#and he probably had to fix it first thing on the morning like please stop

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 14

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 6030

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean being Dean, Reader struggles with the unknown, Talk of claiming, Slight intimacy.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 14

Dean’s paws barely touched the ground as he raced through the trees, a streak of powerful muscle and golden-brown fur weaving through the early morning mist. His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from pure exhilaration.

He’d be claiming you tonight. His omega. His true mate.

The realization sent a fresh jolt of energy through him, making his limbs move faster, his breaths come quicker. His pack could feel it the moment he got close to where they had gathered—his excitement was a wildfire, and they were caught in the blaze.

Benny was the first to react, lunging out from behind a tree with a playful growl. Tag.

Dean swerved, dodging at the last second, his tail whipping behind him as he let out a sharp bark. Then he took off again, Benny hot on his heels.

A whoop of excitement rang out as Ellen and Jo joined the chase, their wolves darting between trees, trying to cut him off. Dean juked left, then right, his movements sharp and precise, his joy infectious. Sam, watching from a distance, just shook his head with a chuff of amusement, his ears flicking back briefly before he turned away. But even he couldn’t deny the way the air around them hummed with energy.

For the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t weighed down by doubt or hesitation. He wasn’t caught in some constant tug-of-war between instinct and control. He just was—free, unburdened, whole in a way he had never felt before. 

Eventually, the game slowed, the pack gradually retreating to rest, but Dean’s energy didn’t fade. As the sky began to lighten, just before sunrise, he trotted up the steps of his cabin, shaking out his fur before shifting back.

The morning air kissed his skin as he stretched, rolling his shoulders before stepping inside.

Excitement still buzzed beneath his skin, making him move with a lightness he wasn’t used to. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he glanced around. Everything had to be right. Perfect.

He stepped over to the couch first, his gaze settling on the folded blanket you had given him. His fingers ghosted over the fabric, smoothing it out before setting it just so, picturing the two of you curled up beneath it, your warmth pressed into his side. The thought alone sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Next was the kitchen. He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves. Fully stocked. Good. The freezer—meat, plenty of it. The pantry—more than enough. Is it enough? He hesitated, then frowned slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You probably wanted options. More than just what I’d normally eat. He made a mental note to stop at Sam’s but quickly nixed that idea. Jess was there, and they’d be tangled in each other. He huffed, running a hand through his hair. No, it’ll be enough. 

Moving through the cabin, he straightened a few things here and there, fixing the pillows, adjusting the small things he normally wouldn’t bother with. The need to prepare was instinctive, a deep-seated drive that made his heart beat a little faster.

You were coming here. To his space. And that night, tonight, he would claim you. 

Dean let out a slow breath, then sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. His knee bounced with restless energy. He was eager, anxious, ready. Briefly, he wondered how you had felt when you had claimed him, nearly a month ago now.

You had taken on the role he was now in. That only steeled his resolve. 

One last glance around before he went to shower.

A few more hours, and he’d finally have you here.

—-------------------

Dean barely had the door of your cabin open before it hit him.

Your scent.

Faint traces of fresh rain, vanilla, but beneath it, something heavier. Unease. The same tension that had lingered in your scent for the last three nights, the one he’d tried to chase away with his touch, his warmth. 

It hadn’t faded. If anything, it was stronger now.

His wolf went still.

The restless energy from earlier—the giddy, weightless feeling of tonight’s the night—shifted, sharpening into something else. Something more aware. More focused.

The drive over flickered in his mind, moments he hadn’t given much thought to before. His fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on Baby’s steering wheel. His grip tightening when the radio had shifted to something slow, something that reminded him of you. The way his wolf had paced—not in excitement, but anticipation. Something deeper.

Now, standing at your door, all those details he’d brushed aside settled into place. 

You were still scared.

Your shoulders were drawn tight, hands resting motionless on the keyboard. The way your eyes flicked up, meeting his, and in that split second—before you could school your expression—he saw it in your eyes.

Fear.

Not sharp. Not fresh. Something settled. Something that had been sitting heavy in your chest for more than just the past few days.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, his wolf pushing forward in the same breath, instincts locked in step.

You didn’t resist when he pulled you up, when he wrapped his arms around you. Your fingers curled into his jacket, and he let his hand settle at the back of your head, grounding you in the way he needed to.

“I’m scared,”  you whispered, barely audible.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice softer than usual. “You won’t be alone, I promise.” You’d talked about this before—your fears. You’d shared pieces of with him over the past few nights when he was in wolf form. But now, for the first time, he could feel them, thick in your scent, raw and unguarded.

There were no words that could fix this. He knew that. So for now, he just held you, breathing with you, feeling the slow, uneven rhythm of your chest until it began to steady.

Part of him wanted to be selfish—to go through with the plans the two of you had made, to prove to you that there was nothing to be afraid of. But his instincts were stronger. 

“Sit with me,” he murmured, guiding you to the couch.

Once you were settled, he shifted closer, letting his warmth wrap around you. “We can wait, if that’ll help.”

It wasn’t what you expected him to say. The sincerity in his eyes cracked something open inside you, and before you could stop it, tears spilled down your cheeks. 

Wordlessly, you grabbed your laptop and set it in his lap. You couldn’t speak the thoughts spiraling inside you, but you could let him read them. 

Gesturing to the screen, you hoped he’d understand.

While he read, you fought to pull yourself together, wiping at your face, willing the tears to stop. But the unease was still there, tangled deep, leaking into your scent no matter how hard you tried to contain it.

Waiting wasn’t the problem. Not really. It had started as apprehension, but as the time drew closer, it had shifted—morphing into something heavier. Fear of the unknown.

And the worst part? It wasn’t going away.

Dean read every word, his brows drawn together, his fingers tightening slightly against the laptop’s edge.

Your fear wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about the bond itself. It was about not knowing—about stepping into something irreversible without being able to predict how it would change you.

And damn if he didn’t understand that better than anyone.

A little over a month ago, it had been him sitting in your place, caught between instinct and uncertainty. The way you had just been there for him. Soft. Gentle. A grounding presence of reassurance. 

He’d been scared, too. Had even told you so during the celebration.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of what it meant—giving himself over completely, no take-backs, no way to undo what had been set into motion.

That whole week after you’d claimed him, when he let you take care of him like an alpha would care for an omega. How sure you had been. The confident yet gentle way you looked at him, touched him, held him. 

Now, looking at you—at the way your hands trembled in your lap, at the way you kept your breathing controlled like you were afraid of letting it hitch—he saw himself.

Saw the weight of everything you couldn’t find words to say.

You didn’t want to wait. You wanted to have all those things your mutation kept from you. You just didn’t know how to let go of being scared.

Dean exhaled slowly, shutting the laptop and setting it aside. His hand found yours without hesitation, fingers wrapping around your trembling ones, steady and warm.

“How about you just come over, spend the night,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. 

A simple offer. No pressure. Just being there. 

What you didn’t know was that Dean had done his research—had read up on feline behavior more times than he’d ever admit, trying to understand you better. And one thing he’d learned? Cats didn’t handle too many firsts at once.

And tonight would’ve been a lot. His cabin. Winchester land. Getting claimed. Giving yourself fully to him.

Too much, too fast.

It wasn’t a solution. It wouldn’t erase the fear. But maybe, just maybe, it was enough to help you breathe—keep you grounded in the here and now, where you weren’t alone.

For a beat, you just stared at him, your mind still tangled in the weight of everything that had been spiraling inside you. But his words—his offer—slipped through the cracks, warm and steady, easing some of that tension.

Spending the night. Just being with him. No pressure. No expectations.

The tight knot in your chest loosened, just enough for you to take a full breath. Just enough for the fear to stop clawing at you quite so hard.

“...Yeah,” you murmured, squeezing his fingers. “I think—I’d like that.” Dean’s shoulders eased, and his grip on your hand tightened, just a little. “Good,” he said softly. “We’ll take it slow, okay? Just you and me.”

You nodded, the weight of his presence settling over you like a balm. You could do that.

Just be with him. Just let yourself breathe.

For the first time in days, the fear wasn’t quite so loud.

Dean grabbed your bag from where you’d set it on the far end of the couch, slinging the strap over his shoulder. But when he glanced back, his eyes landed on your laptop, still sitting on the coffee table.

You’d spent days writing on that thing. Pouring your thoughts into it when the words wouldn’t come out any other way.

Without a word, he carefully slid it into his case, making sure the charging cable and the mouse you always used were tucked in, too. He didn’t know if you’d want it tonight, but at least you’d have the choice.

The tension in the air had eased—not gone, but quieter now. And you looked more settled, your body language softer, looser. That was enough for now.

The drive back to Winchester land was quiet, but it wasn’t heavy. Just the low hum of the Impala’s engine, the familiar roads stretching ahead, and the warmth of your presence in the passenger seat.

Halfway there, your stomach let out a quiet but undeniable grumble.

Dean glanced over, arching a brow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You hugged yourself, embarrassed. “...Last night.”

That earned you a sharp look before he turned back to the road. “Sweetheart.” It wasn’t scolding, not really—just a mix of concern and exasperation, the kind that came from someone who cared more than he had the words for.

He exhaled through his nose, making a mental note. First thing after getting her settled—food.

Something warm. Something easy. Something that might make you feel just a little bit more at home.

You didn’t argue. Just curled into the seat a little more, as if the rumble of the car and the steady rhythm of the road were finally lulling your nerves into something manageable.

And Dean? Dean just drove, already planning how to take care of you, ease your fear as much as you’d allow.

You knew he’d be upset if he found out that you hadn’t napped either, and the last thing you wanted was to do that. Your gaze drifted out the window, watching as the scenery passed by, but your mind was elsewhere, again. Even with as much as you’d written, you still didn’t have any answers. At least Jess would be there, on Winchester land, and no matter how much you hated the idea of taking time from Sam, you knew she’d be there for you.

Dean glanced over, catching the way your gaze stayed fixed on the window, unfocused. He knew that look—you were thinking too hard, turning things over in your mind until they tangled up, leaving you no way out. Hell, that same expression had been on his face for weeks before you had claimed him.

