#and my door dash machine

[two-little-triangles]

For the first time in my life I don’t have a car, and won’t for a while.

[artdcnaldson]

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.  

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class. 

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name. 

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi. 

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly. 

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall. 

But you were being so understanding and cool about that. 

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw. 

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way. 

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest. 

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart. 

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of. 

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team. 

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm. 

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs. 

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer. 

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need. 

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers. 

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there. 

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image. 

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes. 

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. 

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum. 

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt. 

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine. 

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt. 

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh.  You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction. 

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night. 

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time. 

Most likely not the last time. 

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you. 

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game. 

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?” 

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would. 

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine. 

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches. 

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer. 

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up. 

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot. 

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him. 

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. 

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process. 

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later. 

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue. 

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim. 

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly.  There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra. 

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either). 

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms. 

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor. 

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly. 

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue. 

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face. 

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp. 

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants. 

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers. 

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him. 

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room. 

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal. 

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips. 

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.  

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet. 

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you. 

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath. 

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him. 

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?” 

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest. 

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine. 

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say. 

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly. 

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows. 

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips. 

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted. 

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came— buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you. 

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you. 

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dreams, A Nightmare and A Kiss

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> After you have a dream about Logan, your brain can't seem to forget it. And neither will Logan.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of torture, crying, a creepy guy. Apart from that, teasing, fluff, a little dash of steam at the end. Not Proof Read

You kept having this recurring dream. Or maybe it was a nightmare. It was hard to tell. What do you call it when, what seems like a dream, turns into a very awkward situation where you don’t know what to do with yourself when you wake up? 

Do you try to forget it ever happened? Do you talk to someone about it? Do you talk to the person about it? Are you meant to talk to the person about it? Or would consulting a psychiatrist be easier, considering the person who you dreamt about…was not someone you would, or even should be dreaming about?

“Morning.” 

Storm placed down her coffee on the table before pulling out her chair. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“What?”

Storm pointed at you, “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“Too hard for this early in the morning,” you mumbled. 

“Well, then, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think even the world's best psychiatrist can help me with this one.”

Storm shrugged. “Maybe you don’t need the world’s best. Come on, try me.”

You took a moment and looked at Storm. Maybe it was worth a go…

“Okay,” you sighed. Storm got comfortable in her seat and leaned forward. Meanwhile, you practically had to pull your legs under the table and untrap your hands from between them. 

“I had a dream.”

“You had a dream?”

You nodded, trying your best to look her in they eyes when you spoke. Was you really going to admit this outloud to someone? 

“I had a…dream.”

It took her a minute. “Oh…oh. Okay, well anyone will tell you that’s normal. Healthy even. You know, sometimes-”

“About Logan.”

Storm faltered and then came to a full stop, her hand still in the air and her jaw slacked. “Logan.”

Storm spoke slowly as she looked at you, trying to gauge if this was some big prank you were playing on her. It wasn’t April. 

“L…ogan?” She asked this time, just to be sure. 

You nodded. 

“Our Logan?”

“Do you know any other Logan’s?”

Storm shook her head and blinked her eyes for one second too long before coming back into movement. “No, I guess not. So…what’s the issue?”

You looked at her like she was both crazy and confusing. “You don’t see the issue?”

Storm shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not particularly. I mean, it is a little odd considering…well considering you two aren’t the most…harmonious.”

“Understatement.”

And it was. 

Both yourself and Logan, although civil most of the time, weren’t exactly known for being best pals. 

“So what was it about?”

“Ororo!”

She just smiled, “What? I want to know. How was it?”

“I…I can’t answer that.”

“Sure you can! Oh, come on, Y/n. You can’t tell a girl you and Logan shared…something and not tell her about it.”

You sighed, “Yes, I can.”

“Oh my god,” Storm smiled, leaning back in her chair. “You liked it.”

“What?” You could practically feel your face bursting into flames. “N-no. No I didn’t.”

But she just laughed in response. “You sooo totally want it to happen in real life.”

“Want what to happen?” 

You practically squealed with fright as both you and Storm sat straighter in your chairs and turned to see Logan walk through the door and over to the coffee machine. 

“Uhhh, nothing. Nothing at all. How did you sleep?”

From pouring coffee, Logan repeated your question. “How did I sleep?”

You nodded, willing the redness from your face to disappear. The grip you had held on the back of your chair as you twisted your body was growing stronger by the minute. 

“Yeah.”

Logan placed the coffee pot back in its place and looked to Storm. “Is she okay?”

Then you felt yourself go back to normal. “I’m fine, Logan.”

Logan looked back at you. The general look of disgust and disinterest, a little more prominent on your face. 

“I slept fine.” Logan answered. Then his face turned into a grin he was holding back. Well. Trying to hold back. “How did you sleep, Y/n?”

Storm watched your eyes widen for a second and the blush heated your face once more. “Fine.” you were forced out. 

Logan just nodded and sipped his coffee. “And you? Storm?”

“Like a baby.”

Logan nodded and smiled. “Good. Good.”

Then the bell went. “I better get going. I guess I’ll see you later. Or should I say tonight?”

Logan watched as your face twisted from nothing, to confusion, to shock to embarrassment to…turning around and hiding it completely. 

“Have a nice day, ladies.”

Covering your face, you hid it on the table, letting your muffled voice speak out from your arms as Storm placed a hand on your back. “How much do you think he heard?”

“Not much…I think.” Storm looked behind her, a pained look on her face for you. “If he had heard it all, he would have gloated more.”

You gave a whimper in pain and Storm placed her hand on the back of your head. “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“It’s Logan.”

“Okay, so you’re screwed.”

Thankfully, you had managed to avoid Logan all day. Jean had found you hiding in the teacher’s lounge when you knew Logan was teaching. Even him thinking you were alone in your classroom was hard enough. 

“You don’t have anything that could reverse time? Or make me forget all of today?”

Jean smiled, “No. I don’t think so. But Storm told me what happened.”

“Oh, God.” You groaned, placing down your food by your feet and burying your head by your knees. “How many people know?”

“Just me and Storm,” Jean assured you. “And Logan,” she added. 

You groaned again. 

However, now that everything was finally silent, you took time to breathe. Maybe Logan would finally drop it. 

Not that he had said anything to you apart from that morning. But…it was Logan. When it came to you, he’d never let you live it down. 

Stepping a little higher on your feet, you reached into the back of the cupboard to try and find the last box of tea bags. Why Scott had been assigned to stock away the one thing he didn’t drink was beyond you. He always put it at the very back of everything on the top shelf of the cupboard. 

Not even on the first shelf at the back. 

No, he’d rather have you pull a muscle or get yet another bruise from the knobs on the oven. 

Finally reaching it, you stepped back and closed the cupboard door just as someone shouted your name. 

You let out a little scream that was followed by his laughter. 

“Logan! Jesus Christ.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry. Was just too easy.”

You gave him a glare and bent down to pick up your box of tea bags before walking away to the other side of the kitchen where you had left the kettle by the sink. 

“It’s almost midnight. Don’t just sneak up on a girl like that.”

“Forgive me.” He was still smiling. Even with your back to him, you could tell. “But I figured you’d be busy dreaming about me.”

“Having a nightmare, more like.” 

“Oh, come on. You had a dream about me. Admit it.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before pushing down the kettle lid and placing it back on its holder before flicking the switch on. 

“Oh, please. You just want to gloat.”

“No, no. Okay, maybe a little.” Logan lowered his hands before using them to lift himself onto the counter where you stood by the island, chopping up some carrots. “What are you? The Easter Bunny?” Logan lifted a piece before putting it back down. 

With the knife still in your hand, you made direct eye contact as you pushed the knife down hard, listening to the snap of the carrot before returning your gaze to it. 

“So…tell me.” Logan began, picking up yet another piece of carrot yet this time eating it. “What was it about?”

“What was what about?”

“Your dream.”

“Logan,” you sighed. 

“What? Oh come on, we both know you dreamt of me. You could at least tell me what it was about considering you didn’t ask for my consent.”

You looked at him for a moment before walking away, towards the kettle that had finished boiling. 

Pouring the hot water into the cups, back on the island, you returned the kettle to its place, allowing the bags to steep in the water for a while. 

“Come on, you know you want to tell me.”

“I don’t want to tell you anything.”

“Did we kiss?” Logan asked, trying to find his answers. “Did we have sex? Sorry, make love. Did we get married? Did we-”

You sighed, placing down the knife. “We did nothing, Logan. I had a dream. You just happened to be there.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

Logan gave a coy look and lent down a little so he was closer to you. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened.” You pressed. “Trust me, if anything you just asked me happened between me and you in any capacity, I’d be calling it a nightmare.”

Logan pouted and held his hand over his heart. “Oh, how you wound me.”

“You’re a grown man, Logan. Deal with it.”

Logan laughed, taking a couple steps back. “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.” 

“For now.”

Leaning closer to you and over you, Logan reached for the second cup you hadn’t realised you had made of tea and took a handful of carrots with him. 

You berated yourself for having closed your eyes for a split second, letting his touch warm you. 

Logan was not a man you should or would ever go for. 

But Storm was right. 

You did enjoy it. 

You just never wanted Logan to know that. 

Over the following days, you could feel Logan’s eyes on you wherever you went. From the both of you standing by your classroom doors, watching the kids leave your classroom and making sure the right ones came in. 

Some students recently had a tendency to swap certain classes for others. 

Or like when you were at dinner and sat outside. From the grass below where he was coaching a game of baseball, you caught him looking at you and smiling as he turned away. 

So, when you saw him again in the empty hallway, you pushed him inside the nearest classroom. 

At least, what you thought was the nearest classroom. Turned out to be a storage room for school supplies. 

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You know, I think this is against the law, holding someone hostage inside a storage closet.”

“Every day this week, you’ve been staring at me. Why? Do I have something on my face? Or are you trying to see if you’ve suddenly developed telekinetic powers?”

Rather than replying, Logan just looked at you. Was he…studying you?

“You had another dream.”

You reeled back for a moment, trying your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Excuse me?”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. Or maybe it was a smirk. 

“You had another dream.” Logan repeated. “Was it any different, or was this just part two.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Logan shrugged. “It’s not every day you learn that someone is in love with you.”

You practically laughed. “In love? With you? Oh, that’ll be the day.”

Logan practically sang what he said next. “Oh, you are so totally falling in love with me.”

“Like hell.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “She’s already prepared the wedding vows.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too, Sweetheart.”

However, before you could reply to Logan’s statement, you both turned and found the door wide open. 

“Rouge,” you almost yelled her name in surprise. 

“Hey. Sorry about…interrupting. I just need some…” She pointed to behind both of you where the stack of boxed pencils were kept. 

Logan reached behind him and handed her a box. “Here you go, kid.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll just uh…” 

Closing the door on both of you, she walked away, hearing a small thud on the door behind her. 

Little did she know it was your head. 

“Be careful, she might be thinking we’re doing something else in here.”

“I hate you,” you groaned. 

“Love you, too, Sweetheart.” Logan repeated, folding his arms and smiling. 

Turning the door handle, you swung open the door and walked out of it. 

It was halfway through the next day before you saw Logan, and it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought you next saw him. 

The heating on the top floor of the school; the floor which both yourself and Logan, along with a couple of other pupils happened to sleep on, hadn’t been working for a month. 

A trustworthy company couldn’t come out to inspect it for at least that time but now that they are finally here, part of you wished they hadn’t turned up at all. 

Because, for as much as you enjoyed talking to people, one of their tradesmen…you would have happily gone your whole life without ever having spoken to them. 

From the minute he walked in the door, he had been eyeing you up like you were his next meal. He always stood too close for comfort, trying his best to leave his hot breath behind your ear whenever he spoke which only made your skin crawl and when he blatantly started flirting with you…you more than obvious distance and replies of “No,” didn’t seem to do the trick. 

“I’m married.”

“I don’t see your husband anywhere, sweet cheeks. We could always get to know each other a little better, if you catch my drift.”

Then Logan turned down the hall. 

Finally spotting him, you gave a smile of relief. 

“Logan!”

He started walking closer to you. 

“Here he is, my husband,” you took him by the arm, putting him between yourself and one of the tradesmen. “Logan.”

Logan looked at you with a slightly confused look whilst you looked both scared, panicked (for two reasons) and was forcing a smile on your face the whole time. 

Logan took a breath and turned back to the tradesman who had everything, save from the actual word written across his head in bold ink, creepy going for him. 

“Can I help you?”

The guy practically tumbled back. “No, no. Just having a conversation. I guess I’ll get back to work.”

You watched as the guy tripped over his own feet trying to scurry away from yourself and Logan, neither of you missing the way the guy told two other workmates of his that you were, in fact, married. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry I dragged you into that but- Why are you smiling?”

Logan shook his head, standing in front of you, pressing his hands behind his back and bouncing on his feet. “No reason.”

You relaxed your face. “He was being a creep. What would you have had me do?”

“Come and got me.” Logan answered honestly. “But…I was right.”

“Right about what?”

“You had written the vows.”

With your arms crossed, your eyebrows relaxed as you looked at him. “I want a divorce.”

“Ooh, do you not remember, Sweetheart? That night you burned the marriage certificate?”

You started walking away. 

“What was it that you said?”

Logan followed after you. 

“Good luck returning me without the receipt. Now, that is better than Shakespeare, don’t you think?”

“I hate you.”

“See, I don’t think you do. Considering…”

“Considering what?”

“The fact that you keep dreaming about me.”

You sighed. “I already told you, it wasn’t about you. You were just in it.”

“Oh, that’s true love if I ever did see it.”

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” You asked as you turned into the kitchen. 

“I wonder what we did this time? Frolic on the beach? Have to say though, I’m not one to frolic anymore, but I could make an exception-”

You stuffed an apple into his mouth before turning to face him. “Remind me, how does the saying go again? An apple a day keeps your wife from killing you in your sleep?”

Walking away, you headed through the back doors and outside leaving Logan to bite down on his apple, all the while smiling. 

Something that you didn’t think through however, was having to keep the rouse up. And it wasn’t long before everyone knew. At least, all of the team knew. 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Xavier said as he entered into the living room where you were sitting on one end of the sofa, curled up with a book, whilst Logan sat diagonal to you across the table, spread out, grading papers. 

“I have to say though, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

Logan smiled, “That makes two of us.”

You just glared from over your book before going back to reading. 

“I have to say also, you both make a very cute couple. Of course, I was betting on it taking an extra couple of months.”

“I think Y/n helped to speed things up a little.”

You continued to glare. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“How could you tell?”

Rolling your eyes, you went back to trying to read your book. 

“Well, I suppose I best leave you both alone. What with you two still being in the honeymoon stage and all.”

Charles chuckled to himself as he left the room, not forgetting to shut the door behind him. 

You and Logan remained in silence for a while longer. However, Logan didn’t miss your gaze. Every couple of minutes you would look up and watch him. He could feel your eyes on him, heating his skin from under all his metal. 

“You know, if you didn’t keep staring at me every five minutes, you might have finished your book.”

“What?”

“Ooh, feigning disinterest. How original.”

After a moment, Logan stood and started walking over towards you. “You know, you could just ask.”

“Ask what?”

Logan sat beside you on the sofa, facing you, leaning in a little closer. “If that’s what it would be like?”

“If…what would be like what?”

Logan’s arms fell to either side of you on the sofa, caging you in. “If that’s what it would be like for us to be in the same room as each other without fighting. I’m sure you’ve thought about me once or twice. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Am I really that transparent to you?”

Logan practically smirked as his head tilted a little and he came closer to you. “You forget I can hear your heartbeat, Sweetheart.”

Your lips parted for a moment, feeling your heart rate increase even more. 

“I think you’re forgetting something else, too.”

