Hopper. He towers over you, glaring down from under his hat.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU TO CALL MARCIE TO PICK YOU UP!" He roars dark eyes flashing in the night.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE OUT HERE WALKING IN THE RAIN ALONE! DAMN IT (Y/N) YOU WERE JUST SICK-"

"Just leave me alone Hopper. Or better yet just get in your car and go to Sandra’s." You shout back, finding your voice.

Who did he think he was? My dad? He drives up out of nowhere, scares the crap out of me, and then he starts yelling at me for no good reason.

"Sandra?" He looks taken aback.

And then whatever shred of self-control you have crumbles.

Tears pour from your eyes like a flood as you curl further into yourself. "I don't understand why you're so mad at me. If this is about what I said in the car, I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you I just-" Another sob chokes your next words. “Please just forget it happened so we can just go back to being friends. I don't want to go back to the way things were before you started giving me a ride. I like talking to you and riding with you and I don't understand what I did to make you hate me so much in the beginning, but please-"

Hopper closes the distance between you so quickly that you don't have time to move away in surprise. His hands go around your waist lifting you up in his arms so he doesn't have to bend down to kiss you. His lips moving furiously against yours, wet from the rain but just as soft as you imagined, mustache tickling your upper lip in a maddening dance that makes you sigh into his mouth.

Your hands gently catch the sides of his face looking into his wide eyes. He's looking at you like he can't believe what he just did.

He looks afraid.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that.” He begins to lean away, hands lowering you to the ground.

You pull him against you and kiss him as deeply as you can, trying to tell him that you want this too, that you want him. "Please don't push me away again." Your words are exhaled in one breath, tears still falling from your eyes.

"I just-" Jim's eyes are wide, but he presses his forehead against yours with a sigh. "I don't want to do this to you, (y/n). I can't-"

"What are you talking about?" Your thumbs rub against his cheekbones, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your soft fingertips.

"I tried to stay away from you because you're so different than me.” He grumbles lowly. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you when you first started workin' at the department.” Hopper looks ashamed of himself, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you. "I didn't want to like you like that."

“We’re not that different.”

“We are. You're like the sun (y/n). You brighten a room just by walking in it, hell, just by saying your name.” His eyebrows furrow together and he sighs again. “And I'm just an old grump. I don't want to ruin you or make you-"

You kiss him as softly as you can and he kisses you back confirming that he really doesn't want to push you away. "Jim, you're not going to ruin me. And yes you're grumpy but I think it's cute."

"I've heard." Hopper smiles, but then he frowns when he remembers what happened earlier. "I'm so sorry about today. When you said that in the car the only thing I thought about was how it couldn’t work  and it made me think about you and Callahan. And then he was standing there with your coffee-“

“Jim, there is no me and Callahan. The only thing I want is you and me.” Your forehead leans against his. “You might see yourself as some giant grumpy grizzly bear, but you’re my giant grumpy grizzly bear.”

He snorts, but this time leans towards you to capture his lips against yours, wiping away the cold chill of the rain to set your body ablaze.

An odd look crosses his face as he remembers what you said moments ago. "Please don't be jealous of Sandra. I know she's a lot sometimes. And yes we've spent some time together in the past-" Hopper clears his throat, ashamed. "But the only reason why I kept seeing her was because I was trying to get you out of my head, because I didn't think that you would ever-"

"Jim." You whisper. "You don't have to explain anything-"

"No I do. Flo told me what she said to you in the bathroom."

"What? How did she-" Your cheeks flush, suddenly embarrassed that he had to hear any of the horrible things that Sandra said about him.

"I told Sandra to leave you alone, but I don’t think she listened to me. She's oddly possessive, but we haven't spent half as much time together as she led you to believe-"

"Jim-"

He brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, looking deeply into your eyes. "I promise that the way I feel about her is only a fraction of what I feel about you. And I know that my reputation in town is-" Hopper clears his throat again with red cheeks. "But I don't just want one night with you (y/n), I want more. I haven't wanted more for a long time and that scared me at first, but if you'll be patient with me I'd like to make this work. And I'm sorry that I made you believe that I hated you, when it's the complete opposite."

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t think so lowly of yourself. What Sandra said about you, it's not true. You're more that what she thinks, Jim. She only sees what she wants to, but I know you. You're kind, generous, strong, and you care so much for everyone that I wonder how you give so much of yourself without asking for anything in return.” You move your hands gently around to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, placing a kiss against his cheeks, nose, and mouth for each attribute listed. “I was so happy when you stayed the other day. And when you left all I wanted was for you to come back.”

“I wanted to stay longer, but I was scared that you didn’t want me there."

“I always want you with me. You have no idea how much.” You kiss him again. "I love that you drive me every day, and every morning when you come to pick me up I get excited to see you. I also find myself wanting for work to end so I can see you again."

Hopper smiles softly at you, hands tightening around your waist that sends a thrill up your spine. Everything about this feels right, more perfect than it has felt with anyone else.

"It's difficult to stay in my office, not when I know you're out there. Sometimes I can't get work done until I see you smile." He traces a finger over your lips as if trying to draw your smile across them.

"Jim-"

Hopper kisses you again. "I like it when you say my name." He whispers against your lips, pulling you even tighter against his broad chest.

"I like saying it." You whisper back.

The rain has continued to fall on both of you, by now soaking through Hopper's jacket, but neither of you feel cold.

"Come on. Lets get you home." Hopper breathes beginning to move you towards his car.

"Hmm." You sigh as he lets go to open the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He stands there holding the door for a minute, the rain continuing to soak into his uniform as he gazes at where you sit in the front seat.

“What?”

Hopper leans forward and kisses you again, pulling you tightly into his large chest with a groan, as you tangle your fingertips in the front of his rain-soaked clothing, before he pulls back to press his forehead against yours out of breath.

“What was that for?” You ask leaning back on your elbows across the front seat of his car.

Hopper smiles down at you with red cheeks. “I really liked the lemon square.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“As long as I’m a dork that gets to kiss you, I think it’ll be okay.”

"I'm sure we can work something out." You whisper before pulling him down for another searing kiss and allowing the world to melt away into shades of gray and the soft patter of rain against the roof of the car.

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Thank you so much for reading!