Without a word, he reached over, resting a warm hand on your knee. His thumb brushed once, twice—just enough pressure to pull you back without forcing you to talk. When you blinked, shifting just slightly toward him, he let his hand linger a moment longer before pulling away, giving you space.

The rest of the drive was quiet, filled only with the steady rumble of the Impala’s engine. And then, finally, he turned onto the familiar dirt road leading onto Winchester land, past the main cabin. The sight of it settling something in his chest. He gave a nod to Benny, who was on the porch as he drove by.

Your gaze shifted to the windshield, taking in the land for the first time in the daylight. The one and only time you had been here had been for the celebration, and even then, the darkness had kept most of it hidden from you. It was set up much like the Winter pack’s land. With it being the morning after the last night of the full moon, more pack members were moving about than usual. Most would be leaving in a few hours to go back to their homes in town.

“Sam’s cabin is just over that way,” Dean said, pointing to the left, down another dirt road. You could make it out in the near distance, his truck parked out front.

Dean eased the car to a stop, pulling your gaze forward again, shifting into park before cutting the engine. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, warm. “Let’s get you inside and fed.”

He moved without hesitation, grabbing your bags from the backseat before circling around to your door. You took his outstretched hand with a shaky breath, letting him help you.

It’s just a sleepover, nothing more. 

The thought allowed you to relax, the knot in your stomach giving way to hunger instead. Dean led you up the steps, his hand on your lower back, steady, grounding.

Stepping inside, the first thing you noticed was the warmth—not from the temperature, but from the space itself. It was simple, lived-in, yet undeniably Dean. The scent of pine and something faintly smoky lingered in the air, like how clothes smelled after being around a fire.

The open floor plan was familiar, similar to your own home, but without a second floor. The living room opened up just ahead, a worn-in couch taking center stage, dark fabric stretched over sturdy cushions that had clearly seen years of use. There, on the far cushion, the blanket you had given him three months ago lay folded, as if he had just set it down. A coffee table sat in front of it, a few coasters scattered across its surface, one of them carrying the ghost of a ring left behind.

To the right, the kitchen blended seamlessly into the space, separated only by a slight shift in flooring. Light countertops and wooden cabinets lined the wall, well-used but tidy, everything in its place. A single mug rested near the coffee pot—clean, waiting—evidence of the early morning before he’d come to pick you up. The scent of coffee still lingered faintly in the air, mixing with something distinctly homey.

Directly across from the door, a hallway stretched further into the cabin, leading to the rest of the space—his bedroom, a spare room, and a bathroom. Your gaze flickered that way for a moment, a sudden awareness settling over you at the thought of sleeping here, under his roof. Just a sleepover. Nothing more, you reminded yourself again.

Dean brushed past you with a quiet chuckle, nudging your arm slightly. “You gonna stand there and analyze my place all day, or you gonna get comfy?”

You blinked, forcing a small smile as you glanced up at him. He was watching you, something knowing in his gaze, but he didn’t push. Just offered you that easy warmth he always did.

“Kitchen’s over there,” he said, nodding toward it as he set your bags down by the couch. “Wanna join me while I make you some breakfast?”

You exhaled, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders. His space felt safe—steady—just like him. 

“Sure,” you said, stepping forward, following him into the kitchen.

You seated yourself at the table, watching him as he moved around the space with ease. It was much like he had moved around your kitchen when he cooked there. When he had mentioned how similar you had set up your place, you had partially thought he was joking. Now, seeing what he pulled from where, you realized he had been utterly serious. The thought settled somewhere deep, a quiet acknowledgment that his space felt almost as familiar as your own.

Breakfast was easy—simple, warm, filling. Dean had made scrambled eggs and toast, sliding a plate in front of you without any fuss, just a quiet, “Eat up, sweetheart.” And you had, the food settling in your stomach like an anchor, grounding you.

The unease still lingered, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. More like a whisper in the back of your mind, a weight that hadn’t quite lifted. Dean didn’t push. He just sat across from you, eating his own meal, filling the space with small talk that didn’t require much from you. It helped. His voice, steady and familiar, made it easier to stay present.

When you finished, you started to rise, already reaching for your plate, but Dean’s hand shot out, a gentle but firm press against your forearm, stopping you.

“I got it,” he said, already gathering the dishes before you could argue. “You relax. I’ll give you the tour.”

You hesitated, but the look he gave you left no room for debate. Not in a commanding way. Your breath hitched for a moment. It was the same way you had been with him, from the day you had claimed him, and the week after. The realization settled in, soft and certain. He’s taking care of me now.

So, you let him. 

He led you down the hallway, starting with the spare room. “Not much in here,” he admitted, pushing the door open. “Extra blankets, couple of pillows. Sam’s crashed here a few times when he didn’t feel like driving home.” It was simple, functional, but warm—just like the rest of the cabin.

Next was the bathroom. “Towels are in here.” He knocked a knuckle against the cabinet, then jerked his chin toward the sink. “Anything you need, just help yourself. Although—” a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, “if I know you, you probably brought your own stuff.”

The teasing pulled a bashful smile from you, a flicker of something lighter passing between you both.

And then, finally, his room.

Dean nudged the door open, stepping inside first, setting your bags down near the dresser. The space was… unmistakably his. A large bed, neatly made, dark sheets and a thick comforter. A few personal touches were scattered around—his leather jacket draped over the chair, books stacked unevenly on the nightstand, an old watch sitting on the dresser.

He turned to you, watching your reaction carefully. Maybe waiting for hesitation. Resistance. But you just exhaled, your shoulders easing, the weight slipping just a little.

And he felt it too.

Just having you there, in his space, made it all feel complete, like you had been the missing piece all along. It had always been his, but now… now it felt like so much more. 

“Why don’t we watch a movie after you change into something more comfortable,” he suggested, his smirk softer now, inviting.

And just like that, the last of the tension in your chest loosened. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Okay.”

Dean headed out to the living room, that lightness from earlier back in his step as he set things up. 

You changed into something comfortable—a nightshirt, soft and worn just right. The fabric settled over your skin, the familiar weight of it grounding you further. For a moment, you lingered in Dean’s room, letting your eyes sweep over the space again. 

Something twisted in your stomach. This should feel like more than the space it was. You should feel it, but couldn’t. It should be filled with his scent, whatever that was, but you couldn’t smell it. There was just the scent of pine and leather mixing with his deodorant. Letting out a slow breath, you ran your fingers along the edge of the comforter before finally pushing yourself to leave, padding down the hall toward the living room.

Dean was waiting, just like you knew he would be.

The TV cast a soft glow across the space, some old familiar movie ready to play, something he knew you liked. He’d taken note of the movies back at your place, picking up copies of ones you told him you loved. He sat on the couch, his arm draped over the back, a casual ease to his posture that didn’t quite hide the way he was waiting for you. The blanket you’d given him months ago was pooled across his lap, already half-open, ready for you to settle in.

The second he caught sight of you, his eyes flicked over you—not in a way that made you self-conscious, just a quiet checking in.

You could see the shift in him before he even spoke.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” His voice was low, steady. A gentle invitation, not a demand.

You only hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he saw it.

The moment you curled up beside him, the warmth of his body settled against yours, his arm coming down to wrap around you without a second thought. The blanket was pulled over both of you, cocooning you in that same quiet, easy warmth.

And Dean… Dean felt it.

The way you relaxed, fully and without reservation. The way your scent softened. The unease hadn’t fully faded, but something sweeter wove through it now—comfort, trust, him.

Something in his chest eased.

This—this—was what being an alpha was supposed to feel like. Not dominance, not control, not possessiveness, but this. Keeping you close. Comforting you. Taking care of you in ways that didn’t need words.

His hand found your arm, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against your skin. Not asking for anything. Just… feeling you there. The same way you had done for him.

And you let him.

The weight of your worry slipped away, the sound of the movie blurring into the background. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him beside you—this was what mattered. It grounded you.

He’ll always be there for me, like I was and am for him.

The thought brought a small smile to your lips as your eyes grew heavy. It wasn’t long before it all lulled you off to sleep, your head having slipped down, resting on his thigh. Dean chuckled quietly, more to himself, seeing you like this. 

Dean let himself sink into the moment, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before resting his hand on your shoulder. Your breathing was steady, relaxed. Your lips slightly parted as your hand rested just above his knee. 

His gaze lingered on your neck, bared to him in sleep. His eyes fluttered shut as his mind wandered—drifting to a future he’d imagined more times than he could count.

You were doing the dishes, your hair up in a braid as the evening shades of the sunset filtered through the windows. He came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist, resting on the small bump where his pup was growing inside you. A hum slipped past your lips as you leaned into him.

He kissed over the mark on your neck, his mark. “How’s the rugrat treating you today?” he murmured against your skin.

“Rowdy, like his father,” you teased, a playful smirk toying with your lips.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You think it's a boy?”

Your playful laughter filled the kitchen. “Pretty sure a girl wouldn’t be doing karate, using my ribs and bladder as targets.”

You shifting on the couch pulled him from his daydream. He hadn’t even realized that his fingers had drifted to your neck, lazily brushing over your skin. Dean exhaled slowly, grounding himself as he settled his hand back on your shoulder.

She’s just spending the night. He tried to remind himself of that, of the fear and unease that still clung faintly to your scent. No matter what plans the two of you had made, your comfort came first. Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to claim you, not until you showed him that you really were ready.

Dean let out a slow breath, focusing back on the movie that was only halfway over. His heart was pounding against his ribcage from his daydream, reality crashing against it. For a while, he just sat there, letting you sleep, using his thigh as a pillow, soaking in the peace it brought him. Near the end of the movie, he carefully eased himself off the couch, cradling your head in his palm before setting it onto the cushion. He looked down at you, something deeper than love wrapping around his chest, like a blanket on a cold winter’s day. For the first time in days, you finally looked peaceful.

Dean moved quietly, keeping his steps light as he grabbed the remote and flipped through the music options, settling on something low and instrumental. He knew how silence could be too loud sometimes, and the last thing he wanted was for you to stir too soon.