“What’s that?”

Logan reached for you. Or rather, behind you. 

Pulling the cord, the lamp came on. 

“You hate me.”

That night, you lay awake in bed, wishing and hoping and praying on every goddamn star in the sky that you wouldn’t dream about him again. 

That you wouldn’t dream about the way his touch warmed yours, or how he would kiss you in all the right places, willing his name from your lips. That you wouldn’t dream about his arms wrapping around you or how, in a dark bedroom alone, you would hear the shower turn off only to have him emerge in a billow of steam like some kind of Greek or Roman God, just wrapped in a towel looking at you like…that. 

 That you wouldn’t dream about him in a way that you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge. That you wouldn’t want to outwardly and knowingly fall in love with him, and have him fall right back. 

But, of course, the wishing and the hoping and the praying didn’t work. 

Because when you next opened your eyes, you were left with the memories of a dream that included not only you teaching – like you did most days of the week – but the classroom emptying to allow both yourself and Logan some privacy where he placed his hand against your stomach and kissed you. “She’s got her daddy’s strength, all right. I feel like I’m being kicked by a horse.”

You woke up with the fading feeling of the gentle yet firm hand Logan had on your stomach, and your heart’s growth fading a little when you realised it was just a dream. 

For the fifth dream in the space of a week, you were beginning to think you were cursed. Or, at the very least, had a problem. 

However, it all changed when you woke up in a sweat. 

Finally, three days had passed and no dreams at all. Nothing to do with Logan. Not even a single thought whilst you were asleep. 

And then things grew dark. 

You had been running. For your life. All around you, stars were falling from the sky, hitting the ground and shaking it from beneath you. Each way you turned kicked dirt into your face, making it harder to breathe. Your lungs felt like they were on fire before you finally reached a set of metal doors. 

Inside, you ran around, dipping in and around different stacked crates, your head whipping around you trying to check all angles. “Where are you?” you kept asking yourself. “Please be here.” 

Then you found him. 

But you heard him first. 

A scream. 

Turning, the room turned with you until you found yourself in some kind of lab. Logan strapped to the table, and just as you stepped forward you found yourself being held back by two soldiers who had to be at least seven feet tall and six feet wide. 

No matter how you moved, you couldn’t. 

They were branding Logan. Burning him with needles and different iron poles and wires. He was screaming in pain, unable to turn his body away from it. 

“Stop! Stop! You’re hurting him! Please! Stop!”

But they couldn’t hear you. No glass was in front of you, but there might as well have been. 

“No! Logan! Please! Stop hurting! Just…Please!”

Logan now turned to look at you. And as he did, your heart broke. He wasn’t walking away from this one. Looking at you, you saw silent tears roll from his eyes and down his cheek. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Logan…” 

Your body was becoming limp in the soldiers arms. 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’m-” With a hot iron rod to his back, he screamed out in pain trying to move away from it. 

You screamed again, willing them to stop hurting him. To hurt you instead. But they wouldn’t. It was killing you. And everyone could see that. Even Logan as he took his last look. 

You called out his name. 

And woke up, calling out his name as you threw yourself to sit up in bed. 

Around you, your entire room was cased in darkness save for the moon-light flooding in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to make out the outline of your room and the things in it. 

It took you a moment to catch your breath long enough to find a clear head to know your body was moving. 

Pulling the covers from you, you made your way out of your room and down the hall before you found his room. Except, as your hand hovered over the knob, it swung open and you stepped back. Whatever breath you had caught in your room was once again gone. 

Logan stood, his eyes adjusting to the light from the hallway, shirtless. Along with the pyjama bottoms Rouge had given him in a set last Christmas. 

“Y/n…I was just coming to check on you. Are you-” 

Surprising Logan, and perhaps yourself, you hugged him. Tight. “Okay?” Logan finished his question but didn’t expect an answer. 

It took him a moment, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you. Even though he could, he didn’t need to hear your heartbeat to know you were nervous, scared and relieved all at the same time. You were still shaking and you were just starting to catch your breath again. 

“I heard you shout me…are you okay?” Logan asked in a soft voice. 

You just tightened your grip. “I thought….I thought…”

Logan shook his head. Feeling your heart bash against your rib cage and into his was enough to let him know now wasn’t the time. 

“You don’t have to explain right now. Come and lie down.”

And you did. 

Letting go of Logan for a moment, he led you inside, shutting the door behind him and lifting the covers for you to slide inside. 

He lay down next to you and held onto your hand, two fingers holding onto your wrist. 

He had more natural light in his room which allowed him to see you a little clearer in the dark as you lay and faced him. 

He pressed your hand over his heart and he spoke to you softer than he ever had before. 

“Just count my heartbeats.”

And you did. 

Logan began counting yours in his head as he held onto your wrist but soon lost count when your gaze eventually met his. 

Your heart rate eventually also began to slow. Rather than having it thunder against your chest, leaving both you and Logan wondering if some kind of Looney Tunes spell had been cast on the school which would make your heart physically leap out of your chest, it beat like normal. 

He watched as your eyes started to grow heavier before they finally closed and your breathing became even. And only once that happened, did he allow himself to relax. 

By the time you woke up, you found your own nose and forehead pressed lightly against Logan’s, your bodies naturally falling closer together as his hand held onto yours whilst his other was pressed under your neck and against your pulse point. 

Then you remembered last night. Your nightmare. Waking up in a sweat. Rushing down the hallway towards his room. Hugging him and never wanting to let go. His own heartbeat against the palm of your hand. His scent enveloping you whilst the heat from his body made you feel safe, warm and relaxed. 

“Hey,”

Softly, you brought your gaze back to Logan’s eyes. You never got to see this side of him. The fresh out of bed – in this case, in – look. 

“Hey.”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

You swallowed lightly and shook your head. “It was nothing.”

“You had a nightmare.”

You looked away from him for a moment but felt his fingertips press into the back of your neck, begging you to look at him. 

“It wasn’t nothing. Please…talk to me.”

Your gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes, trying to get a read on him. 

He really wanted to know. 

“You died, Logan. At least…I think you did.”

And you went on to explain. About the running, the cave, the metal rods, the screaming, the shouting, the soldiers – all of it. 

Every final detail. 

“All I wanted was to get to you. To make it stop. But I couldn’t. You were screaming in pain and telling me you were going to be okay. I wanted to get you out- I needed to get you out. But every time I tried to move…”

Your voice broke, your eyes filled and Logan felt his own heart break looking at you. How he wished he could erase it. How all he wanted to do in that moment was erase away your pain. 

Logan shushed you a little before pulling his hand from yours that he had continued holding, to allow his arm to go around your back, pulling you flush against him. 

The hand that had been by your neck, pushed to the bottom of your hair line, his fingers tangling with your strands. 

With a pressed kiss to your temple, Logan shook his head. “It was just a nightmare. I’m here. You’re here. We’re both safe. Hey, hey.”

Logan pushed himself back for a moment to be able to look at you. His thumb traced under your eye, brushing the tears away before they could fall down your face. 

“At least this is how I find out, maybe you don’t hate me.”

You laughed a little at that. “You’re a jackass.”

“Maybe,” Logan shrugged. “But you’re in love with me anyway.”

With a scoff and a smile, despite how much you tried not to, you hit Logan in his chest. He chuckled softly for a moment, taking hold of your hand before you could do him any more bodily harm. 

Not that he probably even felt you hit him. He was 90% metal. It probably would bruise you if you actually hit him. 

But when Logan took your hand, things seemed to slow down. 

With his gaze on you, his fingers started tracing your hand. His thumb working its way from your wrist to your palm, all the while his fingers traced up and curled around your own before your hand was flush against his, your fingers only a movement away from falling and intertwining against his. 

And they did. 

Logan took a minute to look at where your hands joined and any control he had over his heartbeat disappeared into an oblivion. 

He looked back at you. 

His fingers locked with yours and you felt your body shift closer towards him. Not fully aware of his own body, Logan had leaned up a little further from his pillow and leaning in closer towards you. 

You were both hesitant, at first. Unsure of what was happening, but fully aware that it was. 

The kiss was soft. Unfamiliar. Neither of you had expected this to happen when you had woken up. In all honesty, neither of you had expected it to ever happen. 

Well, maybe your subconscious. 

But that was a debate for another time. 

However, as it came to an end, reality stuck Logan. He had kissed you. You had come to him because you had a nightmare. You had stayed by his side, in his room, for the rest of the night. And now he had kissed you. 

You were right. 

He was a jackass. 

“I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows. Your own internal monologue was having a whale of a time confusing you. Convincing you that the kiss didn’t happen. Then that was always meant to happen. That maybe…maybe it was always meant to feel like that. Or maybe it was never meant to feel like that. 

“Logan…”

For a brief moment, Logan looked confused. Were you going to yell at him? Curse him? 

No. 

Instead, you untangled your hand from his and Logan felt his heart sink. Then stop. 

That same hand slowly, hesitantly, reached for his cheek and you…

Kissed him. 

Again. 

This time, it was more searching and more familiar. More trusted. 

His hand now free, Logan pressed his hand to your own face, drawing you in closer whilst his arm curved around you and he allowed his hand to slip over your shoulder, down you back, towards your hip and up, inside the back of your t-shirt. 

His touch was warming to you. 

Your own hands traced down the side of his neck and up the side of his arm before meeting at the back, your nails scratching at the base of his hairline and neck. 

Finally having moved you onto your back, Logan leaned over you, his weight shifting onto you a little. 

Bringing his hands down to your hips, Logan lifted you a little further up the bed and you let out a small squeal. 

And he smirked. 

“Jackass.”

“You love it.”

Logan caught your smile against his own and pressed further into you, his legs slowly tangling with yours before he found his place locked between them. 

Pushing the hair from your face with his hand, Logan and yourself continued searching each other. Pressing against the boundaries that had been your last partnership together. 

Maybe it would take a short while to find your footing with each other. And maybe it would take even longer before you finally told Logan the truth about your first dream. 

And maybe, when you finally did, he spent the entire night helping you recreate it. Proving that the reality was better and so much more than your dream. 

[peppermintquartz]

NOW ON AO3

--

Eddie and Buck come through the door of Buck's loft together in a fit of giggles, still high over Chimney's expression being spat on by an alpaca, when they see Tommy sitting alone on the floor, pressed to a corner where he is staring out the window.

"Tommy?" Buck says, delighted and about to head over, when Eddie slaps a hand to Buck's chest. "What?"

Eddie's eyes narrow. There's nothing overtly odd, but there was something strange yet familiar about Tommy's expression and position.

"Buck, go make coffee."

"Eddie it's 9pm," Buck protests.

"Make. Coffee. And don't come over until I call you," Eddie doesn't mean to put on his Dad voice, but it works on Buck, and as Buck heads to the kitchen, Eddie goes to Tommy.

Thousand yard stare. Left hand clenched over the right wrist. Jaw set.

There is a knife in his right hand.

"Kinard, you okay there?" Eddie asks softly.

Tommy's gaze flickers and he looks at Eddie, a small frown creasing his brow. "I don't know."

"You know where you are?"

"Evan's place." He frowns more deeply. "I heard screams. Explosions."

Eddie sits down. He can hear the coffee machine going and Buck is probably hovering, waiting for Eddie's signal.

"When did you hear the sounds?"

"I don't know. I was... I was in my car, heading home. And then next thing I know I was... I heard screaming, and I drove here, and all I could think of was Evan. I had to get to Evan." Tommy blinks rapidly and his breathing picks up. "Where is-"

"Buck, come here," Eddie calls out.

Buck practically dashes over and kneels down next to his boyfriend. "Tommy."

"Evan," Tommy breathes out, and as if a string is cut, his rigid posture goes slack. "You're safe. You're safe."

Eddie exhales too. "Tommy, drop the knife."

"Knife?" Tommy looks at his hands and instantly relaxes his grip. The knife falls the short distance with a thud. Eddie reaches over and picks it up. A folding utility knife. Something Tommy would have in his car. "I didn't... Did I hurt anyone?"

"No," Eddie says with a tiny smile, patting his friend on the knee.

Beside him, Buck is swallowing down his thousand and one questions. He touches Tommy's arm tentatively, and is reassured when Tommy pulls him into a one-armed hug.

It could have gone badly, if Buck had run up to Tommy suddenly and unwarily. A knife wound to the gut would be a bad, bad thing, and Tommy would never forgive himself.

Some dark days, Eddie was thankful he had somehow had the presence of mind to lock the door before he fired the shots. If anything had happened to Christopher... He shakes himself out of the sheer horror of the thought.

"I thought... I heard screams," Tommy's telling Buck, "and I knew, I knew we were under attack, we had to find cover, but I needed to find you. I needed to make sure you were safe."

Buck kisses him on the forehead, then on the mouth, twice. "I am safe. We all are."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Either of you."

Eddie stands. "I think we all need some coffee."

-

Eddie and Tommy are sitting at the table, picking at what's left of the nacho chips, while Buck has been persuaded to go take a shower.

"You seeing someone about that?" Eddie asks.

"Used to." Tommy smiles grimly. "It was... It was really bad at first, when I just came back, but it's been... Shit, it's been a year and half? two years? since the last one."

"Auditory hallucinations."

"Explosions and screaming. There were... It was an accident, they told us afterwards. Bad intel. Civilians weren't supposed to be hurt." Tommy snorts. "Bullshit liars, all of them."

"That why you left?"

"Once the tour was done, I was too. I like flying. I don't like killing." Tommy's face is ashen. He looks a decade older with exhaustion. "I like what I've built since."

"I can tell." Eddie sighs and grabs Tommy's wrist, squeezes it once to get his attention. "And before you beat yourself up about the knife, I'm gonna tell you that you had a firm grip on your knife hand." He leans in, catches Tommy's guilt-ridden gaze. "You would not have hurt him. Part of you was keeping yourself in check." He squeezes again when Tommy tries to avert his eyes. "Tommy. You wouldn't have hurt him."

"I might in the future."

"We'll tell him how to manage this, okay? Because... Because he's had to deal with me too. He gets it. He really does."

Closing his eyes, Tommy inhales, holds his breath, and exhales. "Okay."

From the bathroom, Buck calls out, "So you guys done with the heart to heart yet or do I have to stay in here any longer?"

Eddie laughs, and is relieved to see Tommy's face crinkle up in that same warm, familiar grin. We're all gonna be fine.

[kaerik]

All of Hell's layout shots from Edwin's journal, in order

Heya! I needed to take some screenshots for reference when writing a fic, so I thought it'd be nice to share :)

(Under the cut I've added everything I could make out in the writtings)

"LAYERS OF HELL" across two pages. These are based on Dante's Inferno, the first part of Divine Comedy, and the nine circles of hell. (Shout out to my friend who helped me with the 10 "rooms" of Fraud <3)

Left page:

- Vestibule (unnumbered, right on top of Limbo, referring to the staircase)

I - Limbo

II - Lust

III - Gluttony

IV - Avarice

V - Wrath

VI - Heresy

VII - Violence

VIII - Fraud

IX - Treachery

- There are 10 "rooms" described between Violence and Fraud, referring to the 10 trenches of the eight circle of hell (Fraud) and numbered as such.

Room I reads: whipped.

Room II reads: covered in excrement.

Room III reads: flipped (?) feet set on fire.

Room IV reads: encased(?) in boiled pitch.

Room V reads: head turned backwards.

Room VI reads: wear lead robes.

Room VII reads: snake(?) pit turn(?) into snake.

Room VIII reads: (?) big flames.

Room IX reads: (?) -> quality is too low to tell; considering the trench of which it is based on, probably along the lines of 'mangled', 'mutilated', 'maimed', etc

Room X reads: leprosy, hungry(?), dark.

Right page:

- Endless staircase

- "UPPER HELL" encompassing layers I to IV.

Beside layers III and IV, read: heavy labour(?), everyone in your way

- "LOWER HELL" encompassing layers V to IX.

Beside layers VI and VII, read: trapped, impaled, submerged in blood. Beside layer VIII, read: snake pit, gain human form by biting other humans. Beside layer IX, read: frozen + stuck + chewed on

Left page:

- LIMBO

Right page:

- "DO NOT RING" is crossed out near a bell. Dashed line points to where the bell is on the room.

Left page:

- Arrow pointing to the claw machine, referencing the passage behind it. Note reads: Back to Doll House. No.

- Circle on the bottom right, just above a door: Wrong way. AVARICE. Everything too heavy.

- GLUTTONY

Right page:

- LUST

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Fake Boyfriend - p2

Pairings - soft!Rafe Cameron x virgin! Fem reader

Summary - You lie to your best friend about having a boyfriend.

Warnings - none

Part one if you missed it

You're aroused from your sleep by the piercing bright light seeping through the curtains, hitting you directly between the eyes. You let out a groan and press your face into the pillow, it feels as though you're on a boat. Your stomach churns as your brain sways within your skull. “Jesus” you mumble, pushing yourself up from the bed slightly.

Panic sets in when you don’t recognise anything in the room, your hands flying under the cover to check you were still clothed.

“God you move a lot for someone with a hangover” a voice grumbles beside you, you sit up so fast your stomach lurches and the growing headache pounds behind your eyes. “Here”.

Your eyes fall to Rafe, he lay next to you, still dressed in the clothes from last night. He has 2 pills in the palm of his hand and a bottle of water, you accept gratefully and lay back down.

Silence falls over the two of you only to be interrupted with his phone ringing, he ignores it and sits up to look at you. “I’m sorry about yesterday, my friend wouldn’t shut up about me not having a boyfriend. The lie just slipped” you speak, he nods his head but stays silent. Your eyes wander over his face trying to pick up on an emotion but it’s unreadable, his blue eyes stare back at you.

“Never had a boyfriend huh?” He smirks, his left eyebrow raises in question. Redness spreads across your cheeks, spinning your body until it hides under the blanket. “So does that mean..”.

“Oh god, this is so damn embarrassing” you exclaim, you feel sick to the stomach. Thankfully you're both pulled away when his phone rings for the second time, he answers it with a huff and pulls himself from the bed.

You peek your head out of the blanket and watch him close the bathroom door behind him, you take this moment to step out of bed. Wobbling slightly on the plush carpet, thankfully the nausea had subsided and you were just left with a headache.

You grabbed your phone from the bedside table and made a dash for it, no way were you going to wait for him knowing he had follow up questions.

You're so close to the front door when Kelsie rounds the corner, she throws her arms around you in delight. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, didn’t want to wake you up myself in case I walked in on something” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You nervously laughed, you probably shouldn’t let her think you were having sex. You know she’d ask for details later and you weren’t sure you could lie about that.

“Hey!” She exclaims, waving behind you. You turn to see Rafe walking towards you with a smirk on his lips, looking away quickly you nudge your friend towards the door. “We should get going” you mumble, gripping her bicep roughly. She shakes her head though just as Rafe’s arm wraps around your shoulder, he brings your back flush against his front.

Your body tingles, well aware that your bum was pressed against where his cock was tucked away. “You can’t leave yet babe, have coffee first”.

Your breath catches in your throat from the nickname, your limbs feel like jelly as you let him push you towards the kitchen. He maneuvers around the kitchen effortlessly and in silence, Kelsie sits on the stool watching him get the coffee machine ready, he turns to look at you and holds out a mug. “Thanks” you manage a smile and step over to help him, he looks down at you for a split second and then over at Kelsie who is tapping on her phone.

“Play along” he whispers, your eyes go wide when his thumb and forefinger trap your chin. Tilting your head up so he can duck down and kiss you.

You can’t stop the swarm of butterflies that are let loose in your stomach, your fingers grip the front of his white shirt. His hand pulls you in by your waist, you're trying to remind yourself this is fake. He’s just helping you out, helping you put on a show for your best friend.

“Gross! You’ve been doing god knows what all morning, let me get to know your boyfriend y/n” Kelsie cringes from her seat, dramatically covering her eyes in disgust. But the curve of her lips shows how damn excited she was for you. “What do you want to know?” Rafe questions, placing a mug down in front of her and then handing you yours.

“Everything! How long have you guys been together first?” Her eyes move between the two of you, your mouth opens but no words follow. Slamming your lips closed quickly before she notices. “Only 3 weeks, I’ve known about y/n since she came to the island 2 years ago. Just never had the courage to speak to her”.

Your brows crease together In the middle, was what he was saying true? If it wasn’t, how did he know you moved here 2 years ago?.

“That’s so sweet! Oh y/n I’m so damn happy for you! Anyway you gave me all the goss last night about the two of you, so Rafe what do you do for work?”

You sit in silence while your best friend interrogates Rafe Cameron, you hang onto every last word of his. Making mental notes about everything he was saying, you didn’t know much about Rafe Cameron.

You just knew he was rich and practically owned half the island, you heard a few things about problems with drugs when he was younger but that he got clean. He didn’t bring any of that up though and of course why would he, this whole situation was just to help you out.

“You got yourself a good one y/n! You better keep good care of her, I leave in a few days and I need to know my bestie is well looked after” she says but wiggles her eyebrows at the last part, nudging you in the ribs. You laugh with her and give him a tight smile.

“Of course, I’ll take real good care of her” he winks at you and you're so grateful for the chair that kept you from falling to the ground, one simple movement from him and you were weak at the knees. “Anyway we should get going, I promised you a trip to Charleston” you said, you made your way to the sink to wash the mug but large hands stop you as you reach for the cloth. “I got it”.

“Oh yes! I’m so excited, okay let’s go! Will see you later, yeah Rafe?” You suppress a groan, squeezing your eyes shut at your insistent friend. You open your mouth to tell her he’s got plans with friends but he’s agreeing with her and saying he’ll see you both later.

“I’ll let you say goodbye in private” she winks, skipping around the corner. When you hear the front door lock you turn to him, he’s staring at you again with his bright blue eyes.

“Thank you so much for playing along and helping me out but honestly I’ll tell her you have plans, she’ll be gone in a few days and we can pretend none of this happened”. You state, he doesn’t move from his spot or acknowledge what you’ve said for a few moments, you stare in silence.

“I’ll play your fake boyfriend y/n” he says, placing his mug into the sink and stepping towards you. “You really don’t need to, I’m apparently really good at lying” you reply, you give him an awkward thank you hug and dart out the door.

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, rushing towards the Uber waiting for you. You couldn’t believe you had gotten away with it, one little lie worked and now you no longer had your best friend in your ear about finding a man.

The two of you went home to shower and change, spending your day over in Charleston. Showing Kelsie around the town and shopping. Your feet were on fire by the time you stepped through your front door, you dropped your bags to the floor. “I need to lay down!” You announce, walking straight to your bedroom and dropping onto the bed.

You must have passed out because you're waking up in a dark room, your shoes have been taken off and a blanket draped over you. Your ears prick up to the sound of music, what was Kelsie doing?

You threw the blanket off you and stepped into your bathroom, you grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned up the mascara that had smudged under your eyes. Racking a comb through your hair and stepping back out of the bathroom.

The moment you open your bedroom door you are hit with loud music and the smell of tequila, you follow the noise towards the living room. “There she is!” Your best friend screams, she comes charging at you wrapping her arms around your neck.

Your eyes land on Rafe who sits on the one seater velvet chair, legs spread wide. He sends a smirk your way and raises his glass as a hello. “What is happening?” You question, noticing Rafe’s friends lounge on the couch and your friends looking at you in confusion. Oh god.

Your lie was about to unravel, you hadn’t thought about Kelsie meeting them. “I grabbed your phone while you were sleeping and organized a little get together! But you missy need to stop deleting messages it was very hard to figure out who your friends where”.

You were more concerned about how she got Rafes number, it would have been suspicious for you not to have messages with him. “Luckily everyone was saved in your favorites” she says handing you your phone, when she isn’t looking you search your phone. Rafes name pops up under favorite number 1, he must have put it in there last night? He was a lot better at this fake dating than you had expected.

“Hi” his voice whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your neck sending familiar shivers down your spine. His fingers dance around your hip stopping at your stomach, flattening his hand against you he pulled you back against him. “Hey” you managed, you say, he could tell you were flustered from the pink creeping up your neck until it made home on the apple of your cheeks. “You were asleep when she texted, I’m not as good of a liar as you” he joked, his eyes looking behind you for a moment and then his lips were on yours. You had now been kissed by 3 boys in your our lifetime, his lips were your favorite so far.

“Get a room!” Kelsie shouted, she poured tequila into shot glasses and began passing them around. “Let’s get this party started!”.

An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach, Kelsie never usually drank this much when she was around you. She knew you weren’t much of a drinker, especially since your dad was an alcoholic.

You stared down at the shot in your hand, you really didn’t want to drink tonight. Before you could even bring it to your lips Rafe was swapping his empty shot glass with yours and throwing it back. “You didn’t have to do that” you whispered, his hand still laying upon your stomach. You could feel him breathing against your back. “You didn’t want it”.

He gives you another soft smile and looks back at everyone in the room, Kelsie has turned the music up louder and pulled everyone into the middle of the lounge. “I just need to talk to my friends quickly” he nods his head and drops his hand from you. He watched you make your way to your friends and took a seat back on the seat he once occupied.

“Girl! You didn’t tell us you were seeing Rafe!” Sam exclaimed, she was in pure shock. Your three outer banks friends had lived here all their lives, they had known Rafe since school. “I’m sorry, it’s so recent I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it yet”.

“That’s okay, totally understand! It’s Rafe Cameron for crying out loud, I never thought I’d see the day he settles down” Grace says, she looks over at Rafe who is still watching you. They send him a smile and look back at you, an uneasy feeling in your stomach again.

“Yeah who knew” you laughed, you stood with them for a bit longer until the feeling of his eyes on you made you squirm. Walking back over to him, he pulled you to sit on his lap.

Your legs sat between his open ones, body nuzzled into his side. His arm around your shoulder, it was surprisingly comfortable and not weird. “We should probably discuss this fake boyfriend thing” he whisperedMy, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “You really don’t have to pretend after today”.

He chuckles and moves in his seat a little bit, your thighs rubbing against his groin. The redness once again painted on your cheeks. “You underestimate your friend”.

You look over at Kelsie who’s dancing away with Topper, both of them look like they escaped the mental hospital.

“You might be right” you agreed, unsure why you feel so content against him. You’d sat on boys' laps before and cuddled, it usually made you feel uncomfortable and you’d run off before they got the wrong idea.

“She's here for 3 days, so if you were possibly free over the next few days I’d be forever in your debt” you say, turning slightly to look up at him. He tilts his chin to look down at you, something flashes behind his eyes but you can’t quite place what it is. His smile is intoxicating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the perfectly straight teeth could kill me. “I can be free BUT I need a favour from you”.

“Yeah?” Your heart beats a bit faster and harder in your chest, what could Rafe Cameron possibly want from you? “I’ll need you to come to an event, I need a plus one”.

“Oh sure thing” you answer a bit too quickly, earning a smirk from the man under you. “Let’s talk about rules then?”

“Rules?”

“Yeah, you’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by doing anything you don’t want” he states, his tone is serious and his smile has vanished. “Oh” is all you manage to say to him, he moves again sitting up more straight so you both face each other.

“If I touch you anywhere you don’t like or want, or if I kiss you and you don’t want it, you just tell me. I won’t be hurt”

You nod your head, his hand cups your face and his lips touch yours for only a brief moment. “Sorry… they were watching”.

You turn your head and every snap their head back to what they were doing, a soft chuckle leaves your mouth and you look back at Rafe.

“Okay, and if you're busy or no longer want to be my fake boyfriend you just tell me. No hard feelings”

“Okay”

“Shall we kiss on it?”

You're the one to press your lips to his this time, it’s not quick like the last one. It’s more intense, his tongue snakes between your lips and you're moving in sync. This was a lot better than any of the other kisses you shared with someone.

“Sorry, I thought we’d give them a show”.

“Right” you breath, clearing the back of your throat and laying against him again. Was it normal to enjoy a kiss from a fake boyfriend that much?

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting

Part 3

[elizaleclerc]

Hi Max request here

He comes home to the reader flooding the apartment with bubbles from the washing machine and he looks at her like what the fuck.

Thanksss

this idea was so adorable i’m screaming!!! ty anon <3

bubbles ✦

max verstappen x reader

summary: max comes home to gf!reader and the mess she made

song: margaret by lana del rey

author’s note: really really short blurb to get me out a little slump and i simply loved this request so i had to!!

word count: 500

Panic set in as you frantically scrubbed at the frothy bubbles clinging to your arms and legs. A sea of creamy suds overflowed from the washing machine, spilling onto the floor and creating a slippery mess. The air was thick with the sweet, heady aroma of lavender, adding to the chaotic scene. You couldn't recall how it had happened, but now the laundry room resembled a sudsy sea of chaos, engulfing everything in its path.

In the midst of your frantic cleaning, the sound of keys jingling by the front door caused your heart to drop. Your hopes to finish cleaning everything in time were dashed as you heard Max's familiar voice calling out, "Where's my beautiful girl?" The clinking of his keys was like a siren warning of his impending arrival.

“The laundry room!” You replied, “Don’t come in though!”

You heard his laugh that you had come to adore, “Why not?” You struggled to give him a proper reasoning, and soon his persistence got the best of him. His figure appeared in the doorway, pausing at the sight before him. You stood still, scanning his expressions for anger. His eyes seemed emotionless, seeming to try and piece together the scene he had walked in on. You felt like you could start crying, as you thought you had ruined Max’s luxurious apartment with the mess of the suds around you.

But then, Max started laughing. You stared at him in awe as he laughed so hard you thought he was struggling to breathe. Your composure relaxed, and soon you found the humor in it all. How ridiculous you must look right now, covered in foamy soap in the laundry room, surrounded by the results of your mistake. You began giggling too, no longer wholly embarrassed with yourself.

You giggled as you flung a mass of bubbles at Max, watching as he tried to swat them away with a smile on his face. He sighed and his gaze traveled back to meet yours, his eyes full of adoration.

"Even covered in bubbles, you're beautiful." he said, placing his hands on his hips and making your face flush with color.

"I'm surprised you're still willing to put up with me," you sighed, taking in the messy scene around you.

"There's nothing I love more than 'putting up' with you, my dear," he replied, grinning at you and sending warmth flooding through your heart. No matter how chaotic or untidy things got, he never got mad or held it against you; his love was unconditional and unwavering. “Now, let’s actually get to cleaning this up.”

[vinvantae]

✧⋄⋆ 𝐑𝐌 𝟏𝟏𝟔 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜 ⋆⋄✧

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: The last thing you were expecting when you opened up the door to your motel room was a beautiful stranger. Was Charles perfect timing? Or simply a distraction from the weight of the engagement ring lurking in the pocket of your jeans.

Warnings: cheating, angst, build up to smut but no smut - sexy nonetheless.

Word count: 6.7k

──── •✧• ────

The rain pattered against your windshield, the flickering warm light from the broken vacancy sign bouncing off of the droplets - your hands gripping the steering wheel as the engine purred softly, as you tried to decide your next move. It wouldn’t be long before someone, everyone, started looking for you, but you simply couldn’t drive any longer. So when you saw the sign Heartbreak Motel in the distance, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

But now you were in the parking lot, you just couldn’t get out of the car. Getting out meant that you were committing to leaving, committing to running away. It would be so much simpler to turn around, to go home. But the smart, sensible part of you was left behind, as soon as you had snuck out of your home in the middle of the night.