He glanced back at you once more, your body curled into the couch, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of you finally getting some rest—after the long night, after everything—eased something in him.

In the kitchen, he pulled out a pan, deciding on something simple but filling. Steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and maybe some green beans. He worked without rushing, letting the soft clink of utensils and the occasional sizzle from the pan blend into the background.

By the time he was finishing up, the scent of meat and buttered potatoes had thickened the air. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off with a quiet hiss before setting it next to your plate.

The shift in the atmosphere must have reached you because, from behind him, he heard the quiet inhale—followed by the rustling of fabric as you shifted on the couch. 

“Mmm,” you hummed groggily, stretching before blinking sleep-heavy eyes toward the kitchen. You propped yourself up on one elbow, taking in the dim light, the soft music, the man at the stove.

Dean turned, smirking. “Look who’s alive.”

You rubbed your face, feeling that familiar prickle of guilt. “Didn’t mean to pass out on you.”

His smirk softened. “You were up all night with me, sweetheart. ‘Bout time you got some rest.” He nodded toward the plate at the table, beer beside it. “Figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” Your stomach answered for you, the low grumble making Dean huff a quiet laugh. “That’s what I thought.” You swung your legs over the edge of the couch, yawning as you stretched again. That nap had helped more than you expected. Your limbs felt lighter, tension smoothed out by the warmth of sleep.

Dean grabbed the beer and held it out as you stood. “Here. Might help you relax a little more.” You took it with a grateful smile as he grabbed one for himself. “Thanks.” “There’s more. So, don’t be shy,” he said, nudging your chin playfully before guiding you to the table.

This wasn’t the first time he had cooked for you, just the first time in his home. Something about the simplicity of it, after waking up from a nap, made everything melt away. Even the faint unease that had lingered was gone. 

Over dinner, the conversation stayed light—nothing heavy. He even managed to get you to be playful with him, the two of you bantering back and forth. Dinner itself had you moaning in satisfaction, practically purring as the flavors danced on your tongue.

Dean had to shift in his seat, not wanting to let on what those sounds were doing to him. Thankfully, your eyes were closed as you savored another bite of steak. 

He smirked, shaking his head as he took a swig of his beer. “Damn, sweetheart. If I knew a steak would get those kinds of sounds out of you, I would’ve made you one a long time ago.” You opened your eyes, catching the way he was watching you—fond, amused, but with something else simmering beneath it. You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck as you reached for your beer. “It’s not my fault you’re good at this.” Then, under your breath, “And have different spices than I do.”

Dean hummed, twirling his fork between his fingers. “You always make noises like that when you eat, or am I just special?” You scoffed, nudging his foot under the table. “Shut up and take the compliment.” His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, but he let it go, focusing back on his food. The rest of dinner went like that—light teasing, easy conversation, the comfort of knowing neither of you had to be anywhere else but here.

After the plates were cleared, you leaned back in your chair, sighing contentedly. The beer had settled warm in your stomach, the food even more so. It was the most at ease you had felt in days.

Dean stood, grabbing both bottles and tossing them in the trash before turning back to you, hands resting on the counter. “You wanna throw on another movie? Or you feeling too old to stay up past ten?” You rolled your eyes, stretching your arms over your head. “Pretty sure you’re the old man here, Winchester.” “Oh, so that’s how it is?” He pushed off the counter, crossing toward you slowly, eyes playful but predatory. “I’ll remember that, sweethaert.” You grinned, pushing your chair back and standing. “Guess we’ll see how your stamina is later.” Dean didn’t miss a beat, letting out a huff of laughter, shaking his head before nodding toward the living room. “Go pick something, then. Nothin’ sappy.” You saluted him with a smirk before heading toward the TV, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. As you scanned over the movie titles, you wondered if he had caught on to what you’d said. But there was no way you were going to ask outright. 

You could feel Dean watching you. Not just glancing—watching. 

You selected Back to the Future and popped it on, grinning as you turned back to him. “Acceptable?” Dean smirked. “Classic. Good choice.” By the time you settled onto the couch, Dean was already there, arm draped over the backrest. Like before, it felt natural to curl up against him. His body was warm, solid, and when he shifted to rest his arm more securely around you, his hand brushed along your upper arm, fingers barely grazing your skin.

You swallowed. His touch felt… different. The way his fingers traced over your shoulder, slow and deliberate, like he was testing something, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

Your heart beat a little harder in your chest. You tried to focus on the movie, but then his fingers moved higher, brushing against the side of your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold.

Dean felt it. His fingers lingered at the curve of where your shoulder met your neck, the barest whisper of touch over your scent gland.

Your breath hitched.

He exhaled softly through his nose, his body relaxing a little more against yours. Encouraged. He did it again.

A slow, unhurried stroke along that sensitive spot, and this time, a heat curled low in your stomach—warm and welcoming. 

You inhaled, trying to steady yourself, but the problem was him—and the fact that no one had touched you so intimately before. Even when you’d claimed him, he had stayed away from your scent gland. 

But this? This was deliberate. Measured. And far from unwelcome.

Dean’s voice was low, barely more than a murmur. “You good?”

You nodded, pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips. “Yeah,” you managed, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be.

Dean didn’t move away, but he didn’t push further, either. Just stayed close, fingers tracing slow, thoughtful patterns against your skin, letting you settle into it. He knew exactly what he was doing. He could smell it.

The fear of what would come after wasn’t there. Deep down, you knew he’d be there, every step of the way, just like you had been for him. Another shaky breath left your lips as his fingers ghosted over that spot again, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter.

A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “You sure you’re good?”

You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes, but there was no real annoyance there. “You’re enjoying yourself far too much.”

Dean leaned a little closer, his fingers grazing your chin, tilting your face toward him. His voice dropped lower, thick with promise. “I’d rather be enjoying you, omega.”

The words sent a tremor through you. Your tongue darted out, wetting your lips, but it did nothing to ease the sudden dryness in your throat. The warmth of his touch, the slow, teasing caresses along your scent gland, the way his fingers traced along your jaw—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. Each stroke sent a ripple of heat through your veins, making your breath hitch and your fingers curl against his chest.

Dean was watching you. Reading you.

He leaned in, his nose skimming against your temple, your cheek, breathing you in like he was committing every part of you to memory. Yeah, the two of you had shared heated moments since you had claimed him, but this? This was different. More intimate. More deliberate. 

Dean placed a tender, lingering kiss on your forehead before he stood. You watched as he moved around the space, turning off the movie, then the light in the kitchen, leaving only the dim glow of a single lamp in the living room.

You shifted a little on the couch as he returned, standing before you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your breath hitched as the moment froze—it was just how you had done with him.

Your gaze went from his outstretched hand, up to his eyes. The way he looked at you—it was the same way you had looked at him that night. He didn’t need to say anything. You could see it in his expression. That night, it was you asking him to trust you. Tonight, he was asking you to trust him.

With a small, soft smile, you reached out and took his hand, then let him lead you to his room.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 15 - coming soon

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[oetscop]

i know you teenagers dont have fully formed brains yet but can you be silly in a way that doesnt inconvenience the 70 y/o man who zones the paint department thanks

[sweaterkittensahoy]

No one here asked me, but Sean and I have been together for 20 years, so here's the shit I say when I DO get asked how it keeps working:

Base level, we fucking like each other. I do not buy into the "you can love someone and not like them." Fuck that. Like is what turns into love. If you are regularly thinking, "I don't like this person," the problem is that you don't like that person. Love can't fix that. Because the love you need to hold onto when you have a moment of not-liking someone can't exist if you don't first like someone.

Which brings me to point two: Kill the perfect romantic who lives in your head. You will annoy the fucking shit out of each other. It happens. For so many reasons. Learn how to say, "Honey, I love you, but I can't deal with this right now." And, for the record, the proper response is "Okay. Got it." not turning it into a whole fucking thing. Yes, it's very romantic to not get tired of someone. But it's much more realistic to be able to say, "Honey, please leave me alone for twenty minutes," and it's must healthier for the other person to go, "Oh, okay! Love you!" / "Love you, too."

Accept that sometimes you're gonna need to fight it out. With this caveat: If it's the same fight over and over again, that's a fucking problem. If it's a fight over the same topic, but you're on a different point in the topic, you're probably okay. For example: If I said, "Honey, please hang up your towel to dry so it doesn't grow mold," and Sean never hung it up, so we kept going round about it, that's a problem. But if I said it, and Sean DID hang it up, but it needed to be spread out, then that's a different thing. "Hey, thanks for hanging up your towel; please make sure it's spread out on the rack so it dries properly."

Also, be flexible about things you ask for. We have a general rule that whoever opens the dishwasher the first time after the dishes are cleaned has to empty the whole thing. But also, if Sean's running late the morning after we do dishes, I'm not going to call him and complain he didn't empty the dishwasher when he opened it to get a fork.

Think of all of this like the fridge making a weird noise. Most of the time, the fridge makes a noise you don't even register because that's the fridge noise. But sometimes, the fridge make a new noise and WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. That's how I think of relationship work. Most of the time, it's just work that gets done in the day-to-day shit. But occasionally, something is OFF and needs immediate attention, so you need to stop and pay attention and fix it.

But also, after your fix the problem, you need to be accept that maybe there are new noises that need to be inspected. For example, if Sean said to me, "Hey, I need thirty minutes after work to myself when I get home," this would be a new thing, but yes, okay. I will do my best. And I will. But maybe I forget the rule because I have something I NEED to tell him that isn't actually a NEED, and so I greet him at the door with a monologue, and he lets me monologue, and at the end he says, "Okay, that's interesting. But I would still like my thirty minutes. I will talk to you after I've had that." He's understanding that I'm doing my best and still reinforcing the boundary I agreed to. What I can do in this situation is thank him for listening and give him his time and try not to jump him with information again because he has made it clear twice that he doesn't want that.