So, instead you finally climbed out of the car - pulling your hood over your head, and hauling your bag out of the back seat before dashing to the reception desk. You pushed through the door, the rain had soaked you through in the moments you were outside - and now you were desperate for a nice warm shower. The clerk behind the desk gave you a once over, clearly displeased that you’d got the floor wet - you gave him an apologetic smile before approaching.

“Room for one, please?” You smiled awkwardly, shivering where you stood. “I’ll take any size.”

For a second, you didn’t think he registered what you said - but before you could say another word he turned his back to you to grab a key. You took a moment to glance around the room, eyes settling on the framed photos of mountains - wondering to yourself if they were nearby. “Room 116. King-size bed, it's your lucky night.”

You gratefully accepted the key, before paying for the room and stepping across the space to treat yourself to a bag of M&Ms from the vending machine before venturing out to find your room, desperate to get out of your rain-logged socks.

You turned the key over in your hand a few times before heading out to find your room. “114… 115…ah!”

You wiggled your key in the lock, and pushed open the door - practically yelping in shock when a very tired looking man emerged from the bathroom. His eyes wide, dark hair still damp from what you assumed was a shower as the rest of his clothes looked dry. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a playful yet confused smile as you clutched your hand over your chest. “Uh, hi?”

“This is 116, right?” You frowned, looking at the number on the door. “You’re in my room.”

The stranger laughed playfully, grabbing a key from the side table. “No, you’re in my room.”

He cautiously held the key out to you so you could read the 116 engraved into the metal. You huffed and shot a glance over your shoulder at the rain still hammering down outside - you really didn’t want to go back to the reception desk. “Can you go find out if there’s another room spare?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I was here first. So if anyone is getting a different room… it’s gonna be you.” He teased, gesturing to his belongings strewn around the room. “You can wait it out until the rain eases off, though.”

“Wow, so kind.” You grumbled, slumping into a chair. “...would you be offended if I took my shoes off? I think I’m gonna get trench foot if I stay in these wet socks for another second.”

The stranger shook his head. “Go for it.”

He watched as you fiddled with the laces of your shoes, the water making them harder to get off - you only had a small suitcase with you, unlike his large one currently resting on the floor at the foot of the bed. Your nail polish was chipped and your clothes were positively soaked through. “I’m Charles by the way… do you need a towel?”

You told him your name as you nodded for a towel, finally getting your socks and shoes off. It felt like you’d been standing in a puddle for days as you patted the bottom of your feet dry. The room was awkwardly silent, why wouldn’t it be? You and Charles were strangers, he didn’t owe you a small stay in the room let alone a conv-

“So, how long are you at the motel for?” His voice brought you out of your head, he was now perched on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t quite make out the shade of his eyes from the dim lights of the lamp he had on instead of the large one overhead but he looked at you intently.

“Not sure, it was kind of a last minute thing.” You shrugged, still shivering.

Charles studied you for a moment. “Please, feel free to reject my offer, but do you want a warm shower..?”

“...All my instincts are telling me not to, but I’m fucking freezing.” You laughed dryly. “Is there somewhere I can put my wet clothes?”

“Uhm, the closet has some hangers in it?”

You gave him an awkward thanks before fishing out something dry from the top of your suitcase and hiding yourself in the bathroom - head falling back against the door as you closed the door behind you. What the fuck are you doing? Are you seriously about to get naked and shower with a random man in the next room? But the feeling of your wet clothes clinging to your body was too much - so you bit the bullet and peeled your shirt over your head before turning to fight with the button of your jeans.

Before you took them off, you wiggled your fingers into the now too tight pocket and fished out a ring from your pocket, turning it in your palm for a second - it was beautiful, but it wasn’t you. Maybe that should’ve been your first sign; it was the wrong size, the metal was a colour you never wore and the gemstones were ones you would never choose for yourself, a representation of just how little he knew you. Of how little he paid attention. You honestly weren’t sure why it had taken you so long to click in your head that maybe this just wasn’t who you were supposed to be with.

But that didn’t stop how carefully you placed the ring on the side of the sink before yanking your jeans down your legs - the denim clinging uncomfortably to your skin. As you turned on the stream of water, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that the water was still warm, so after stripping off the last of your undergarments, you stepped under the stream - letting the water fall over your face.

Charles sat in the next room, perched on the edge of the bed - tapping his foot against the floor. He’d always considered himself a kind person, but not so kind he’d let a random stranger use his motel shower. But there was something about you, an instant magnetism - at first he thought it was just pity from the way the rain had soaked you through but he couldn’t deny how attracted he felt to you despite the awkwardness. His eyes flickered briefly to your suitcase, it was small, and now it was opened it looked very hastily packed - clothes bundled in without much of a care and loose toiletries had fallen a little out of the inside pockets.

He didn’t mean to be nosy, but he couldn’t help but ponder if you were just not great at packing or if there was something you’d run away from. Before he could muse any further, he heard the shower stop running - so he decided to try and be helpful and clear some of the hangers in the wardrobe for you to hang your wet clothes from - carefully folding away his clothes. He sat at the top of the bed and switched on the TV, so it didn’t look like he was just waiting for you to be done.

It was a few more minutes before you emerged in fresh clothes, towel in hand to dry your hair. “Is the hairdryer broken or am I just being stupid?”

Charles chuckled. “It’s broken. I asked at reception and they’d said they’d get it sorted out but… that was two days ago.”

“Okay, so you’ve already been here two days but they still somehow thought this room was free?” You laughed, hanging up your wet clothes in the wardrobe - your ring nestled in the pocket of your dry trousers. “That’s some serious fuck up.”

Both of you looked to the window as lightning cracked and thunder rumbled - the rain seemingly getting even heavier than before. “Doesn’t look like it’s getting any better… I’m not gonna make you go out in that.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “I really appreciate it, especially because I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“So could I, and you have stumbled right into my trap.” He wiggled his brows playfully and you giggled - there was something about him that made you feel so at ease. “You don’t have to just stand there y’know, the bed's nice and comfy.”

Charles was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t hesitate to join him, making yourself comfy propped up against the headboard. “What are we watching?”

The conversation flowed easily between the two of you - you learnt that Charles owned his own vintage jewellery company and was en route to meet a potential buyer but due to the storm that had rolled in that night - their flight had got cancelled but instead of heading all the way home, he decided to hang around until they showed up. His excuse being he liked the area but with nothing but a bar and a diner within walking distance, you weren’t sure you believed him. But with the secret you were hiding, you knew you were in no place to judge.

He was a good distraction, and when your head eventually hit the pillow - both of you finding your way beneath the covers, you could barely feel the press of the ring against your leg as you felt yourself get lost in the multitudes of colours in his eyes, his voice soft in comparison to the ever harshing sound of the rain battering against the window. You were waiting for him to kick you out, but as he rolled over just enough to flick off the light, you snuggled further under the sheets.

You could just about make out his features in the dark room, occasionally lit by the lighting flashing behind the curtain. He stretched his arms above his head before settling in, pulling the duvet up so he was practically tucked all the way in - you had to fight the urge to work your way into his arms, he just looked so cosy.

“Don’t kill me while I sleep?” You whispered.

“Only if you promise not to kill me.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

──── •✧• ────

You never slept well in new places - the bed was always too hard or too soft, it was too bright or too dark…. But this? You couldn’t recall a single night in your life where you’d woken up feeling so well rested, that every joint in your body felt like it actually worked. Charles still slept gently beside you, sheet shoved half way down his body - arm flung over the edge of the bed.

“Hey…” you whispered, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles… wake up.”

He groaned and rubbed his eyes before stretching his arms above his head. “My god, I slept like a baby… is everything okay?”

“Uhm, it stopped raining… I was gonna get up and leave but I didn’t want to just disappear without saying anything.” You smiled softly, eyes following Charles as he moved to sit up a little.

He watched as you shifted to get out of bed, padding softly over to the wardrobe to grab your formerly wet clothes. Part of him contemplated reaching out and pulling you back into bed with him - wrapping you up in his arms, but that was definitely too forward. So he decided to go a different route.

“Breakfast?”

“Sorry?”

His cheeks flushed and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “There’s Uhm, a diner just down the road… they do pancakes and such. So, do you wanna go get some breakfast with me first? Y’know before…”

You watched as he gestured to your bags. “I’d really like that.”

The way his eyes lit up made your chest all warm and fuzzy - something you’d not felt in a long while. So you fished a fresh change of clothes from your suitcase and dipped back into the bathroom to change. Charles felt practically giddy with glee as he got up to change, he couldn’t believe his luck that the universe had seemingly dropped this beautiful, funny, smart person into his lap. You felt too good to be true.

And you were. You were currently looking around the bathroom for somewhere, anywhere to stash your engagement ring whilst you went to breakfast with the beautiful stranger waiting in the other room. In a moment of panic you end up just shoving it straight into your bra, you don't need to hide it for much longer - you’d have your own room by the end of the day. All that mattered right now was enjoying the fleeting time you knew you had left with Charles before your real life caught up to you.

You were being more selfish than you’d ever been, not only were you actively hiding from the man you promised to marry - but you were definitely giving Charles the wrong impression. You had noticed the way he looked at you, the way his eyes had traced over your exposed skin in your pyjamas.

“Ready to go?” You smiled at him as you emerged from the bathroom, Charles was sitting on the edge of the bed tying up his laces. “We can swing via reception on the way back.”

Charles pressed his lips into a line and nodded, standing up and grabbing his coat. He couldn’t blame you for wanting to get your own space, but part of him wanted to keep you in his company - and as the small of his hand ghosted the small of your back as the two of you left the room, he could practically feel the sparks. And the way your eyes sparkled as you looked up to thank him, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Who were you and why had the universe put you in his path? He hadn’t had a difficult life, in fact - he knew for a fact that he’d been beyond lucky. So what had he done to deserve this? He decided to just enjoy the moment and cautiously offer you his hand after locking the motel door behind him, unable to contain his smile when you didn’t even hesitate to wrap your hand around his - your skin warm against his. “...This is nice.”

“It is. There’s something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on” You admitted. “But I just feel so…”

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I feel the same, y’know.” Charles’s voice was soft as the two of you walked down towards the diner, the old 50s style building tucked away just behind the motel. “Ever since you opened your mouth there’s just something about you where I feel like I’ve known you for years. Are we a little crazy?”

You laughed. “Definitely. But right now all I want is a stack of pancakes.”

Charles pushed the door open for you, your ears being greeted by the sound of Elvis humming over the speakers of the jukebox. There weren't too many people here but enough where you didn’t feel like the two of you would be the centre of the staff’s attention. Charles led you into a booth by the window, surprising you by opting to slide onto the same side of the booth as you, his strong thigh pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

As the two of you browsed the menu, his arm draped across the back of the bench - fingertips tracing lightly against your shoulder as he commented about how weird some of the pancake toppings were. You allowed yourself to peek out of the corner of your eye to look up at him - but it was just his luck that he caught you, the corner of his mouth tugging into a playful smirk. “Like something you see, cheri?”

“I might, what about it?” You teased, propping your chin up on your hand - challenging him. The worst part? You didn’t even feel slightly guilty about it. The man you left behind not even crossing your mind as Charles’s warm hand came to rest on your thigh, brushing across the surface.

“You’re truly something else.” He purred, leaning in a little.

You should’ve made a move to stop him, but having him so close felt like the most normal thing in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as his nose brushed against yours - a warm woodsy scent resonated from his cologne, draping over you like a blanket. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk, all of the colours of his eyes seemed brighter and just as you let yours flutter to a close, ready to feel the press of his lips against your own-

“Hi guys! Welcome, what can I get you started on today?”

The two of you jumped back, cheeks heating up at the lady who was seemingly unaware she’d interrupted a moment. You practically stuttered out your order, Charles a little more smug that he’d had such an impact on you - his hand still comfortably in its position on your thigh, perhaps a little higher than before.

You shifted away a little after she left the table to go get your food, trying to slow your heartbeat but you hadn’t taken into account Charles’s determination. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your gaze up to meet his. “I think we were in the middle of something.”

The smile on your face as he leant in was anything but innocent - and as his lips finally meant yours, any reservations you had about crossing that with him were gone. The harmless flirting had turned into full on cheating on your fiancé, but the way his mouth moved against yours as he deepened the kiss? You just didn’t care.

His hand curved around your jaw when he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes. “…it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you didn’t get your own room, y’know.”

“You sure? I don’t want to impose.” You couldn’t look away from him even if you tried, his eyes drew you in.

“Positive. I’m really enjoying getting to know you.” He admitted. “I don’t know what will happen when we leave this place but-“

You kissed him again to cut him off. “Let’s not think about that right now.”

His smile was sweet, not knowing your reason for why you didn’t want to think about it. About how once you leave you’d have to decide whether to break off your engagement or get married. Your fiancé wasn’t a bad man, and you did love him once upon a time… but the way Charles had made you feel in the last few hours was more exciting than anything he’d made you feel in months. But you’d gotten into this mess by being selfish - you should’ve left a long time ago, and you think he knew that hence why he proposed.

No one made you say yes.

And now, instead of being a single woman who was well within her right to make out with attractive strangers - you were betrothed. But you were too busy enjoying your time with Charles to care.

You didn’t deserve either of them.

The breakfast ended up being way nicer than you expected - and you loved listening to Charles talk about his life. Where he came from, how he’d lost his Dad, and how travelling across the country to find beautiful and unique jewellery pieces for clients was something that he loved to do - you weren’t sure if he noticed you were keeping a bit of a wall up when talking about your life, but if he did he didn’t say anything.

You laughed harder than you had in a long time when he told you his stories - a fond feeling in your chest when his eyes crinkled as he smiled. He listened to you intently when you spoke and you felt heard. Maybe he wouldn’t judge you if you told him the truth..?

No, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Instead you continued to let yourself indulge in Charles, swooning when he lent in to kiss you like it was the most normal thing in the world. The two of you talked for hours, making your way through several dishes the diner had to offer throughout the day - choking on a mouthful of milkshake when Charles made a filthy joke about the whipped cream on top. You stole his fries after claiming you didn’t want any on the side of your burger so he responded by dunking some directly in your shake.

The outside world was completely forgotten to you - people filtered in and out as the hours passed but it felt like there was no one but you, Charles and the poor waitress who kept having to come see if you wanted anything else from the menu. And after a final coffee, it was time to head back to the motel.

You knew sharing a room would be risky, you definitely needed to find a good spot to stash your ring - but as Charles gripped your hips and pushed you back against the now closed door of the motel room, his eyes darkened with lust - you knew that was a problem for later, right now - you just had to get the ring out of your bra before it fell on the floor and whatever filthy things Charles had planned for the two of you would be abruptly cut short.

“I’m just gonna freshen up first, okay? I’ve got burger breath.”

“Mhmm, sexy” he teased, kissing you again. “But whatever you need to get comfortable. I’ll wait.”

You giggled before dipping into the bathroom, with still no good place to hide your ring - you decided to go for the bold move and strip all of your clothes off, leaving you only in your underwear and hiding the ring back in your jeans pocket, no chance of it falling out unexpectedly now. You gave yourself a quick refresh before slowly emerging from the bathroom, leaning against the wall.

“…so, where were we?”

Charles growled from deep within his chest, reaching out as he sat up against the headboard. “Get yourself over here, right now.”

You sashayed across the room, making sure to exaggerate the swish of your hips before crawling up the bed until you were between his legs. You bit your lip and ran a hand up his chest. His eyes were blown with lust as they scanned your figure, before he reached out and gripped your hips - pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re insane…” He purred, nudging his nose against your jaw to tilt up your head - giving him access to the slope of your neck so he could press kisses into the soft expanse of your skin. His hand ghosted across your back. “May I?”

With a swift nod, he undid your bra - letting you reach forward to unbutton his shirt in turn. You ran your hands up his bare chest again before pressing a deep kiss to his lips, his large hands on your waist as you worked on the button of his jeans.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He moaned, his hands shifting to your ass so he could haul you as close as possible. “Tell me what you need, cheri.”

As his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear - you realised what a truly horrible person you were, and you hesitated. Charles’s brow furrowed, his hands quickly moving away.

“Hey, what’s going on?” His voice was soft, he grabbed his discarded shirt and draped it across your shoulders to cover you. “We don’t have to do this.”

You sighed softly, taking his jaw in your hand - brushing your thumb across his skin as his eyes flickered across your face, still thick with concern. “I want you, Charles… But, I’m not… I don’t deserve you.”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you deserve me? Listen, I don’t care what you’ve done in the past… All I care about is us, right here, right now. Whatever it is you’re running from, take a break with me.”

Fuck.

You kissed him hard, holding his face in both hands - within an instant his hands were back on you, he shifted you both so you were beneath him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling back just enough to nudge your nose against his, your voice a low whisper. “Make me forget?”

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a devilish grin. “By the time I’m done with you..?”

He leant down until his lips were brushing the shell of your ear.

“All you’ll remember is my name.”

──── •✧• ────

The next few days were a blur of sex, laughter and deep conversations - studying every inch of Charles, memorising every detail before you knew it was all going to crash down. You weren’t naive, you knew Charles had started to notice how often you ignored phone calls - he never brought it up. But then he got a phone call of his own - his client was finally able to get his flight and the next day, he’d be on the move.

He hadn’t been able to tell you just yet - you’d dipped out of the room to grab some snacks for you both, so Charles decided to start packing up his things - your clothes and his had at some point merged into a pile. He grabbed a pair of trousers off of the floor, shaking your jeans out that had got tangled up with them before hearing a gentle thud. His brow furrowed as he glanced around the floor before he felt his heart stop.

A ring.

The lump in his throat was immovable as he reached down for it, the metal cold against his palm as he turned it in his palm. It was beautiful, expensive but it didn’t really seem like something you’d wear - fuck, that didn’t fucking matter - you had an engagement ring. You’d been promised to someone else before you even stepped into the room you now shared with Charles, before you’d spent time wrapped up in the sheets - crying out his name.

He knew you were running away from something, maybe even someone but not a man you’d said yes to spending the rest of your life with. He sat on the edge of the bed, just staring blankly at the wall - he had no one to blame but himself really. You were a stranger.

Except you weren’t - he’d poured his life and soul out for you, laid himself bare physically and emotionally for you… and you were engaged. The fantasy he’d created within the four walls of the motel room was exactly that, a fantasy. A lie.

You weren’t real.

“Hey, so they didn’t have the flavour crisps you wanted so I just got-”

“What’s his name?”

You frowned, placing the snacks on the nearby table. “I’m sorry?”

“Your fiancé. What’s his name?” He asked again, clenching his jaw - he couldn’t bring himself to look at you as you stood across the room.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out - he let out a frustrated huff, finally standing from his spot on the bed. He took your wrist in his hand and pulled you towards him, pressing your ring into the palm of your hand - his eyes not leaving yours. “What. Is. His. Name?”

“Charl…”

“No.” His voice was sharp, nothing like anything you’d ever heard from him before. “Don’t… you don’t fucking get to do that.”

The tears were burning in your eyes, you placed the ring on the table - before placing your hands against his chest, bunching his shirt up in your fists. “Charles, please… I… I never meant-”

“You never meant to what? Get caught? Use me to cheat on your fiancé? What?” He hissed, but made no move to remove your hands from his shirt. “This is fucked up.”

You let your forehead fall against his chest, Charles’s jaw clenched - he wanted to push you off but he wasn’t a violent person. So he took a deep breath and gently untangled your fingers from his clothes and took a step back.

“I…” You groaned and rubbed your eyes. “I know it was selfish to not tell you I was engaged, I was going to… there was just never a good time.”

“Never a good time?” He laughed dryly. “How about in the hours we stayed up talking? How about instead of letting me fuck your brains out on every surface in this hotel room? Oh wait, that’s what you meant when you said you didn’t deserve me, isn't it?”

“I don’t fucking deserve either of you, I’m a piece of shit.”

“You’ve got that right.” You shot him a look. “What? You think I’m gonna fucking fall for your little pity party? I told you things about me that I’ve never told anyone… And do you know what the worst part of all this is? I blame myself… I blame myself for believing that I deserved a fucking chance of happiness. Isn’t that sad?”

You stepped closer to him again, forcing him to look at you. “You do deserve happiness, Charles.”

“That’s not even the worst part… I got a call from my client, I was going to ask you to come with me.” He frowned. “There’s a beautiful 5 star hotel, overlooking the beach… all the cocktails you could want. Was going to spoil you… make love to you on the high thread count sheets, on the loungers by our private pool… in the hot tub…”

“Charl...” You felt breathless, but as you reached up to take his jaw, he caught your wrist in his hand - you swallowed deeply. The once bright colours of his eyes seemed dull as he looked at you now. “We could still-”

This time he didn’t look angry, just disappointed. “No we can’t. You need to pack your bags and go home… your family is worried about you, I’m sure he’s worried about you too.”

“I-I could call… clear everything up and then we-”

“There is no we anymore, I’m not even sure there ever was.” He sighed, moving away from you to start packing his bags up. “I think it’s best for us to be strangers again.”

You choked back a sob. “You don’t mean that, Charles… please.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Charles continued to move around the room, gathering his things - after one more feeble attempt to take his hand, he looked to you. The heartbreak on your face was almost enough for him to cave, to wrap you up in his arms and tell you it was all going to be okay…. But it wasn’t.

“You never told me his name.” His voice was soft, like there was no anger left for him to give.

“…Nathan.”

Charles nodded, zipping up his suitcase. “How come you ran?”

“Charles-“

“No, I want to know about the man who you cheated on… indulge me, won’t you?” He huffed. “I’m leaving either way, so you may as well just lay it all out on the table.”

A soft sigh left your lips as you sat on the edge of the bed, instead of sitting beside you - Charles opted to sit in one of the empty chairs. It almost felt like an interrogation.

You jumped as lightning cracked outside the window, thunder rumbling through the building - the weather mirroring that of the night you’d met but the circumstances were much different now. He was no longer a beautiful, kind stranger who’d let you shelter away from the storm - he was the man who you’d used for your own gain, who now looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“...I met Nathan through a friend.” You explained, playing with your fingers. “It wasn’t love at first sight, not for me anyway. He was always good to me, easy… safe. But, it never really felt like he knew me. Like, the ring is a prime example, none of it is anything I’d choose for myself… so, sorry, but I can’t ease your conscience, Nathan isn’t some nasty abusive man.”

“So, you ran away because you’re… bored? Do you know what you could’ve done? Broken up with him. Sounds like he deserves far better than you.”

His words were like a knife to the chest - each word twisted it deeper but he was absolutely right. “I know I should’ve… but… If I knew I was going to meet you then-“

“Oh don’t.” He scoffed, grabbing his jacket and standing up - hauling it over his shoulders. “You need to go home, tell Nathan what you did and let that man go find someone who actually fucking cares about him.”

You frowned. “I can’t make that decision for him.”

That stopped Charles in his tracks. “So you’re saying, if you tell him the truth and he forgives you… you’re gonna stay with him? After you were ready to leave him to travel with me?”

He watched as you shrugged so nonchalantly- he really didn’t know you at all. The woman he knew was sweet, funny… you were selfish, mean. Every word that left your mouth buried the woman he thought he knew deeper and deeper into the earth. You were willing to stay with a man you didn’t really love, for what? So you weren’t alone?

“What would happen when you inevitably got bored of me?” He questioned. “Would you run again? Would you go back to him?”

“I don’t think I’d get bored of you.”

Charles snorted. “Reassuring. Love isn’t supposed to be all excitement and fireworks 24/7… you can be in love but not have your heart racing. And I’m not saying what you have with Nathan is love, it very clearly isn’t - but if you’re always looking for the next exciting thing, you’re never going to stop and enjoy the moment you’re actually living in.”

“…I just don’t like the idea of being alone.”

He had to fight every urge he had to roll his eyes, even being in the same room with you was starting to exhaust him. “Well, you deserve to be.”

You finally snapped, there was only so much scolding you could take. “You know what? Fuck you. You don’t know shit about me…”

“So all of the stuff you told me was a lie, huh?” Charles taunted you, his words like venom. “Like all the stories about your family, your friends… Those were all lies too? Has anything that’s happened these last few days been real?!”

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. “Do you honestly think that this was something, Charles? It’s not even been a week.”

He took a step back, swallowing heavily - this time it was you who had the fire in them.

“You are delusional. Yes we had fun, yes we had a couple little chats but that doesn’t mean that any of this was real.” You spoke, voice thick with disgust.

Charles almost couldn’t believe the woman standing before him was the same woman who he’d spent the last few days with - you didn’t even look the same. Your kind eyes were full of hatred and every muscle seemed tense.

“You’re vicious.” His heart was pounding in his chest as he stared you down.

The laugh that escaped you had no humour in it. “Well, that’s what you get for putting your faith in someone you met less than a week ago. No one is ever going to be able to live up to your fantasies… you need to get down from whatever cloud you’re on and join us in the real world.”

“Get the fuck out.” He spat. “You can come get your shit when I’m gone.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go until then?”

“Anywhere but here.” He swung the door open, the rain crashing down - raindrops splashed into the room as lighting cracked once again.

You scoffed. “Ironic you’re trying to send me out into the weather that brought us together in the first place.”

“Let’s just say I’m fixing my mistake then and fuck off… I don’t care where you go but I’ll be gone when you get back.”

The two of you were in a stand-off, not a single part of you wanted to go out in that weather and there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted you to stay in here. You folded your arms across your chest and quirked a brow, challenging him to do something - you knew he was never going to physically throw you out. “Get out.”

“I’m not going out in that!” You snapped. “And close the fucking door, you’re getting wet.”

You felt smug as he huffed, closing the door. But before you could get another word in, he turned his back and started grabbing the last of his belongings - shoving them carelessly into his suitcase, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The look on your face slowly fell as he dipped into the bathroom - you’d call him out on his shit so why did you feel guilty? You were right. He didn't know shit about you - he was a stranger. But when his eyes finally met yours, for what felt like the final time, you couldn’t help but feel a tug in your chest- telling you to wrap your arms around him and swear you could fix this.

“...So this is it?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep. And I know you don’t give a single shit about what I think, but I really do hope you turn your life around and get better - because I know there’s a good person somewhere in there.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line. “And I hope you find someone who treats you how you deserve… because I know you’re a good man.”

There wasn’t any particular response you were hoping for, but him leaving the room without another word definitely wasn’t it - not even slamming the door behind him, just shutting it with a simple click. Leaving you to stand alone in the middle of the room that once felt like a safe haven. As you glanced around, it truly felt like he had never been here - it was just a mess of your belongings strewn across the furniture and floor.

Feeling sorry for yourself, you decided there was nothing more you wanted right now than a stiff drink - and you remembered seeing a bar across the street. You scoured the room for something to throw over your head to protect you from the rain before spotting an umbrella in the corner - definitely not yours but clearly not important enough to Charles for him to take so you snagged it.

As the rain attempted to smack the umbrella from your hands, you jogged across the street and stepped into the bar. It was dimly lit, the light from the flickering hotel sign still visible as you slumped down onto a bar stool - ordering your usual. You fiddled with your ring, flipping it between your fingertips - maybe Charles was right, maybe going back and finally leaving Natahan would be good for you. You didn't love him, and maybe he deserved to find someone who could.

“Definitely not just a drizzle out there, huh?”

Your eyes flickered up from your drink at the sound of a spanish accent, a handsome man smiled softly at you. “Yeah, the wind nearly stole my umbrella from me.”

He chuckled softly. “Can I buy you another drink? I’m Carlos.”

After telling him your name and drink choice, you took a second to look back at your engagement ring - the good person Charles thought was in you was yet to rear her head, so with no shame at all - your ring once again disappeared into the pocket of your jeans and you turned back to Carlos with a smile.

Whilst Charles was model handsome, Carlos was like a Disney prince with thick dark hair, his deep brown eyes scanning over you as his lips curved into a playful smile. You propped your elbow up on the bar, resting your chin on your hand - practically fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“So, Carlos…” you purred, testing his name on your lips, and enjoying how it tasted. “You staying nearby?”

──── •✧• ────

If you saw me post this already but with Jenson… I decided I wanted to change it so no you didn’t

So whilst this collab ended up falling through I really liked what I wrote and wanted to share it with people so here you go! Thank you to @formulaforza and @silverstonesainz/ @singaporesainz for the idea and extra smooches to you Dani for beta reading it for me x

[fluffymarshmalllows]

In every universe, I'll look for you

fanfic about Reader getting sucked in the portal first, Ford follows.

Another restless night for you and your husband in the basement. Coffee staining the journals as he scribbles more blurbs about this “Bill” person he keeps calling his muse. You didn’t want to feel jealous but ever since that absurdly long late night walk Ford took months ago, he’s been nose deep into every physics book and theoretical researches to prove something, anything. Every time you beg him to rest, he refuses making you a bit annoyed, blame it on the sleep deprivation and lack of quality time.

“Please, Fordsy, you really need some rest. We’ve been working on this project for weeks now” you muttered, half-asleep at this point. But words fell on deaf ears as your husband just waved you off with some empty promises of he’ll be with you to bed soon.

Too tired to argue, you kissed him on the cheek which caused his face to get dusted pink for a bit, but still very much focused on his calculations. A sight you will never get tired of. You also waved to Fiddleford who was roped in this whole project bidding farewell.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he says without looking up as you climb the squeaky staircase. You reminded them both to get some rest while internally praying to whoever God that will listen that you get your doting husband back sooner than later.

Not even hours later, loud metal clashes and bangs from the basement jerked you awake. You shot up and dashed straight to Ford worried that something might’ve happened. Did he get injured? A part fell on him? Was he trashing the place? Shaking your head ridding of those thoughts. Running towards the basement fueled with adrenaline and a power nap is not ideal but the situation called for it.

You got there as quick as you can and witnessed a rather vulgar argument between your husband and Fiddleford leading to the latter walking out and bumping your shoulder muttering unpleasant words towards Ford.

Peering out from the basement stairs, on the other side of their makeshift divider was a big glowing construction whirring with power. “Oh my god” those were the only things that you could mutter in that moment. The machine was… working. It was finally working. After months of sleepless nights, exhausted arguing, they finally made it work giving you hope that things will soon get back to normal, or as much as it used to be.

Ford felt your presence and looked at you like a mad-man, eyes crazed with no sign of sanity. It made you question if the man standing ahead of you was really the guy you married. “It finally worked! The math finally made sense. Do you understand, Y/N?! This is our key to figuring out all these anomalies.” You took a step back your back against the door while he tries to coax you in joining him. “No, Ford, this doesn’t look safe”.

Ford turned his back to you, staring at his creation. “Fiddleford said the same thing” he mused, “but please, beloved, I won’t let you be in any danger”. His reassuring voice was enough to put you in some ease as you walked to him extending his hand.

He held you by your waist supporting your trenbling body, guiding you to admire their creation. Observing some sparks of electricty dancing across the ground and bouncing off the walls. Ford was explaining to you how it works, how he plans to use it, what they should do next and all that but one look at your alarmed face gave him all the hint he needed to keep quiet and let you process all this.

He was so enamored by this portal he built, you both did not realize the glass dividing the area was slowly cracking. Only took some more volts of current to run by it to shatter and allow the portal to suck you in.

It happened so fast. Ford tried grabbing you but the force was too much, pulling you in within seconds. You managed to maneuver yourself to grab on the portals frame. Using all your strength pulling your body out to ask for help one last time before you were completely lost somewhere some time in space.