The trick about doing your best, respecting boundaries, and loving one another is truly just doing your best because you love each other. I want a good life. I want Sean to have a good life. We want a life together. We will build a good life by being honest, communicative, and kind to one another. I fold laundry for us both not because I think it's my role as the "wife" but because it's a way to get me on my feet for a few minutes. Sean does the cooking because he enjoys it. I generally handle the dishwasher because he cooks. He gets the car to the mechanic to get the oil changed. I take Bean on her second walk when his day runs long. Do I WANT to take her out? Not always. But I've been at home with an office job all day, not driving around the city to do a physical job. Taking her out for her second walk may annoy me, but the payoff is that Sean comes home and is so happy that he doesn't have to do it and thanks me, and that's what makes it worth it. We acknowledge each other when effort occurs. We make each other laugh. We talk through things. We understand the importance of being able to say, "No, I'm not into it, but you like it, so please keep explaining it." and "Honey, I love you, but I can't do this right now."

It's really just understanding that good communication means folding in the idea that good communication includes saying things you might think you shouldn't have to say. Trust me, saying it means cutting down on the bullshit of not having said it. Say awkward shit to each other. Announce you're doing it. "Hey, this is gonna sound awkward, but I need to say it" because the response from the person you love (in every version of love) should be, "I'm listening. Let's go" because it's about mutual support and care and LIKING one another. And all you gotta do is give back what you deserve to get.

[lazycats-stuff]

Please a Clark fic, where reader is a new intern adn Clark is just love struck. And he slowly starts to court (?) the reader, and at some point take him home for a home-cooked meal, where the reader meets Conner and Jon. I think Conner at first doesn't really like reader, but Jon immediately clings to reader. After some time Conner warms up to reader and they all become a happy family

Of course my dear anon. Some superfam sounds good right now. Also, I have decided to make (Y/N) from Gotham... It sounds good, trust me.

Summary: Clark likes (Y/N). Conner is suspicious.

Warnings: I don't think there's any... Fluff mostly.

" Morning Clark. " Lois said to him as she passed him to get some coffee. Clark simply nodded as he booted his computer to start up. He had a piece to write about Lex Luthor scandal which for once wasn't brought to light by the Justice League.

An anonymous whistleblower who contacted Daily Planet with a shit ton of damning evidence. Clark jumped on the said opportunity to expose Lex, both as Superman and Clark Kent.

" Working on the Lex thing? " She asked as she came back, leaning on the edge of his desk, glancing at the computer screen to check the progress. " Yes, it's great to see how he's slowly crumbling. The stock share prices are going down faster than our faith in humanity. " Clark said with a smile, making Lois chuckle.

" Yeah, it's truly satisfying. Also, I have some news for you Smallville. " She said, stopping to sip her warm coffee. Clark raised his brow, fixing his glasses as he leaned back in his chair, smoothing his pants out.

" What those might be Lois? " Clark asked, turning his chair to face her fully.

" We got an intern. Someone from Gotham it seems. His name is (Y/N) and he will work in this department. " Lois stated, lifting her cup of coffee as if she was silently saying finally.

" Oh really? " Clark asked, tilting his head in curiosity. " It seems that Perry has decided to throw us a bone. We could use a courier. " Clark joked and Lois chuckled.

It's nice to have an extra set of hands. " Also, did you say he was from Gotham? " Clark inquired and Lois nodded. Clark whistled quietly. Gotham people are often tougher and more direct and even more blunt.

Clark knew that very well, ahem, read Bruce.

" That will be a nice change of pace. Someone with tough skin. " Clark noted and Lois nodded.

" Now we have someone to take as a bodyguard when we go out. Everyone is afraid of Gotham people. " She joked, sipping more of her coffee before her eyes moved forward, right behind Clark. He turned his chair around to check what she was looking at.

She was looking at the new intern who entered with their boss, Perry White. The room fell silent as Perry stood with a tall guy, (H/C) hair and (E/C) eyes in a suit, standing with a stoic look on his face. And there was a Gotham aura and vibe radiating from (Y/N).

Clark had to stifle a chuckle.

" Everyone, this is our new intern, his name is (Y/N). He transferred from Gotham. Be nice to him. I don't want chaos around here. As for you (Y/N), you'll be working with Kent. He is more than capable to show you the ropes. " Perry said and Clark raised his brow from his seat.

Being a mentor isn't new to him anymore, ever since Conner came as a clone and stepping up ever since then. And since Jon came into the picture, he had no choice but to really step it up as a father. Since the mom left...

Clark rubbed his forehead for a moment, then set his sight back on (Y/N). Clark looked him up and down subtly. He... He is drop dead gorgeous in Clark's eyes. Clark did have a few relationships with men in the past, but he was always more attracted to women.

But the tides have changed.

Clark has been struck with probably love at first sight. He never really felt like this before... So lovestruck. Oh Bruce would have laughed so hard at him in this situation...

Oh God and he is responsible for (Y/N) too? This won't be good in the slightest. He gulped quietly as Perry led (Y/N) to him and the office started bustling with activity again.

" This is Clark Kent (Y/N). Kent, you'll be making sure he gets the basics down since I'm sure Gotham Daily Planet is not up to standard with us. " Perry joked, making (Y/N) laugh.

Clark's heart did a few flips at the laughter. Oh dear God, (Y/N) is so damn adorable when he laughs. But he looks so damn tough too and it makes it a bit more difficult to read.

Gotham does make you more tough.

" Also, this is Lois. " Perry introduced and (Y/N) shook hands with her. Clark stood up and shook hands with (Y/N), whose hands were so soft. Oddly enough. For a Gothamite especially.

" Clark, nice to meet you. " Clark said with a firm handshake. (Y/N) nodded. " (Y/N), nice to meet you. " He said politely.

" Well, I'll take you around the office to show you around and then you can help Kent or whatever else he needs. " Perry said before he led (Y/N) away, telling him about the Daily Planet and how good the place is.

" You are in love Smallville. " Lois said behind her coffee mug making Clark sigh quietly.

She won't let this go.

" Don't you have some work Lois? " Clark asked her, clearly not in the mood to deal with her teasing. Lois simply snickered and raised her hand and mug in a way to show she surrenders and left to go to her desk, that was, coincidentally, right next to Clark's.

" This is will be fun. " Lois muttered under her breath, knowing fully well that Clark could hear her. Clark simply rolled his eyes. She was right, though, this was going to be fun. Clark listened intently to Perry and (Y/N)'s conversation. His super hearing is something that he can't just turn off anyway.

Might as well use it.

After a few months, Clark decided to start making his moves. He decided to start with bringing some coffee every morning to them both. (Y/N) was suspicious at first, the Gotham nature in him telling him to not trust because, again, Gotham makes you on guard all the time.

Especially when someone is nice to you. Maybe (Y/N) is a bit more cold, but every Gotham native is like that. If you try to be nice to them, they are a bit suspicious. Can you blame (Y/N)? But, Clark's ambition and patience had slowly been paying it off.

It started with small cups of coffee every morning to get the energy going for writing and editing articles. (Y/N)'s editing skills were insanely good and Clark was more than impressed the first time (Y/N) showed him the finished version.

Then, (Y/N) was being sent out on the field with a camera to capture events and what not. Perry justified with the saying, you are from Gotham, you'll be fine.

And that turned out to be true actually.

One day, while dropping off some photos at Perry's office, his face was bloody and it was clear that there was some sort of brawl or a fight. Clark and the rest of the office was concerned, but (Y/N) simply acted casually, as if nothing had happened to him.

The only thing he is said is, 'You should see the other guy.'

It made Clark think of Bruce and his nature. Tough Gotham nature.

But Clark had a lot of experience with that nature. Again, dealing with Bruce's nature made it easier to navigate (Y/N). And although (Y/N) and Bruce are two completely opposite people in every shape and form, it still gave Clark good points what not to do and what to do.

And slowly but surely, he did it.

He asked (Y/N) to come with him to his house, for some dinner. A nice good, old, home cooked meal. A recipe his mom sent him so he could impress (Y/N).

(Y/N) was pleasantly surprised and decided to say yes. As well, (Y/N) knew that Clark is a father. 2 boys, if he could judge from his framed photos on his desk. One younger and one older.

Conner and Jon if (Y/N) remembers correctly. Jon is younger and Conner is the older one. And (Y/N) remembered that Clark was a single parent.

So, (Y/N) decided to accept and say yes to the call, never saying no to a good, nice, homecooked meal. And Clark was a nice guy too so it wasn't a bad thing. He was cute too and (Y/N) slowly started to like him.

So, entering his place, he was greeted by Clark's sons, Jon and Conner. Jon is a bubbly personality, immediately clinging onto him. (Y/N) thought that he was adorable.

But Conner was a whole another story. He was more cold and calculating and clearly suspicious of (Y/N). (Y/N) respected it. Don't trust people that have just entered your life.

All in all, the dinner went well and Clark and (Y/N) went on a few dates and soon enough started dating seriously. Soon enough, after a few years, the two got married.

However, during that time, Conner and (Y/N) got more and more closer. It was a nice feeling and was rather emotional for them both. Clark was happy and soon enough, (Y/N) had two boys to call his sons, despite not being biologically related to them.

[hungermakesmonsters]

The Red Ribbon

Chapter One

Plot Summary : By day you’re Billy Russo’s clumsy PA, but by night you’re a host at New York City’s most exclusive gentlemen's club. At The Red Ribbon everyone is anonymous and masks conceal the identities of patrons and hosts alike. But your two lives are about to collide and Billy Russo is about to see a whole new side of you without even realising it..

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with smutty themes and include mentions/suggestions of sex work/work at a gentlemen's club (don't like, don't read). Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 6k

A/N : This is a little something I've been toying with for a while. It's only going to be a short thing (3 parts) over the next few weeks. There's no upload schedule but it'll probably be posting on Fridays anyway 😅 Also I've been ill all week so that's my excuse for typos

Master List

Chapter One

“Remind me why I hired you?”

His voice was a cold snap that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment. Even on his birthday, your boss was an asshole.

Your hands trembled as you tried to restack the files that you’d clumsily manage to drop all over his office floor. The contents of the files had spilled out and you already knew that it was going to take you hours to make sure the correct paperwork ended up back where it was supposed to be.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he added a moment later. “Why did I hire you?”

“Because your other assistants keep quitting,” you muttered under your breath.

It was humiliating, scrabbling around on his office floor, the carpet scrapping your bare knees as you tried to pick everything up as quickly as possible.

“What was that?” He asked.

It was reasonable to guess that he hadn’t heard you - you were certain he would have been a lot angrier if he’d heard you. Still, you hated yourself for letting it slip out. As much as you hated the way your boss treated you, the pay was good. Too good to quit.

“I said I’m sorry Mr Russo,” you answered softly, managing to grab the last of the files and get back to your feet. “I’ll get these sorted and have them on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“I hope you’re planning on staying late.”

“What?” The word spilled from your lips before you had the chance to stop it.

“Do you have somewhere else to be? Something more important than fixing your fuck up and doing the job I pay you to do?” Mr Russo asked.

As a matter of fact, you did have somewhere else to be and something that was more important than fixing the potential Anvil candidate files that you’d managed to dump all over his office floor, but you couldn’t tell him that.  

There was only one person who knew how you spent your nights, and it certainly wasn’t your boss. No, if Billy Russo knew where you went after your days at Anvil, he’d see to it that he had your resignation in his hand by the end of the day. And you were sure the same could be said of your night job.

“No, Mr Russo,” you answered, dropping your gaze to the floor, “I don’t have anywhere more important to be.”

“Good answer,” he said as he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. He moved towards his office door, stepping past you as if you were just another piece of furniture, a spare chair in the way. “And don’t even think about leaving that unfinished. I’ll be in at 5am so you’re not going to have the opportunity to sneak in early tomorrow to finish up.”

He didn’t even wait for a half-hearted ‘yes, Mr Russo’ before leaving for the day.

You glanced at your watch, doing the maths in your head; you should have been finishing in ten minutes time, at five o’clock, which would have given you three hours to get home, eat, and then get across town to work your night job.

The Red Ribbon was New York's most exclusive gentlemen's club - though to call it a gentlemen’s club was somewhat outdated as, these days, it catered to the needs and desires of wealthy clientele regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation. But, it had been considered a gentlemen’s club since the 1950s, and the verbiage was surprisingly hard to shake. 

The club offered something that few similar establishments did; total anonymity for both guests and workers. There were no cameras in The Red Ribbon, no phones or recording devices were allowed. And everyone wore masks. The only way to tell the staff from the clientele were the red ribbons worn about their necks.

You’d been working at The Red Ribbon for the last six months. At the start you’d tended bar, not wanting to get too hands-on with the customers - not because you had any strong feelings or moral objections about those that did, but mostly because you didn’t think you’d be any good at it. You’d never been the sort to consider yourself graceful, much less sexy, but you could make a mean espresso martini and you were great with pointless smalltalk. 

The money was good, but it wasn’t good enough, not when you had debts and financial obligations. 

At The Red Ribbon, the hosts made the most money, each getting assigned to one of the private rooms and being tasked with taking care of the customers' needs for the whole night. It was ultimately up to the host what taking care of the customer entailed though boundaries were firmly established before the host set foot in the private room. Every host had their own limits, some were happy to touch and be touched, some took it further still, and others preferred a hands-off approach.

If there was one thing The Red Ribbon was known for beyond the total anonymity it offered, it was the level of security. Everyone who set foot through the doors knew better than to cause trouble or push the boundaries of any member of staff.

You’d made the switch from bartender to host slowly, filling in whenever someone was out sick or when you needed a little extra money. You were slow to warm to it but, to your surprise, you found that you actually enjoyed it. Though you stayed firmly in the no touching or being touched camp, the tips you made in one night were still more than you made over a whole week tending bar.

But, when that money still wasn’t enough to cover your debts, you took a day job.

And that was how you’d ended up spending an evening hunched over a desk at Anvil, trying desperately to match paperwork with the correct file for a boss who’d made it pretty clear that he didn't like you and thought you were too inept for your job.

By the time you were done, you barely had the chance to make it home and shower and, instead of eating a proper meal, you ate a Snickers bar on the subway.

The Red Ribbon had a special entrance for staff that used old prohibition tunnels and a hidden elevator to get you into the building and up to the top floor. 

New York was stunning from fifty floors up and, some nights, you’d find yourself in the locker room just staring out at the skyline as you changed into your uniform. But tonight you didn’t have the luxury of time.

You stood in front of the schedule, checking which room you were in and which mask you’d be wearing. While bar staff and servers all wore the same elegant black and red masks  to obscure their faces, hosts wore individual masks that corresponded with the room they’d be working. Tonight you were in the rabbit room, so you plucked the ornate rabbit mask from its hook on the wall.

Of all the masks, the rabbit had always been your favourite because of the detailing on the ears and the way it just sat right on your face.

You always got such a rush from pulling a mask on and heading out into the club. Under any other circumstance the thought of walking around in a revealing black bodysuit would have been embarrassing, but once you had your mask on, you felt almost powerful, like a superhero with a secret identity. With the mask, you weren’t you, you were whatever part you were playing and tonight you were Bunny, and Bunny could be whoever you wanted her to be.

The last part of your uniform was the red ribbon that you tied around your neck, the very thing that distinguished staff from customers, and gave the club its name.

You gave yourself one last look in the floor to ceiling mirror, making sure that you looked ready to handle whatever the night had to throw at you, before finally stepping out into the main area of the club.

Once you passed the threshold, everything about you changed; you held your head high and walked through the club like you owned the place. Here you weren’t the quiet little PA who had to keep her mouth shut in case her boss decided to fire her. Here you called the shots.

The spring in your step became even more noticeable as you climbed the stairs and headed onto the walkway that led to the private rooms, each situated above the dancefloor with views of the whole club. 

“Hey, lil Bunny,” an all too familiar face said.

You grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Rocky, one of the club's security guards, a man, who in any other circumstances would terrify you.  He was a huge behemoth of a man, truly deserving of the title Built Like a Brick Shit-House. To the patrons, he was the one they didn’t want to get on the bad side of, but to you and the rest of the staff, he was safety incarnate.

“Hey, Rocky,” you said, bumping fists with him as you came to a stop in front of him.

He’d taken something of a shine to you on your first night at The Red Ribbon - he later told you it was because you reminded him of his sister who’d died only a few years before. Since then he’d always kept a close eye on you.

After bumping fists, you kept your arm outstretched so he could fit your security bracelet for the night; a very ornate looking panic button that you could use discreetly if you needed Rocky to deal with a problem customer. 

“You let me know if you need anything,” he said softly but seriously.

And, with that, you were on your way again, slipping into the rabbit room with a few minutes to spare before your guest arrived. You did a quick sweep of the room, making sure everything was tidy before turning on the music and checking the bar and, finally, you lowered the lights.

Less than five minutes later, a group of men were shown into the room, each wearing plain black masks that covered the top half of their faces, and each dressed to the club's high standards. Though, just from looking at them you could tell that some were more comfortable in suits than others.

“Welcome to The Red Ribbon, I’m Bunny and I’ll be your host for the evening and I’ll be running the bar for you, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get you your first round,” you announced and, with a flourish of your hand, you waved them towards the sofas.

You took drink orders and made a point of saying a little personal hello to each of them, knowing that it’d help win you tips by the end of the night.

As far as groups went, they seemed decent enough, not exactly what you’d call reserved by any stretch, but they seemed to be happy to talk amongst themselves while you tended bar, not expecting anything more of you.

After about half an hour, one of them broke away from the group and headed towards the bar. You couldn’t help but watch him, taking in the perfect way that his suit fit his tall, slender frame. 

He took a seat on one of the stools at the bar and flashed you the sort of smile that you were sure had panties dropping all across the five boroughs on a regular basis.

“What can I get you?” You asked.

“Another scotch would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

You were acutely aware of the way his eyes followed your every movement as you  grabbed a bottle and fresh glass with ice. Your skin felt like it was tingling under his gaze - he wasn’t leering, it felt more like he was appreciating. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

For a second you wondered if it was a line - it certainly sounded like a line - but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you think he was actually being serious.

“What makes you say that?” You asked in your playful voice, deciding to indulge him.

“I’d remember seeing you.”

He wasn’t shy about drinking in the sight of you. At any other time you might have felt disgusted, but it was part of the job and you probably would have been more offended if he  wasn’t checking you out.

“Hmm, and what exactly is it you think you’d remember?” You retorted playfully.

He grinned at that, a laugh rumbling in his chest. And his eyes - fuck, his dark eyes almost seemed to twinkle.

“I’m not sure it’d be considered polite if I was to get... anatomical,” he joked.

“It’s my ass, isn’t it?” You offered offhandedly, breaking any tension or sense of shame.

His grin grew wider, though there was a hint of surprise on his face too, like he hadn’t quite expected you to be so forward.

“Now that you mention it, you do have a very nice ass,” he agreed, “in fact that whole thigh-ass area is perfection.”

You could feel warmth spreading across your cheeks and down your neck, and you were glad of the low lights and the mask on your face. While you were used to comments on your body and what men wanted to do with you while working, there was something different about this. This felt like flirting. Honest to god flirting. And it had been a long time since anyone had tried to flirt with you.

Out in the real world, his comment would have turned you into a shy mess, but behind the bunny mask... well, let’s just say that Bunny wanted to play.

“Oh, a thigh man as well?” 

“I’m a man of refined tastes,” he shrugged.

His grin had you wishing you could see the rest of his face. You were already trying to picture what he might look like behind the mask but you were certain that your imagination was not doing it justice.

“And what else does that taste extend to?” You asked, leaning across the bar a little more as you slid his drink towards him.

His fingers briefly covered yours - rougher than you’d expected - before you slowly pulled your hand away. For a split second, you felt your breath catch, and there was a flicker of something on his face that made you think he’d felt it too, that moment of electricity when you’d touched.

“Are we still talking anatomically? Because I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about your tits for the last five minutes.”