“Ford, help me!” The last words his lover spoke before getting lost in the oblivion haunts him in his every waking hour. He tried consulting Bill about this, how to get you back, but Bill was adamant about the situation, believing that Y/N was just a hurdle to their masterplan. He spent too many lonely nights missing you and regretting what he has done, it was driving him imsane. This lead to him calling quits with Bill which ultimately made the polygon mad.

Alas, he struck the courage to contact his twin after years. This was not an easy decision for him but to set up his grand scheme of finding you in the vast universe, he had to have his brother fit the missing link.

Ford explained everything to Stan, or as much as his twin needed to know but things did not go exactly as planned. He was planning to portal jump, sure, but not get sucked into it accidentally. He found it somewhat humorous that he ended up the same way his lover left, through the portal—asking for help.

Journal log no. 176? 177. Two years, 18 dimensions, 3 timelines. I saw them again. Different hairstyle but with that same aloof smile. Happy in this dimension with me, alternate universe me. I still live to regret that day. It also appears that she is also being tracked by the space-time continueom agencies (noted from the encounter at the do-over dimension). Just what in the world did my Y/N get to?…

Journal log no. 320+. It has been almost 10 home years if I calculated it correctly. Still no sign of my Y/N in this timeline. From the dwellers of this dimension, it appears that the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron has laid low on the investigation of their whereabouts. It has become harder tracking them down, maybe they learned new tricks. Best to take a note of this…

Journal log __ . I have lost track of days in this dimension. Some part of this dimension are mirrors that behaves like looking glasses. Upon my first arrival, a mirror reflected Y/N staring back at me. As I am writing this, I am still formulating probable hypothesis that could explain their reflection on mine. Seeing them again after so long makes me yearn for them more. If only I h

A zipping sound ripped from a distance away from Ford as he's trying to journal his discoveries.

“Time to go” quickly packing all his materials shoving it in his makeshift bag careful not to drop any while going on another leap. He looked back at those men? Aliens? Whoever those guys are they are pretty hot on his trail. Getting too close for his own comfort. And too many close calls with them than Ford will admit.

“Get him!” The smallest tentacle humanoid man commanded or something similar of the sort, it’s another universe language he has yet to decode. Learning the tongues became much more difficult since he accidentally stumbled on a rebellion matched with a bounty picture of your face displayed in every available surface they can stick it on to. Knowing you, whatever you did there most likely called for it or he hopes so, anyway.

Muttering some curses he took his grand leap and entered another dimension. Not once did he look back.

This time it looked like another parallel timeline of his home universe. Ford walked around pin pointing important anomalies, most of them minor like an extra toe on a cat or a bird with butterfly wings. He slumped down under a tree near the opening of the forest to draw these creatures. Pulling out his journal, he realized something in this dimension feels right, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belong. Another minor anomaly in a dimension filled with other anomalies. It made him feel normal, but not complete. Ford sniffled his tears back overwhelmed by the feeling of missing you. He never stopped looking for you. Eyes scanning every place hoping to see you again, waiting for him, happy with him.

Coast is clear and the sun was slowly setting. It lulled Ford to take a nap. Closing his eyes trying to remember what you look like. It’s been years since he last saw you. In every universe and timeline you were in, they did not look like you, his Y/N. Something was always off, but one thing remained constant— you were always happy together with him. Ford chuckled bitterly. Only in the universe he lived in was he alone. It was unfair, but he did this to himself. He regrets all the time he spent with Bill than his own spouse. His only lover, to think that fame and knowledge blinded him to put you in danger.

A soft thud was heard from the tree he was resting on, followed by a feeling of being watched made chills ran down his spine. Ford became hyper-aware looking, searching, for anything. Standing up quickly, he was ready to dash for it but for unknown reason he stood his ground. His feet felt glued to the ground, waiting for whatever it was to emerge from the trees’ shadows. The now dark forest was eerie and he could not risk getting hurt in another dimension. A pitter patter of steps from the forest heading his way made him draw his gun aiming at the darkness. His fingers at the trigger, steady.

“Fordsy?”

His breath hitched. Hands trembled. A figured appeared out of the dense forest. Face to face with the gun he was ready to fire. His heartbeat was so loud it was almost all he can hear. Seeing you, still perfect after so many years. With gray hairs and past your prime, yet you still had the same effect on him. Decades or more has passed but the feelings remained the same.

Both of you did not dare to take a step. You feared that this is all in your head, a fragment of your imagination that you did not want to go away. The air was still, and the silence deafening. You can’t take it much longer and you run up to him. Ford took you in with open arms.

He hugged you tight, not willing to let go. Never again will he let you go. All those years of longing and you’re finally back in his arms. He stared at your eyes, filled with the love and adoration like the days you were married and living with each other. You took a step back and slapped him. Hard.

“How dare you!” You angrily muttered to him. Voice tight but not so loud to disturb the silence. “This?! This is what you were trying to make?” Shoving a pointed finger to his shoulder blade. Ford was hurt, but he knew he deserved that anger. “We were always together! In every dimension I went to, even in our past, did you know how much it hurt seeing us together? Knowing that every version of me is happy and loved while I am trying to go back home to a husband who’s cheating on me with a guy!” Y/N rambled exasperated. Your cheeks felt wet, not realizing the tears already started falling. All those years of resentment and anger to your husband resurfaced. “And you know what the worst part is?” You sniffled trying to sound brave “I still love you! And at times I feel like a fool for doing so.”

Ford was confused with what to feel to say the least. He felt sad you had to endure being lonely, longer than he had been. Joy? That you still love him despite his wrong doings. Humour as he realized that you thought Bill as a mistress. That made him crack a small smile which you noticed. You turned around calling him a jerk while wiping your tears muttering cusses.

“Dearest” he tried calling out to you. “You know you’re the only one I love right?” He cooed, still not getting over the fact that he had someone else. He reached out to you gently, wrapping his arms around you. His chest at your back as you felt his breathing on your neck. “Y/N, please face me, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your beauty.” Ford purred. What else can you do but look at him again, you reached your hand to the cheek you hit and soothed it for a bit. “I’m sorry for hitting you” you muttered looking at his eyes. “It was deserved” he replied sheepishly avoiding your gaze. The tension was as thick as the dense forest behind you and you can’t take it anymore.

You pulled him down by grabbing the collar of his coat to give him a kiss. A bit stunned Ford was but he warmed up to it. Breathing a sigh of relief, finally in the arms of his Y/N, with no plans of letting her go.

They trudged into the woods, conversing on what they witnessed and all the universe they jumped, comparing notes and journals. You proudly showed him yours as you stated “I was just copying you but it became a scrapbook of some sort”. Inside were trinkets from dimensions folded into the paper with drawings and detailed descriptions of things you saw. Ford was more of interested with the folded wanted poster between those pages. He took it out and observed it closely. “Yeah, I became part of their council for a while,” you said which earned a questioning eyebrow raise from your husband. You raised your hands in protest “Well, I didn’t know that fruits were their money! I was hungry”. This made him laugh and it sounded like music to your ears. Mr. All seriousness laughing with you again, everything felt perfect.

Until the familiar space ripping nearby brought you both back to reality. Whipping your heads towards that sound, Ford exclaimed “I’m getting too old for this”. Grabbing your hand he lead you the forest clearing and pulled out his dimension jumper and you followed suit.

“We are now easily trackable since we are together so we need to be extra cautious” Ford explained as you both explore the city-esque universe you landed in. “Do you think we’d ever go back home?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. Ford turned to you “I trust Stan. It might take a while to be honest.” You nodded in respond, still not giving yourself false hope. “But I’m with you Y/N, and anywhere is better when you’re by my side.” His voice was so sincere you can’t help but believe him. You held him interlocking your digits together. His six fingers perfectly hugging your hand as you both jumped into another dimension unprepared but together.

word count: 2.5k words

woop woop first published fic! should i make a part 2?

[nappingmoon]

I think the way to higuruma’s heart is through acts of service.

wc: 1.3k

the first time you wake up in higuruma's bed is the day after you meet him. he's still sound asleep, and he looks like he needs it, so you let him rest while you get up. when confronted with the choice of slipping out the door or staying, you don't think twice. you make your way into his kitchen, and it's clean-- simple in a way that is just so him. you grab two mugs and get started on a pot of coffee.

you’re not too familiar with him yet; unsure of how he takes it, so you make a simple batch of black coffee and decide to wait to ask him, finding you like the idea of learning along the way.

when higuruma walks into the kitchen, still groggy and hair tussled, it takes him a moment to digest what he’s seeing. he blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the light pouring in from the window. you’ve got a cup in your hands, full and still steaming, while another sits empty to the side.

“I didnt know if liked sugar and milk in your coffee, or I would’ve brought you some in bed, handsome.” you say, lips just hovering over the lip of your cup. you place it down softly on the coaster and stretch for a moment before grabbing his and turning around, filling it with the rest of the brew. you call out over your shoulder, asking for the instructions to his preferred tastes, but are met with silence. you turn.

“h-” he starts, but seems unsure of how to finish. “how did you figure out the coffee machine?” he asks, and you both know it’s not the question that was supposed to come out. why are you doing this? why are you still here? most of his other endeavors have always fled in the morning, the bed cold and the house empty by the time he awakes. he felt the connection between the two of you last night, but normally the people he pursue leave without a trace, and he’s gotten used to it. it’s what he knows. so why are you in his t shirt, sipping from his mug, and acting like this is normal? why does he find himself wishing it was?

“there’s only four buttons on here, and one is for the clock. you don’t think me so simple, do you?” you tease with a smile.

no, he doesn’t. quite the opposite, in fact. he thinks you’re brilliant. you had met at a bar downtown and talked and talked, the tension eased by a few fruity cocktails. taken by your wit and humor immediately, he found himself inviting you over to extend the night a little, maybe have a glass of wine or two. not entirely surprisingly, you ended up in his sheets, all giggles and sloppy kisses and passionate touches. he fell asleep, sated and content with his limbs intertwined in yours.

instead of answering your question, he replies, “just a splash of milk, please.” 

your quirked brow betrays your skepticism. "not even a little sugar?" he seemed to have had the largest sweet tooth last night, if you correctly remember the sweet drinks that were downed absentmindedly between quips, stories, and touches that lingered just long enough to be more than friendly.

he's sheepish when he replies "i shouldn't, right? i have to limit my sugar somewhere or later down the line I am going to have to see my doctor more often and I am trying to avoid that. she's a scary lady."

he's not finished with his sentence before you tip in a small dash of sugar. "you're still in your early thirties. give it another decade or two before you start worrying about your blood sugar." you bring the mug over, bare feet padding softly on his hardwood floor as you approach. "i don't think a little sweetness in your life will kill you."

as he takes the mug from your hands, his fingers brush over yours. he doesn't look away from you eyes as he lifts the mug to his lips, but just before he takes a sip, he murmurs, "it might."

you hum and walk back over to where your mug sits on the counter. leaning against it, you ask, "how'd you sleep?"

"better than I have in ages," he replies, and his tone is oddly sincere. "I wasn't expecting you to still be here."

"should I not have been?" though you try to sound confident and carefree, a light waver in your voice reveals the fear at the idea that you've gravely misunderstood him and embarrassed yourself to no end in the process.

your thoughts don't get to stray far, however, because he's quick to respond. "no, no. it was a pleasant surprise. you have been a truly pleasant surprise."

your cheeks warm and you suddenly find his cabinets fascinating. "you're not supposed to be smooth first thing in the morning, you know." you grumble.

he's closer now, directly in front of you, and he places his mug down, just to you right. as he retracts his hand, it comes up to tilt your chin back towards him.

he's so handsome it's unfair.

"i'm sorry, sweetness, can I make it up to you with some breakfast?" he asks, his voice entrancing and still thick with sleep. the gesture and the question leave you breathless, so you just nod affirmatively. he places a kiss to your temple before turning and digging around his fridge and grabbing the ingredients he needs to get started.

-

soon after that, you become a constant in his life. he hadn't planned on you as a part of his routine, but you just, fit. in the mornings he finds himself spending less time in the bathroom mirror fixing his suit. now he wakes up eager to get dressed and sit on the edge of his bed with his choice of tie, waiting for you to take your spot between his legs and tie it for him. seeing the furrow in your brow as you adjust it just right, fixing the collar and tugging on the lapels to make sure he's perfect, it all makes him swoon.

before you, his lunch couldn't even be considered a break. he would just pop open whatever prepackaged meal he had bought that day and eat it in between readings of contracts and reviews of cases. now, he leaves his office without fail, never missing the time to eat and listen to you talk about your day.

when his bouts of insomnia get worse, you're there to help him. the house starts to smell like lavender. you've got all kinds of melatonin gummies and you don't let him say no to a massage, first focusing on his temples and scalp, then laying him down to work the knots out of his back. he's snoring by the time you're halfway down.

when he gets really stressed and the pressure starts to get too much, he comes home to a quiet house. he finds you in the bathroom preparing a bath with salts and soaps. you usher him in, insisting on taking care of him- carding water and shampoo through his locks and providing him with a safer space than he's ever had in his life.

higuruma is a lawyer. he deals with people who spin words all day. lies, loopholes, and secrets are all imbedded in his quotidian conversations with clients and colleagues. you, however, don't ripen him up with flattery or kind words. you don't make promises you don't intend to keep and you don't mince and twist your words to use against him. you simply do what you think is right. your actions have captured him far more than any words alone could do. in return, to show you how much he has truly come to love and need you, he looks to what he knows best. contracts.

though, when he's down on one knee, the legalities of it mean nothing to him. all that is important in that moment, and for the rest of his life, his you.

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do. 

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in. 

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough. 

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you. 

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm. 

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day. 

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair. 

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done. 

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee. 

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it. 

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says. 

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand. 

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it. 

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine. 

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes. 

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face. 

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room. 

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway. 

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain. 

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails. 

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?” 

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be. 

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions. 

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh. 

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it. 

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm. 

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable. 

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down. 

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair. 

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone). 

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?” 

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”. 

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows. 

“I just came to drop these off.” 

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer. 

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin. 

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away.  It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.” 

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

[alittlebitofloveliness]

can you please write something angsty about dally helping out darry after discovering how stressed he is or maybe finding him crying

Hi anon! Sorry this took so long, but here it is. Gonna tag @chained-sweater and @johnnyburntcake because they both asked to be tagged when it was finished after reading my out of context snippet. As with most of my stuff this is unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes or typos

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

Dallas Winston needs a lot of things. His boots are held together with duct tape and about fourteen different layers of mud, his jeans are worn, torn, patched, and torn again, and his number of material possessions is probably something less than twenty- he never had much in the first place and he pawned just about everything he had when he ran from New York five years ago. But despite all the things he is lacking, all the things he’s never had and the things he could use, what he wants most right now is a fucking break.

Dammit but he didn’t think moving out to rodeo country would involve caring so much. His gang back in New York had been a proper gang- more organized and even crueler than Shepards outfit, a group of tough as nails dealers and muscle, who’d just as soon shoot a kid as they would give them a chance. Hell, he’d been scared of them back in the day, for all he’d been smarter than most of them, because that kind of casual violence only came from the joy of hurting something, not from necessity. Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of those sorts of people. Here though, in sleepy little Tulsa Oklahoma his gang is…a drunk, a dropout, two high schoolers, one recent high school graduate, and tagalong middle school kid- and yet, Dally finds himself far more loyal and goddamn committed to the ragtag group of big hearted losers than he ever was to old Alfie and his ring of coke dealing miscreants. It’s maddening. It’s wonderful. It’s horrible. It’s tiring is what it is, and Dally needs a goddamn break. Who wouldn’t after the night he’d just had, which involved practically dragging a nearly hypothermic Johnny Cade out of the cold and trying to warm the kid up? And as if that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d then had the dubious honour of driving Ponyboy to school this morning. Something about the kid’s zombielike stare and hunched shoulders had left him thinking of how bright those eyes used to be, just three months ago, which led to him thinking of Mrs. Curtis’ stern demeanour but kind face, and it was all just too much. Dallas needs a break. He wasn’t meant for this sappy caring shit. He’s done his mourning- he doesn’t need to be knocked all off kilter because of two kids who think of themselves as gangsters but in reality are nothing more than battered kids, bruised in different ways. This is the problem, Dally has found, with gangs that are more family than function- they’re made of people instead of parts of a machine. You can’t care about someone who is replaceable- but no one in the Curtis gang is replaceable, not by a long shot. That wasn’t the case back in New York.

Whatever. He’s done thinking about this now. He’s going to go back to the Curtis house and watch shit tv and maybe steal some food if the kitchen doesn’t look too skint this week. He is not going to think about kids who aren’t his problem (and yet completely are because he’d joined this stupid excuse of a gang and made them his problem in the first place), and he is going to stop being so fucking soft. Geez. If Tim could hear his thoughts right about now he’d lose just about all his street cred. 

Of course, because he’s Dallas Winston, and life has never thrown him a fucking bone in all seventeen years of his life on earth, his hopes for a peaceful afternoon are dashed the second he steps through the door. 

Darrel Curtis- six foot two, two hundred pounds of pure muscle, cool headed Darrel Curtis- is parked at the worn kitchen table, head in his hands, a water bill and something Dally is reasonably sure is property tax forms sitting in front of him.

 And he’s crying.

Darry Curtis doesn’t cry. In all the time Dally has known him, he’s never seen the guy so much as sniffle- not even at the funeral three months ago when Darry buried both parents in one horrible day. Soda had broken down immediately, and Pony had stared wide eyed, rivers of silent tears pouring down his cheeks- but Darry hadn’t. He’s crying now though, and not just a little bit either, huge gut wrenching sobs tearing from his mouth and shit Dallas doesn’t really know what to do. What he wants to do is pretend he never saw this, pretend it never happened and leave, let Darry have his well earned breakdown in the solitude he clearly believed he had. Of course, he would have had to have the foresight not to slam open the screen door for that to even be a possibility.

Darry jumps at the noise, shoulders squaring immediately, letting out one last sob that he could easily explain away as a gasp of surprise as he regains his barings. 

“Oh,” He clears his throat, valiantly trying to pretend like his eyes are bloodshot and his stubble covered cheeks covered in tear trcks, “hey Dal. There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

In that second he sounds so much like his mother that it punches Dally in the chest a little bit. Something about the ocean of feelings quickly locked behind a kind word and a carefully controlled expression is so reminiscent of Mrs. Curtis that Dally almost finds himself nodding a yes and escaping into the kitchen. He can’t though, because as much as Darry acts like her, he will never be his godlike mother. Instead, he is his kind hearted self, a twenty year old with the custody of two kid brothers he couldn’t bear to be separated from, and all the pressures of adult life most people don’t even start having to worry about until they’ve had time to really live. Mrs.Curtis had taken care of all of them, even Dally when everyone else only ever looked at him as a lost cause. Darry can’t do that though, can barely look out for Soda and Pony. Anyone with eyes can see how he’s been struggling since the funeral, nevermind the way Soda’s endless energy has turned anxious and resentful, grades slipping, while Pony gets quieter and moodier, a thirteen year old ticking time bomb. 

“You stay outta trouble for me Dallas,” Mrs. Curtis said to him once, “I know you ain’t a good boy but you’re a loyal one and sometimes that’s more important. So don’t go gettin’ yourself locked up for a bit, savvy? My boys need you more than they know.” 

She hadn’t just been talking about Darry, Soda, and Pony. The whole gang was Mrs.Curtis’ boys and everyone knew it, but Dally had held those words close to his heart more times than he could count, a balm on his perpetually blackened soul. Mrs.Curtis had known the score, known that goodness wasn’t the same thing as love, and she’d loved him anyhow- unconditionally and more than his own sorry excuse of a mom ever had. She’d trusted him too, never babied him or tried to fix him the way every other adult was always trying to, just patched him up when he got into trouble, and scolded him for not being smarter. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were stupid Dallas, so don’t go pullin’ a stunt like this again. C’mon and git some dinner now, there's casserole in the fridge.

It would break her heart to see Darry like this now, so small and defeated, two things her eldest son was never meant to be. But she isn’t here right now, never will be again.

But Dally is.

My boys need you more than they know.

Damn Mrs.Curtis and her all knowing ways, because she knew what she was doing when she took him in because now he’s stuck with this stupid gang in this stupid town forever because she made him love her and love them all too.

“What’s goin’ on Darry?”

“Nothing,” Darry lies, fingers twitching a bit to pull the papers closer to him.

“I ain’t Soda, you don’t gotta lie to me like that.”

Shame twists his handsome features and he looks down, fidgeting with his high school ring.

“I don’t got enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Money Dallas,” he snaps, “I don’t get my first paycheck from that new job until next week, and both these are due on Friday. I bought groceries yesterday, and paid the hydro on Monday, no matter what I’m short.”

There’s such fear in his eyes. Dally remembers what the social workers said when Darry got custody, how militant they’re going to be checking up on him. One missed bill could have Soda and Ponyboy taken away before any of them could cry ‘unfair’.

My boys need you more than they know.

Dally can’t let that happen. It would kill Darry, Soda might go full crazy and Ponyboy…the kid was already sensitive. He’d never make it in a boy’s home. 

“How much?”

“What?” Darry blinks at him and Dally rolls his eyes. Darry Curtis has never been stupid, so he doesn’t know why he’s acting stupid now. 

“How much money do you need?”

“Four fifty.”

Dally winced. That was more than he had on him right now, more than he could get from Two-bit and Steve if he asked on the down low. None of them ever had that kind of scratch just lying around- unless Steve’s dad had recently paid him to come back home, but the old man had booted Steve out two days ago and chucked a bottle at him yesterday when he went back to grab spare clothes so they probably weren’t back to playing happy family yet, and likely wouldn’t be for  while.

Still. There’s other ways to get money.

My boys need you more than you know.

“Leave it to me.” Dally promises.

“No.” Darry shoots him down immediately,  “It ain’t your responsibility Dallas-”

“It ain’t all yours either.”

“That’s exactly what it is!”

“Are we a gang or not?” Dally glares, “I know you Curtis boys are wicked at acceptin’ help but like it or not you need it right now! I ain’t watchin’ the state take Soda an’ Pony away because of your fucking pride Darry!”

Darry stares at him a moment, eyes hard before he sighs, shoulders drooping, suddenly looking the same type of bone deep exhausted that is becoming an all too familiar look on him. 

“Just…don’t do anything illegal, ok? The boys can’t handle you bein’ locked up right now.”

For some reason the words sting. It’s true the gang’s all been a wreck since the Curtis parents died, but Dally is under no illusions as to his place in their ragtag little group. They survived well enough before him, and they’ve survived every time he’s been in the cooler since knowing them, and it won’t be any different if he gets locked up now.

He must have scoffed or something because Darry glares at him. “I mean it.”

Whether he’s talking about the gang needing him or about him not doing anything that could get him into trouble with the cops, Dally doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. Instead, he turns on his heel, a plan already forming in his mind.

Buck Merril is just about the most pigheaded cowboy Dally’s ever met in his life, but he’s always running about half a dozen money making scams at any point in time, and he jumps anytime Dally offers to help because he gets stuff done and keeps his trap shut good. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, working for a guy he hardly likes and doesn’t respect, but money is money and Darry needs money desperately right now so he swallows his pride and asks Buck what needs doing.

He ends up two towns over, at a rickety trailer park off the main road, two kilos of smack stashed under the seat of Buck’s car. He makes the drop, bullies the buyer who wasn’t willing to cough up Buck’s agreed upon price, and ignores the way his stomach twists at the way he just gave someone else the very thing that destroyed his sister’s life, a million years ago back in New York. 

Buck claps him on the shoulder when he gets back. Dally shoves him off, takes his cut of dirty money, and leaves before he can punch someone. 

Warm light spills out the window of the Curtis house when he gets there. Ponyboy is leaning against Johnny on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky, Johnny murmuring something to him that the kid doesn’t seem to be really hearing. It’s frightfully domestic and frightfully sad, the bruise on Johnny’s cheekbone almost black in the dim evening light, Ponyboy looking so skinny and tired Dally has the urge to tell him to go to bed. He doesn’t of course- it’s not his place, and Pony isn’t his brother. Instead, he ruffles both kids' hair as he passes them, tells them to get inside so they’ll have enough folks for a round of poker, and goes to find Darry.

Darry’s in the kitchen, scrubbing purple mac’n’cheese off a saucepan when Dally finds him. He watches for a minute, sees the tension in Darry’s broad shoulders, the viciousness in the way he’s scrubbing the pan. Desperation, Dally knows Is all consuming, bleeding into every thought, every action, every facet of life. For all he’s a different kind of desperate, Darry Curtis is as desperate now as Dally himself is.

He spares a quick glance over his shoulder. Johnny and Pony have trooped inside, the latter robotically shuffling a deck of cards, while Soda and Johnny chat quietly. Steve is flipping through channels on the radio, and Two is nowhere to be found. None of them so much as glance at the kitchen. Good.

“Dar.” 

Darry jumps, turns. 

“Glory Dal, scare a man to death, why dontcha!”

He rolls his eyes. “Ain’t my fault you weren’t payin’ attention. Here.” He holds out an envelope, and Darry’s eyes light first in understanding, then in hope.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be offerin’ if I wasn’t.”

“Dal…”

“Take it,” He shakes the envelope, “before the others see.”

Hesitantly Darry reaches out, but as soon as his hands close around the paper he all but snatches it from Dally’s hand.

“Dal…I…thank you. I can’t tell you-”

“Whatever man,” Dally can feel the discomfort that comes anytime he is thanked or treated half decently raring in his chest, “I told you I’d take care of it and I meant it.”

“I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”

“It ain’t a loan, it’s just helpin’ out.”

“That’s not what I- nevermind,” Darry shakes his head, mouth twisting in a rueful half smile, “There’s dinner in the fridge, I made sure Soda saved you some.”

Dally fixes himself a plate, glaring down at pasta that was never meant to be purple, and he and Darry join everyone else in the living room. Johnny grins when he sees him, scooting closer to Ponyboy to make room on the sofa, and Steve steals the cards out of Pony’s hands to start dealing, having finally found a station playing half decent music. 

Dally eats his dinner and plays poker, pretending he doesn’t care half as much as he does when he loses. He wins half of Soda’s cigarettes and quickly loses them all to Johnny, pretending the feeling in his chest isn’t softer than anything he usually lets himself feel.

These boys don’t know it but they need him more than they know, and he’ll keep them safe. For Mrs, Curtis, but for himself too. 

After all, he’s always been a selfish bastard. 

[cottonlemonade]

Hi! May I have a Medium Cherry Lemonade with extra ice for Oikawa!

She/her pronouns pretty please.

Protecting A Rival

word count: 1074 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: rival!Oikawa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with a dash of angst

warnings: mentions of bullying

request: fluffy, protecting you, rival Oikawa

“Oh this is perfect.“

“How did you even get her schedule?“

“It was just there on her desk. Not my fault she doesn‘t look after her stuff.“

The girls broke into hag-like cackling.

“This will be so much fun! Y/n won‘t know what hit her.“

Oikawa usually tried to ignore the buzzing chatter of students walking to the school but your name got his attention. He knew those girls. They, unfortunately, were an (overly) active part of his fan club. This morning, however, their focus was somewhere else and he was glad that they hadn‘t noticed him walking behind them. Nasty creatures, he thought.

In all fairness, you weren‘t his friend or even anything close to it. At best you were his rival since you’d usually fight for the top scores of the class - but he admired that about you. You chose academics instead of fawning all over him (although that was kind of infuriating because why didn‘t you??) He knew that those banshees had a reputation for making people‘s lives miserable and he really didn‘t appreciate that they set their gawky eyes on you.

He should give you a head‘s up. Fair was fair. The only way he would feel satisfied when beating you in Friday‘s quiz was when you were on top of your game.

“Y/n-chan!“, he called, his voice unusually serious. You met his eyes with suspicion. He never talked to you outside of class debates.

“What do you want?“, you asked, coldly.

Okay, rude. But he pressed on, “Can I talk to you for a moment?“

“Is this about homework or the test?“

“Neither.“

“Then I don‘t wanna hear it.“ And with that you took your seat in the first row.

Oikawa pursed his lips. Fine, suit yourself.

When he walked to his desk next to Iwaizumi he saw the three banshees giggling again and whisper urgently, wicked mouths hidden behind their hands.

He groaned inwardly.

After class as you packed up to walk to the next room, he ditched Iwaizumi, Makki and Mattsun and hurried after you. You simply lengthened your strides but in all fairness even that with your much shorter chubby legs was no challenge for the tall volleyball captain.

“Don't you have anything better to do?“, you snapped when he even followed you to the vending machine where you grabbed a juice.

Yes! “No.“

“Why are you following me?“

“Because I like to annoy you, y/n-chan~“

Confused, you scrunched your brow. “Well… stop that.“

By the time lunch rolled around you had had enough. He walked quietly half a step behind you and your friend, keeping an eye out for the banshees, when you suddenly whipped around.

“What is your problem, Oikawa-san?“

Your friend gasped (she was an unofficial supporter of him but out of loyalty to you kept that little piece of information to herself).

“I- come on.“

He grabbed your arm and pulled you out of a side door into the delicate spring sun.

You shook off his hand and crossed your arms.

“Listen, on the way to school this morning I heard these girls talking about … about wanting to do something to you. They have your schedule and everything.“

For a moment your lips parted in surprise and your arms loosened, almost falling to your side but just as quickly, you regained your defiant stance.

“So what?“

Oikawa blinked.

“So…“

“I have to deal with them every other day. Hiding my stuff, pushing me on the stairs, dropping my lunch on the floor. It‘s nothing new. Stay out of it! You‘re only gonna make it worse.“

A new wave of irritation rose in his chest. Then why didn’t you tell a teacher!? Your stubbornness was beyond comprehension. How could someone be this-

“Fine.“, he said with a shrug, “It‘s all the same to me. Do whatever you want.“

“I will!“ And you stormed off. Your cute little stomps stirred up some dust on the sandy courtyard. He shook his head. Wait, not cute. Aggravating! Bullheaded! - Impressive. Strong.

Oikawa sighed and went back inside to grab lunch with his friends. He couldn‘t do anything if you didn‘t want his help. And maybe you were right. Maybe he would make it worse.

Practice was exhausting but good. The coach dismissed the team but didn‘t bat an eye when the captain didn‘t move towards the changing room like everyone else. Instead he handed him the keys to the gym and gave him a pat on the shoulder before he left.

Grabbing the rolling cart with the balls, Oikawa got into position to practice his serves but through the open doors, he spotted an illuminated window on the second floor. People packing up their things and getting ready to go home - you among them. He knew you were part of a book club, because originally he wanted to join as well but upon dodging the poisonous daggers shooting from your eyes when he approached the club manager he rescinded his application and left the book discussions to you.

He shouldn’t get involved. You clearly told him to back off and really, why did he care?

Because it was wrong, for one.

Because you didn‘t do anything to deserve this treatment.

Because you were the only real competition he ever faced academically.

Because you were his equal if not better.

Because you made him push himself.

Because… he didn‘t like the thought of you getting hurt.

Because… he didn‘t want you to deal with this on your own.

He rushed to the changing room, completely ignoring the wide eyes of his team.