Again, it wasn’t the sort of comment you’d put up with in any other situation but, then and there, in a place where you held all the power, you liked hearing it. The fact that he’d been allowed into The Red Ribbon meant that he was someone, that he was rich and powerful, so for poor, boring you to be the object of his desires gave a thrill like no other.

You let slip another laugh, propping yourself against the bar with a hand beneath your chin, eyes fixed on Mr Tall, Dark and Playful.

“Only the last five minutes?” You said, almost sounding distraught.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Bunny,” he remarked, leaning towards you as he lifted his drink and took a slow sip.

“I get the feeling that you like trouble.”

“You have no idea...”

It would have been a lie to say that the temptation to carry on the flirtatious conversation wasn’t increasing with every passing second; it was fun, you were actually enjoying it rather than just being subjected to it. But he wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted your attention and you had a job to do. 

“Looks like your friends want some attention too,” you said, nodding your head towards the group of men still sitting at the table. One of them was waving you over, obviously in desperate need of another drink.

“Animals, the lot of them,” he said, almost fondly. “I should have known they had selfish reasons for bringing me here on my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” You asked and received a nod in response, before shaking your head and muttering; “another Sagittarius...”

“Another?” 

You looked at him, almost embarrassed that you’d let it slip out and that you’d blurred the line between your real life and Bunny.

“Just a guy I know,” you shrugged.

“He break your heart or something? Need me and the guys to pay him a visit?” He offered playfully.

Another laugh escaped you and you couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be able to genuinely laugh with one of the customers. After months of perfecting your customer service laugh, you’d never expected to find yourself actually laughing at some off-handed comment. Especially when the comment was about a stranger going to beat the shit out of your boss for being mean to you.

“No, it’s okay. I can handle myself.”

“I’ll bet you can, Bunny.”

“Well,” you said, definitively, changing the subject and taking your thoughts away from your terrible day-boss, “happy birthday. I think you deserve something fancy to drink.”

He grinned as you turned away to fish a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge and grab enough glasses for him and his friends.

“This place is really somethin’ else,” a second voice said. “I know you said the girls were pretty but... holy shit.”

Tall, Dark and Playful gave a laugh.

“Prettiest girls in New York are all right here,” he said, clapping his friend on the back.

“Careful boys, my ears are burning,” you joked as you turned back to them.

“It's a beautiful woman's fate to be the subject of conversation wherever she goes,” he said.

“Didn't expect to hear anyone quoting Dorian Gray tonight,” you answered back, amused.

He looked almost surprised by the comment, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve read Dorian Gray?” He asked. “You like to read?”

“Does that surprise you?” You asked, your mask hiding the way your eyebrow rose. “Do you not think girls like me can read the classics?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -” he glanced at his friend beside him, then to the group sitting at the table. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but from some of the hand gestures being made, you could guess that it was something filthy, “- it’s just that I'm not used to being around people who can actually read.”

He got a rough punch in the arm from the guy beside him for that, and you started to laugh again. 

They continued to talk while you popped the champagne and started to fill glasses for the whole party. You placed one in front of the birthday boy, and one in front of his friend, before loading up a tray and taking the rest to the party at the table.

“Champagne to toast the birthday boy,” you said with a cheeky smile, earning a round of cheers from the men.

When you returned to the bar, Tall and Dark’s friend passed you, heading back to the group, leaving the birthday boy all alone.

“Not gonna drink with your friends?” You asked.

It was hard not to feel curious - it was part of the job, the masks, the hidden identities, there were always so many unanswered questions.

“I’ve never been one for birthdays,” he answered with a shrug, but still shot you a smile before lifting his champagne flute to his lips.

“Hmm so the mysterious, handsome stranger has a tragic backstory,” you said playfully.

“I don’t know if I’d call it tragic,” he said, his shoulder ticking upwards uncomfortably.

“Should I ask?”

Probably not, you thought. But some part of you wanted to know, wanted to prod and poke until you had him all figured out.

“My mother abandoned me a few hours after I was born,” he stated flatly.

Oh.

Shit.

You didn’t expect him to laugh when he looked at you again, his head shaking. “Don’t look so shocked, it was a long time ago and I’ve come a long way since then.”

“I just -” the confidence of Bunny slipped for a moment, leaving only you; the clumsy girl with a heart that often felt far too big, “- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve joked...”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve had plenty of time to get over it. Besides, the way I figure it, she did me a favour. You want soft kids, coddle them and treat them well.”

“Wouldn't know anything about that,” you said with a wry smile. “My parents definitely didn't coddle us.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“That all I'm getting?” He asked, smiling that playful smile again.

“Getting personal defeats the point of the masks, don't you think?” You retorted, leaning to top up his drink.

“I suppose,” he answered, pausing for a beat before continuing, “I guess you could tell me anything and I'd have to take your word for it.”

“You don't strike me as the sort of man who's trusting enough to do something like that.”

It was something you could see in his eyes, the way they took you in and watched every little flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

“Then why don't we play a game?” He offered. “We each get to ask a question, and you get to call the other out if you think they’re lying. And if I catch you in a lie, you have to tell me something true.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, trying to get a measure of him. Normally you were reasonably good at reading people - though maybe a lot of that came from working various PA and secretarial positions, needing to be able to anticipate your boss’ shitty moods.

“Okay, you’re on,” you agreed, “but a few ground rules; you’re not allowed to ask about who I am or anything that might identify me.”

“Sounds fair.” He lifted his champagne and took a slow drink but his eyes never left you. “What are you most afraid of?”

That caught you off guard. It was more serious than you’d anticipated.

“You could ask me almost anything, but that’s what you want to know?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person by what they’re scared of,” he said, shrugging.

You took a second to consider your answer.

“Jellyfish.”

“Really, Bunny, you’re gonna lie right outta the gate?” 

“Okay, fine,” you said with a huff, hating that he’d caught you out already. “I guess I’m most scared of dying alone, but jellyfish are a close second.”

“You think you’re gonna die alone?” He asked.

There was something in his voice that seemed to suggest he didn’t get it, or maybe it was that he thought it would never happen. Little did he know that you - the real you - didn’t exactly have the best luck with men.

“That’s two questions. Don’t I get a turn?” You asked, deciding to dodge his question.

Tall and Dark relented and gave a wave of his hand.

“What do you hate most about New York?” 

“Hate?” He repeated.

“Everyone always loves the same things about the city, but most people hate something different,” you explained.

You watched him closely as he considered his answer, looking for anything that might tell you if he was about to lie to you.

“The subway. It stinks of piss and there’s always too many people.”

You had to give him that one for obvious reasons, though he didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who used the subway all that often.

“When was the last time you used the subway?”

“That’s two questions, Bunny,” he chided playfully.

“Fine. Your turn.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“What? You think that this wasn’t my career goal?” You said, barely holding back a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t know, I went through a lot of phases; I wanted to be a vet until I lost my first hamster, wanted to be a doctor until my brother broke his arm, and I wanted to be a lawyer but I have a conscience...”

The birthday boy laughed with you, smiling at you, obviously happy enough with your answer because he didn’t call you out, making it your turn again.

“What’s your favourite place in New York?” You asked.

“Right here,” he said. “Right now. With you.”

“Yikes, what a line,” you said, smirking at him despite the heat in your cheeks. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“Normally I don’t need lines.”

“No?”

“People - women - usually make their minds up about me pretty quickly, and it’s rarely because of anything I have to say,” he explained.

You watched as he lifted his glass and drained his drink. Without needing to be asked, you refilled his glass. There was a pang of sadness in you, for him, for what he obviously had to go through.

“You must be pretty rich then,” you said, managing to keep the playful tone.

“Oh filthy rich,” he confirmed.

“Emphasis on the filthy part.”

He smirked at that.

The longer the conversation went on, the stranger it felt; it didn’t feel like work anymore, and you almost wished that it wasn’t. But moments like this didn’t happen to you out in the real world. He probably wouldn’t even look at you twice if he saw you in the light of day.

“Anyway, I call bullshit. There must be somewhere you like better than here, even if you are enjoying my company,” you said.

“Alright,” he conceded with an almost rueful smile, “there’s a baseball field in Brooklyn. I used to go there when I was a kid to watch other kids play...”

There was more to it, even you could tell that much, but it seemed personal - far more personal than you were prepared to get with him.

“You like baseball?”

“Liked,” he said, correcting you and adding another layer of uncertainty. “And that’s two questions.”

“Sorry, I’m not used to playing games when I’m tending bar,” you said, topping up his glass again before glancing towards his friends. “And, on that note...”

Again, you felt his eyes on you as you moved around the bar and headed to his friends, checking that everyone was having a good time and taking orders for fresh drinks.

“Think you’ve made the birthday boy’s night,” one of them said.

“Yeah, normally he slips out of his birthday parties after the first hour,” another commented, and they all laughed.

And, as you made your way back towards the bar (towards him), you couldn’t help but wonder what his birthdays were usually like.

“Hope they weren’t giving you any trouble,” he said as you slipped behind the bar and put the empty glasses you’d gathered to the side so you could start getting fresh drinks.

“No, you’ve all been perfect gentlemen,” you said, smiling at him, your face obviously showing some degree of relief because he quickly commented on it.

“Are there times when guys aren’t gentlemen?” He asked.

There was something in his tone, a hint of - what? - protectiveness, or anger maybe. 

“Sometimes, but that’s what Rocky is for,” you said, nodding your head towards the door.

“The big guy?” He asked and you nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t fancy my chances with him.”

Filling a tray with the fresh drinks, you went back to the table and passed them around before heading back to him again, taking up the spot on the opposite side of the bar from him, leaning your elbow on the bartop.

“So,” you said, almost decidedly, “want to tell me why you’re spending your birthday night out talking to me and not with your friends?”

He seemed to hesitate, but only for a split second.

“I thought it was my turn.”

“It is,” you conceded, “if you want to keep playing, but I think you might enjoy your birthday more if you spent it with friends.”

“We could be friends.”

“Friends don’t check out each other's asses, handsome.”

“Oh, so you’ve been checking out my ass?” He said as a grin tugged at his lips.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Something about men in well tailored pants drives me wild.”

The birthday boy let out another laugh, and it was such a happy sound that he drew glances from his friends, all of them wondering just what it was you’d said to manage to get a response like that from him.

He grabbed his glass and got to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Bunny,” he said before heading towards his friends.

Over the rest of the night, you found yourself watching him, always coming up with a teasing or playful remark whenever you went across to get them fresh drinks (oh, you wanted a drink, I just thought you wanted to stare at my ass again and I know how much you enjoy watching me walk away).

And he watched you, too.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps under his attention and you quickly came to love the sensation. Never in all your time working at The Red Ribbon had you felt such a connection with a guest, and you probably never would again.

So, when they all finally stood to leave, you felt a pang of regret - you shouldn’t have sent him back to his friends, you should have kept him with you so you could talk more.

Each of the guys said their thanks, each dropping bills into the tip jar by the door on their way out.

One of them stopped and looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “Thanks. I dunno what you said to him but I ain’t seen him like this in a long time.”

Your heart stuttered, not sure what it was you could have done to inspire such a change in a man you didn’t even know.

You noticed him linger as the door swung shut behind the last of his friends and, at any other time, that would be cause for concern but something told you that you weren’t in danger. Not from him. 

“Something else I can help you with?” You asked, as playful as ever.

“Plenty,” he said, his smile dropping a little. “But everything I want would break the rules, and the last thing I want is to get banned when there’s a chance I might see you again.”

It was sweet how oddly accepting he was of how things were, how they had to be. It made it harder to watch him walk away knowing that you might not see him again. You’d never felt such an instant connection with a stranger before, especially not a stranger who’d seen this side of you, a stranger who knew what you did for a living and didn’t judge you for it.

Against your better judgement, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly. You lingered close, watching the way the corner of his lip ticked upwards and heard the slightest catch of his breath.

“Well, here’s hoping you can tell who I am the next time you see me,” you offered in little more than a whisper.

Slowly, cautiously, his hand lifted to your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was the barest of touches, so light that he might not have even touched you at all, but you felt a warmth spread across your skin nonetheless.

“I’ll know, Bunny,” he said with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna find you again.”

“Promises, promises,” you joked, wanting to keep the mood light, knowing that the odds of seeing him again were small. And, with that thought, you found yourself leaning forward again, this time pressing your lips to his for the briefest of seconds. “Something to remember me by.”

Then you stepped back, creating space between your body and his, a silent signifier that the night was over.

“I will find you,” he said again. “I always get what I want, Bunny, one way or another.”

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you said, avoiding answering his comment.

He gave you one last look, drinking in the sight of you from head to toe, and you felt your whole body warm in response. Then he left, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the promise that you’d see him again. 

It should have worried you; the way he’d spoken to you, the way he’d been looking, and the fact that he wanted to find you again. But it didn’t. Instead of worry, all you felt was want, even if you knew that the man behind the mask might be someone completely different. Even if you knew the man behind the mask probably wouldn’t be interested in who you were when you weren’t playing Bunny.

Later that night as you laid in bed, your vibrator between your thighs and his dark eyes in your mind, you wondered what he was doing. Your eyes closed tight, picturing him standing over you, watching as you fucked yourself. He’d smile that playful smile down at you and slowly grip his cock - and, fuck, his cock was probably as perfect as the rest of him.

You longed to know what he looked like beneath the mask and beneath the expensive clothes.

You wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by him, for him to kiss you and hold you. For him to fuck you.

No matter what you imagined as you slid the vibrator in and out your body, your thoughts continued to return to one thing; his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, wanted to make him laugh and see them sparkle. You wanted to see them darken with need as he fucked you and took what he wanted from you.

I always get what I want, he’d told you. And he wanted you.

A loud moan tore from your lips as you came, your whole body shivering with pleasure at the thought of this strange and alluring man getting what he wanted from you.

Then, with a heavy sigh, you sank back on your bed and curled up, the usual feelings of insecurity quickly filling you again.

He’d probably forget all about you; everything he’d said had probably just been to try and get something more than you’d been prepared to give. He’d probably already forgotten you...

Little did you know that, across town, Billy Russo was fisting his cock to thoughts of you without knowing it was you he was thinking of, his hand stroking up and down his length as he stood in the shower. He jerked off to thoughts of your body, your laugh, your smile. He pictured all the ways that he wanted you, his Bunny, all the things he wanted to do.

Your plump and pretty lips would look good wrapped around his cock, and your plush thighs would no doubt feel amazing wrapped around his head as he feasted on your cunt. 

He licked his lips for what must have been the hundredth time since you kissed him and was, yet again, disappointed that there was no lingering taste of you.

As he came, he knew that he had to have you. He would find you again, and he would make you his if it was the last thing he did.

A/N : I feel weird when I don't post on a Friday, so here's a new thing 😅 like I said at the start, this will just be a short, sweet thing (3 parts and done), but hopefully it'll be a lot of fun and a little bit more playful/light-hearted compared to Love, Sick Love. (And I promise no cliffhanger ending to this one 😅) If you've played TellTale's The Wolf Among Us, that's where I got the ribbon idea from (well that and that old ghost story... but no ones head is going to fall off in this, I promise).

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged. I'm not going to full commit to posting every Friday for this because I work in retail and, as you can imagine, it's hectic at the moment, but I want to try and post at least once a week since this is only going to be a short story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Also I can't remember if anyone else asked to be tagged in all future Billy stories, if I've missed you please shout at me.

Tag List : @lincerad @xxxsweetcarolinexxx

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.  

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.  

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.  

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

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[wintfleur]

Congrats on 1k!! So, so deserved ❤️ Could I request 011, from 🌱 with Will smith and a romantic pairing, please??

౨ৎ messy hair and ink stains

°. — pairings ( will smith x female! reader )

°. — summary ( a regular day in class with a late will )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none. wc; 1.3k )

﹕─┈ prompt ~ a university lecture hall during a class

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( ahh will !!! He’s so perfect and pretty it hurts. Tysm for sending in a request, I hope you like it !!! And tysm )

1k celly masterlist main masterlist nhl masterlist

Will was internally cursing at himself as he rushed down the hallway that led to his first class of the day, his backpack is hanging off one of his shoulders and his sneakers where untied, his BC hoodie was thrown on over his t-shirt he fell asleep in and he was sure his hair was a mess even though his roommate gabe said it was fine before he left the late blonde. 

Will opened the door to the lecture hall and let out a sigh of relief when it didn't let out that loud creaking noise. The professor seemed to be too busy writing down things on the board to notice his presence. Will’s eyes scanned the large room and his gaze settled on where he usually always sat, not in the front and not in the far back, a perfect middle ground. 

Vultures, the both of them, will thought with a roll of his eyes when he sees his two best friends sitting at your sides, talking your ear off and probably begging for you to share your notes. Will quickly made his way to the row where the trio were sitting. Your eyes were focused down at your notebook only looking up to glance at the board to write down what the professor was. 

Will’s presence got Ryan's attention who was sitting on your right side and before the smiling boy could say anything, the guy behind him was telling Will to sit down, not being able to see him standing up. Will rolled his eyes while Ryan snickered, the sound catching your attention. You looked up from your book and smiled when you saw your boyfriend sitting on the other side of ryan, it was clear he had a rushed morning, most likely he had slept in. 

“Move” WIll hissed at Ryan, slapping his arm to get his attention. Ryan looks up from his book he totally wasn't reading and gives Will a confused look but when he sees his friends gaze on you, he knows why. He wanted to sit next to his girlfriend. Ryan whispers with a frown “Why do I have to move because you decided to sleep in?” 

“Ryan seriously move” Will hissed as he glared at his friend, but Ryan was not giving up. Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back comfortably in his chair. You glanced at Gabe who was sitting on your left, both of you finding the situation funny. Ryan shook his head “No i need to copy her notes, i really need to pass this class.” 

“She’s my girlfriend” Will scoffed, he couldn't believe this. He was having a shitty morning, and he was sure he was going to have a shitty time taking down notes, so all he wanted was to be able to sit next to his girl. Ryan was about to open his mouth to tell Will it's not fair to pull the girlfriend card, but you decided to step in and stop the pettiness. You gave ryan a small smile while gently kicking gabe who was trying to hold in his laughter “I’ll let you copy my notes after class.” 

“Whatever” Ryan grumpily hissed as he stood up, him and will quickly change seats. Ryan huffed as he sat down, pulling his things to be in front of him now. Will set his bag in between his legs and tilted his body to smile at you, you looked so pretty. “Hey baby” he whispered as he leaned down to quickly peck your cherry flavored lips. 

“Sleep well?” you quietly giggled as you pulled away from the much-needed kiss. You dropped your pink pen in your textbook and brought your freshly manicured hand up to fix his messy hair, that he probably forgot to brush in hectic morning. Will blushed at your touch and he leaned forward to send a glare to gabe whispering annoyed at him “You said i wouldn't need a hat.” 

“He also didn't tell you about the toothpaste on your face” Ryan joked but poor tired will didn't pick up on his sarcasm and his hands immediately went to wipe at his face “What?” 

“Do you mind” an annoyed student sitting behind will hissed, annoyed at the four's conversation. The three boys rolled their eyes while Ryan gave them an apologetic smile. Will felt himself shrink in his seat and you couldn't help but smile at how cute he looked. You placed a quick and soft kiss on his cheek and whispering in his ear “Ryan is just messing with you, i think you look handsome.” 

WIll smiled thankfully and watched as you turned your attention back on your notes once the professor started to talk. Will's eyes dropped to your lower back and the sliver of now exposed skin as your shirt rides up when you lean forward, and he has to stop himself from reaching down and touching your skin. He decides to stop distracting himself with thoughts off you and pulls out his books from his backpack and listens to the professor. 

Throughout the class he finds himself glancing at you and listening to the small conversation you shared with gabe about what the professor was talking about. You were big on your studies so will didn't worry too much about writing down everything, knowing that you would let him read through all of your notes on your friend groups study night.