“Y/n-chan!“, he called.

In no time he caught up to you.

“Sorry about-“

He was already wondering where your backpack was when he noticed you cradling it in your arms.

The shoulder straps had been cut off.

“I can take care of myself.“, you said quietly.

He couldn‘t help himself and smiled.

“I know you can. But… it‘s just… I would feel better if you… wouldn‘t…“

You halted, looking at the ground, then after a few seconds, met his eyes.

He fully expected you to tell him off again. Maybe even throw your strapless backpack at him. But instead you were… blushing! Enough for him to see it in the yellow lights of the streetlamps. His mouth dropped open. Had you always been this adorable?

“Alright.“, you said, “You can walk me home…“

His smile widened.

“Tomorrow, too?“

“Don‘t push it.“

a/n: Thank you so so much for this prompt. It was so much fun to figure out! I hope you enjoy it!

for requests see here

[heartsoji]

falling in love with your roommate, suna rintaro

roommates to lovers

a/n: i haven't read the manga so i don't rly know anything abt rin's fam situation - sorry if any info is incorrect loll also this is more of like a college au?? idk if rin went to college but here it is

a/n pt. 2: i kinda switch between using rin and suna sorry

"rintaro!"

"what?"

"aren't you tired of living in my home, still? you're 21! i'm sure all of your friends have moved out already, right? most of them probably moved out at 18, but you haven't budged an inch!" mrs. suna scolded.

"yeah, yeah, pipe down, mom. i'll move out soon, i promise."

"no! it was fine that you stayed home for your freshman year of college, and i thought that you'd start being independent for your sophomore year, but you're still completely dependent on us! you don't cook, buy groceries, clean, or do any work around here! what are you going to do when you've graduated and you don't know how to run a washing machine?"

"yes, yes, i'm sorry."

"and i was very understanding of the fact that you didn't want to move into a dorm, but aren't you tired of commuting hours away when you could just get a closer apartment?"

"mhm, mhm."

she sighed. "rintaro, you know im only saying this because i care about you. i want you to be independent and strong, you know?"

"yep. i just booked an apartment tour via online."

"and i- huh?"

yeah.

soon after he decided the apartment was in good enough condition to be living in, he rented it out and moved in.

on his moving day, he met you.

"hi! you're.. suna rintaro, right? sorry i wasn't there on your tour day. i'm your new roommate, l/n! nice to meet you." you said, a friendly smile on your features.

stoically, suna replied, "good to meet you."

at first, you and suna kinda kept to yourselves. you were polite to each other, of course, but there wasn't much talking, only coexisting.

that is, until you discovered his grocery bills.

"$18... you've been surviving on $18?!" you looked at him in shock.

"yeah. is that weird?"

"damn right it is! what are you even buying?"

"well.. i don't know how to cook anything, so i mostly order door dash. my grocery bill is from instant ramen, chuppets, eggs, and milk."

you stare at him blankly.

"you've been eating nothing but door dash, instant ramen, candy, eggs, and milk for the past 2 months?"

"yeah."

this guy.

he just stands there awkwardly at you laugh at him.

from then on, you two become closer.

you taught him basic recipes to make using groceries you taught him to buy, (imagine his shock when his bill came out to be like $60.. and you were like "bro that's normal") you taught him how to use a washing machine, ("oh, so you put the detergent in this compartment..") etc. just basic household chores, but he was so impressed.

eventually, you two stopped being friendly roommates and just became friends.

he was a good listener. you'd rant to him about your problems, no matter how insignificant, and he'd listen to you carefully, and you never felt like your problems were stupid whenever you talked to him.

you two started hanging out a lot. you'd study together at cafes, go to amusement parks on weekends, and just chill at home together.

and as much as you hated to admit it, you had started developing feelings for your roomie.

i mean, how could you not? he was tall, handsome, kind, funny, cheeky, and it certainly helped that you got to see him all tired in the mornings.

you didn't really know if he felt the same way, but if he did, he was a real bitch, because at some point, your relationship became kind of flirty, and he'd give you butterflies on a daily basis.

you two would watch scary movies and he'd let you cling to him, giving your terrified features a teasey smile every now and then.

he'd walk around the apartment with his toned abs out, and his sweats dangerously low on his hips.

when you guys went on walks, he'd give you his hoodie if it got cold.

whenever you'd go on long rants, he'd just stare at your face with love in his eyes. "and then i-what is it, rin?" "nothing, pretty."

like sir you can't just do that. you're too handsome to do that without risk of heart explosion.

then, one day, unexpectedly, he popped the question.

you two were watching a cheesy romcom for the 5th time, sharing a pot of instant ramen, and at the same moment that the male lead said to the female lead, "i like you. a lot. i have for a while now," rin did too.

it wasn't grand.

it wasn't loud.

it wasn't annoying.

you weren't even sure if he meant it.

but when you saw him looking at you, nervous, awaiting a response, you knew he did.

so, at the same time the female lead said, "me too," you did too.

then, with the cheesy romantic music playing in the back, you guys gave each other cheesy smiles, and he planted a cheesy peck on your cheek.

it was subtle.

it was sweet.

it was cheesy.

it was familiar.

it was uncharacteristically romantic and sentimental.

it was just like how your future relationship with your roomie and best friend, suna rintaro, was going to be.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY VII. — ROLEPLAY

cw: Fluff, Romantic Dirty Talk, Aged-Up / Pro-Hero Time-Skip, Implied Cunnilingus, Attempt at Humor, Sexual Roleplay, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: Another fic that's tailored to one of my friends. I think Tenya's really romantic and has the potential to be one of the swaggest lovers in the whole world. Anyhow, enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1.5k words.

Today was not your motherfuckin’ day. 

Work was miserable. Villains running amok—three bank robberies, one hostage situation, and a group of loser thugs harassed a poor old lady by attempting to intimidate her into giving them her purse by doing a sad attempt of “the worm.” So many other things, too, it didn’t just stop at your duties. You don’t even want to remember the horrors of the exploding fax machine at your agency. Who even uses fax machines anymore? 

Whatever. All that mattered now was that you were home, slipping off your shoes by the door and stretching your back until it popped loudly. A satisfied grin started to spread across your lips, only growing wider whenever you stepped into your genuine home and started walking towards the living room. You’re positive your husband’s already here—he’s sent you updates throughout the day, all of them regarding dinner plans or simple texts stating how he cherishes you. It’s endearing, and you’re almost itching at the fingertips to wrap your arms around his shoulders to squeeze sweet nothings into that warm brain of his. That grin on your face was reaching your ears, so you sped up and basically slid yourself into the living room by the skin of your socks. 

Tenya was sitting on the couch, a small fire cooking in the fireplace. The room felt so cozy, like a thick sweat enveloping your body, and you immediately sighed. Oh, yeah, you’re so glad to be home. He looks so cute sitting there, an open book in his hands while he reads. You wonder what he could be reading—but, honestly, you’re currently more curious about if he could wrap those hands around your waist and draw you in for a passionate kiss to help soothe the miserable events of the day away. 

A chuckle bubbles in the back of your throat. 

“Ohh, Tenten. How’s my lovely darling boy?” 

You feel Tenya jolt a little underneath your touch, underneath the hands that slither over the round of his shoulders from behind the couch. He clears his throat, closing the book before he tilts his head far enough to meet your gaze. Those blazing red eyes make your breath hitch, but then that beautiful smile breathes wind back into your lungs. 

“Ah, hello, dearest. I didn’t realize you were home. With the messages you sent me, I figured you’d be caught up for another few hours.” 

He leans forward to place the book atop the coffee table directly in front of him, dragging your fingers along until your elbows rest against the couch. 

“Nah, one of my bros helped me out by fighting the fax machine. Turns out there was some sort of Quirk interfering? A misfire? A, um, fax machine ghost? I can’t quite remember the reason, but I didn’t have to deal with it. So I’m home now.” 

Tenya pauses, more than likely taken aback, but then hums with a small nod of his head. 

“I see! How curious. Well, regardless, it’s great to have you back here.” 

You hum as well, removing your hands from Tenya—but making sure that you slide against his smooth shirt so very slowly—and round the couch until you’re standing in front of him. 

“Back home with my dashing husband? How lucky~” 

The fire crackles whenever you let your body sink down onto the couch, a coy smile batting its lashes against your cheeks while Tenya watches you with an intrigued but earnest expression. You yawn, patting your hand against your mouth before you sigh out wistfully. 

“What a shame, though. I wish that I had someone to tend to me. You know, someone who could just help me get outta these clothes and feel good.”

It’s like lightning flashed before Tenya’s eyes because he immediately blinks, stiffens, straightens his back, and then slowly returns. He seems to flush, a shadow that falls across the bridge of his nose before he cutely glances away with a bashful tilt of his mouth. One of his hands stretches forward, finding a home atop the center of your thigh. His digits curl before they squeeze, which elicits a soft little sigh from you. 

“Yes, I think you deserve someone to tend to you. Why don’t you let me fill that position—if you think I’m worthy of it?” 

There’s a hint of nervousness coating the edges of Tenya’s question just like always, so you drop a hand to his hand and give it a little pinch. His head swivels around to face yours again. 

“Of course. How could I ever live without my dutiful butler to pamper me?” 

More and more, those red gems boring into your soul begin to kindle and spark, filling with oxygen and growing louder. Tenya moves forward, pulling you deeper into the rings of his fire, and you let yourself fall. Passion crosses his face, determined, before he begins to saddle down to his knees on the floor. 

“What kind of butler would I be if I didn’t perform to my fullest abilities for my Mistress?” 

A shiver traces down your spine, something that takes your reins and makes your legs part. Tenya glances between your knees, understanding etching into his features while he attempts to slot himself through. His hands are running up and down your legs, finding ways to let those flimsy columns find homes in his fingers before they start to breach towards the band of your bottoms. Tenya’s looking at you carefully, seemingly reading your expression to make sure he’s not overstepping any boundaries. He always does this, so tender, and you chuckle before you comb one of your hands through those midnight blue locks. 

“You never fail to impress me, dear butler. You’re always so hard at work. Surely you must be hungry?”

Tenya’s fingers finally break through the band, hooking underneath the fabric before he oh-so slowly begins to peel them down your frame. You lift your midriff a little so it’s easier for Tenya, and he nods at you. 

“Thank you. Of course, Mistress. I can’t risk slipping up on my duties. I also can’t possibly ask for you to offer me something to eat.” 

You shake your head, lowering your body again but crooking your knees so that Tenya could fully slide your bottoms off of your ankles. Those smoldering expressions crossing his face make him look so intimidating, but the fireplace brings you into reality, flickering and casting shadows throughout the room that make Tenya seem so ethereally beautiful. A thunder in your heart makes you painfully aware of the heat that’s dripping down into your groin like a broken faucet, leaking and puddling all over the couch until you can feel it in your toes. He’s so good to you, and you can feel the love in your heart clench and flip like turning tides. You want him, need him. The words leave your mouth. 

“Oh, dear butler, take what I have to offer. Enjoy yourself, lose yourself. Feast, please, pleaseee?” 

Each word becomes less cohesive, crossing the territory of being mindless pleas and begging that make you feel like a lost little kitten pawing at their mother’s swollen tummy. Tenya seems to go insane. Conflagrations, flames that could destroy the universe, consume him and he groans before he obeys. 

“As you wish, my Mistress.” 

The last syllable is nothing but a low growl, something feral and wild, and you have to toss your head back into the couch and close your eyes at the drugs that shoot through your veins. Psychedelic, addictive, so many words that can’t even begin to describe the hallucinations Tenya’s sex fills your head. Tenya just uses those large hands of his, those mitts that could engulf your whole body if you let them, to rest against the inner dips of your thighs and spread them apart. He starts to scoot closer, shoving himself in as much as he can before his knees bump the couch and he grunts. You whimper. 

“Butler, yes, I need you so bad. I want you, I want you, I love you.”

Tenya’s head finds its destiny between the swell of your thighs, his hot and misty breath fanning across the slick and juice that trickles between the slit of your cunt. He makes another sound, too low to identify, but it makes your head spin whenever he whispers out in that husky voice, 

“Mistress, I will make you feel good. I will show you how much I worship you.” 

Nothing spills from your mouth but a frothy moan before Tenya’s head is gone, buried in your cunt, that flat tongue of his finding its new owner atop your throbbing and erect clit. 

“I am forever at your service, Mistress, my love.” 

And Tenya’s lost to sea. 

[1-800-papaya]

Southern Caffeine (RI)

Jay Halstead x Baker!Reader Warnings: None i think

Author note: As always, feedback is greatly appreciated

Lemon Drops Cafe and Bakery. Big bright yellow and white letters read, and slight lemon decals surrounded the sign. Jay checked his phone before entering the shop; Hailey had insisted that the ex-army ranger get the morning coffee from the new bakery since the one in the break room was utterly broken. Pushing the glass door open, a light twinkle of a bell announced Jay’s presence. A head popped through the doorway that seemed to lead to the kitchens.

“I’ll be with you in a second.” A southern drawl stunned Jay.

The inside of the bakery was just as cozy as the exterior. Clusters of yellow chairs were pushed into three wooden tables, each bearing a yellow and white lemon tablecloth and varying-sized pillow. Along the opposite wall rests a series of tall displays, most filled with either what smelt like fresh loaves or display cakes. Turning more towards the counter, Jay noticed that in between the large coffee machine and the small portion of the counter dedicated to the register was a large display cupboard partially filled with cookies, cupcakes and some savory treats. Along the wall behind the counter, Jay could see an assortment of coffee bean bags that looked like they had yet to be packed away in the above cupboard and potted plants. The bakery overwhelmingly filled Jay with a sense of calm, and he loved the welcoming, cozy, homely environment that Hailey had sent him into.

A young woman soon walked out of the kitchen doorway and greeted Jay warmly. Her Y/H/C was haphazardly thrown into a bun, and a yellow ribbon wrapped around the tie. She wore a white short-sleeved shirt beneath a pale yellow apron and chocolate brown pants. Her apron was covered in white dashes of flour and smudges of frosting and chocolate. The pin on her apron read Y/N, a sticker of a small bundle of lemons decorating the rest of the pin. When Jay’s eyes reached her face, he took note of the imperfect splash of flour that dusted her cheeks and the bright smile that graced her features.

“Good Morning. What can I get ya?” Her voice was perfectly airy and sweet, like the melody of his favorite song. For once, the voice wasn’t dull or uninterested; instead, it sounded like she genuinely wanted to be covered in flour dust and chocolate smudges at nearly 6:30 in the morning.

“Four large double shot coffees and Hailey Upton’s usual.” He recited the order that Hailey had given him only ten minutes earlier. Jay moved to open his wallet to pay when Y/N simply shook her head.

“No need to pay, it’s on the house.” Her smile was blinding as she moved further down to the coffee machine, Jay following.

“At least let me tip you or something”, Jay argued as the women moved expertly around the small area, quickly making the coffee’s and packing a small box full of freshly baked treats.

“Please, this is the least I can do for you guys”, she spoke, “Besides, that would be breaking my own rules” " she said, pointing towards the large poster plastered above the register. Jay followed her finger and shook his head as he read the sign.

‘Cops, Firefighters, Doctors and Nurses, drinks and treats are on the house, No exceptions!!’

“My dad was a ranger and taught me the value of first responders, so when I started my business, I made it a rule that those who protect us, normal people, from our stupidity would never have to pay. Plus, I make enough profit to cover it anyway.” As she pushed the box and cup tray towards Jay, she gestured to the jar on the counter next to the register, “But if your conscience won’t let you leave without leaving a tip, then here, donate to this month’s charity, the Chicago police fund” Jay practically swooned over her smile this time. pushing a few large bills into the jar, Jay left the cafe with a dopey smile and a mental promise never to get coffee anywhere else.