Will rested his chin in his palm as he looked at your side profile, your nose was scrunched as you quickly wrote down what you were thinking. An annoyed huff leaving your lips when your favorite pen stopped working. You turn your head to your boyfriend, your eyes widening slightly when you see him already looking at you, you whisper with a flustered smile “Can I borrow a pen?” 

“Of course, doll” will smiles as he looks through his backpack for an extra pen, he pulls the cap off it and instead of just giving it to you he grabs your hand and turns it around so he can see your palm. You watch him with a confused smile, soon a quiet giggle leaving your lips when you feel and see him draw a few hearts on the pad of your fingers, joined by a ‘you're mine’ and a smiley face on your palm. 

You grab the pen from your boyfriend's hand and bite your lip as you focus on drawing a few hearts and writing the same thing just smaller. You look up from your boyfriend's palm to see him with a big smile on his lips, his cheeks red at your actions. You place soft kiss, your eyes locked as you pull away “Now we match.” 

“You guys disgust me” Ryan grumbled as he watched his two lovesick best friends, Will turns his head to glare at him for ruining the moment while you roll your eyes and go back to writing down your notes. Will pouts as he watches you get distracted in your work and not him instead. Will rested his hand on your thigh, needy for your attention. When you don't look at him right away, he frowns and softly grips onto your thigh and drapes it over his thigh, knowing that would get your attention. 

“Will” you whisper in a warning tone as you turned to look at him with wide eyes when he trailed his fingers higher on your thigh. Will just gives you an innocent smile and picks up his pen for the first time in ten minutes, now having the sudden feeling to focus on the class. His hand still on your thigh. You roll your eyes at your boyfriend and adjust your body so you were closer to him as you went back to listening to the professor, but this time it was you who couldn't seem to take your eyes off him. 

Listening to the professor was the last thing on your guy's mind as you locked eyes, both of your thoughts being filled with ideas of what the two of you would do when class ended. 

Poor Ryan never did get those notes . . .

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is not my best writing, I wrote it while I was sick 🙁 )

°. — taglist ( @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

[jumpingjoltiks]

You know what, there hasn't been enough Warden Ingo around here lately. I'm gonna fix that.

Nuts About You

Pairing: Warden Ingo x gn!Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers. Very mild violence.

He. Doesn't. Belong here.

You don't want him hanging around Jubilife.

His mannerisms are strange. He's always off on his own. Plus, that expression he constantly wears is terrifyingly serious. He's shifty, and it makes you uneasy.

Worst of all is the strange compassion that he has for pokemon. These are wild, dangerous animals, but he treats them like common pets. It makes you think he's probably dangerous too. It would explain why he got on so well with them.

You've tended the wounds of survey core members. You've seen exactly the kind of damage these creatures can do. You're not keen to get involved with someone like him.

Ingo knows how you feel about him (and he tries not to let it bother him. You're hardly the first to have shown him such distrust. At least you're quiet about it, unlike some), but the vitrolic way you talk about pokemon is a different thing.

To be sure, he understands. Hisui is a dangerous place. But that doesn't mean he has to like it. Or you.

You two tried conversing exactly one time, and that was enough for both of you to decide that you're better off politely ignoring the other.

That is, until a pesky pachirisu decides that the beams of your home are the ideal nesting spot. You walk in to find it with a mouthful of ripped up chunks of straw from your tatami mat. You promptly rush out the door and down toward the dojo.

You explain in a flurry to one of the security corp that a pokemon has gotten into your house and could they please take care of it?

It takes four security corp members getting their pokemon knocked around by this tiny squirrel before they tell you Zisu will take care of it when she returns from her mission the next morning. Until then, you're welcome to stay in the dojo.

Ingo finds you sulking outside your house, head in your hands. You're about to tell him to stop staring with those freaky eyes before he brushes past you and into your home. There's some scuffling, the zap of electricity, a muffled yell and a curse, a thump, and then he exits with a pokeball in his hand.

The Warden nods toward you, pulling his cap down briefly as if in a mock bow. "The tracks have been cleared. You are free to resume your scheduled rest."

As he turns, you make note of an ash-dark, blossoming mark on the side of his hand. A electrical burn.

You'd like to let him walk away. Let the strange Warden who consorts with these dangerous creatures get his help from the medics in the hall, or better yet, let him handle it himself. But the thought of being indebted to the man is enough to make you call out to him.

"Wait. You've been injured. I have a salve that should help, or at least remove the pain."

He looks down on you with such a serious, dark frown that you want to turn him away again and hide inside. Truth be told, in this moment you're not entirely unconvinced he's not secretly some kind of scary pokemon himself.

"That would be appreciated."

Oh. Okay.

You bring him into your home and silently tend to the wound. It's a little awkward between you. You're aware that this is definitely, merely obligation and he seems to sense that this is as close to a 'thank you' as he's going to get from you.

Still, you place a thick layer of salve over the blossoming wound and wrap it as gently as you can. You send him off with what remains of the bottle of salve and instructions for reapplying. He thanks you politely and leaves.

After a week, a bundle arrives silently at your door. It's a sack with a bunch of medicinal herbs and materials, a cleanly washed bottle, and a note... from the Warden of all people.

"Y/N, As I used the last of your bottle of salve, I felt responsible for helping to replace it. I pray that these are the correct ingredients. Your Pachirisu has been an invaluable assistance in my gathering of them. I had to seek out the advice of Warden Calaba to be sure what I had was correct, but perhaps you have a different recipe. Please let me know if there is anything missing and I will retrieve it for you as soon as I am able. At your service, Warden Ingo."

Your pachirisu? Surely he couldn't be referring to the creature he caught in your home. You thought he had taken it outside the village to release.

Sure enough, the next time he ambles into town, the Pachirisu is on his shoulder, tamely nibbling on an apricorn like it hadn't wrecked your house and four guards a week ago.

When it sees you, it chitters brightly and scurries down the Warden as though he's no more than a raggedly dressed (and completely unphased) tree. You stumble back as it comes quickly bounding toward you. Does it intend to attack?!

Ingo makes a clicking sound at the creature and it halts before it reaches you. The blue and white squirrel stands upright and looks back at him, then toward you, flicking it's tail. Reluctantly, it turns and skitters across the ground back toward the Warden, who scoops it up. It chirps, but allows itself to lounge, belly-up, in the sling of his arm.

"My apologies. Pachirisu can be quite excitable. She must remember you."

He's looking at you with a sort of intensity you don't like. You give a short answer and make an excuse to leave as quickly as possible.

Each time Pachirisu sees you in the village, it tries to get close to you. It's continued hijinks and the ensuing interactions with Ingo begin to wear down the hard shell around your heart.

He's so... patient with it. Like the little creature is a miscreant child. It doesn't ever lash out at him or anyone ever again. You watch as he feeds it little bits of berry out of his hand. It doesn't even so much as nibble at his fingers. Was it really possible that this wild, terrifying pokemon was now friendly, and that Ingo was responsible?

In turn, the determination of Pachirisu to befriend you has the Warden second guessing if you're really all that bad. If a pokemon likes you, surely there must be something there to like, right?

One fine, summer day, Ingo instructs you on how to hold out your arm steadily. Pachirisu happily leaps from his shoulder right onto yours, as easy as leaping from one branch of a tree to another. You feel the faint tickle of electricity as she nuzzles her little yellow cheek against yours.

"Fine," You acquiesce, at last, "she's kind of cute." Pachirisu chirrups and skitters across to your other shoulder.

The Warden's soft smile as you take the offered pokeball from his hand makes something flutter within your heart, but you refuse to put a name on it.

You don't think you've ever seen him smile before. Had he been this handsome the whole time?

"I've trained her a little. If you'd like to see what she can do, please come and see me at the dojo."

[thesilverdiary]

Hold The Line.

Warnings? Explicit content, smut, and perhaps mild power dynamics. Toto Wolff x Reader. One shot. 

Words: 2.339.

You met a few years ago, in those days following Nico Rosberg’s retirement announcement that reverberated through every corner of the paddock.

You were there, in the middle of the chaos, representing a driver who, on paper, seemed like the perfect fit for the seat.

And then, he came along. No soft words, no easy smiles. Just brief glances and calculated phrases.

The first impression? Distant.

Like two strangers meeting in the middle of a storm, instinctively knowing they needed to keep their distance. You didn’t have time to try and please him, and he clearly didn’t care to disguise whatever it was about you that bothered him. It left a mark, not as an insult, but as a question hanging in the air.

An unanswered point.

In the end, the contract went to Bottas — something that didn’t surprise you. There was more than just merit involved in that choice. It was impossible to ignore that Torger was always close, never too far from the process. He knew exactly what he was doing, even if he never said so directly.

The real surprise, however, came afterward. When the frenzy around the negotiations finally settled, it was only then you realized what had truly been left from that dispute. The bad first impression was just a facade, hiding something deeper, something he, no matter how hard he tried, could never fully conceal.

They signed Bottas, but in the end, you walked away with something that was never part of the plan: Torger. A prize that didn’t come through contracts or negotiations, but one that, somehow, was the only result that truly mattered.

Years later, you were already sharing your routines as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You loved your job with the same intensity that he loved his, so even though you could afford to stop, that would never make you happy. It would probably drive you crazy.

And now, with the birth of your daughter, the balance between professional and personal life had become even more important. Life had changed, of course, but between the commitments and sleepless nights, there was something undeniably beautiful about the way you both adapted — together.

But that also meant that, often, you would be separated by time zones. Like now. You’re at home, getting ready for work after dropping off your baby girl at school, while he’s on the other side of the world, in Singapore.

Seven hours apart.

Seven hours that sometimes felt like an abyss, but which you had learned to bridge with quick messages and untimely calls.

As you fixed your hair and chose your outfit, something in the silence made you pause. Facing the mirror, still just in your lingerie, you looked at yourself and thought: why not?

A picture. Something simple, just to remind him of what’s waiting for him when he gets back.

The click was quick, and soon the image was on your phone screen. But before sending it, you paused. You thought about how he always worried about security issues, regulations, privacy. He’d probably complain, as he always did when something seemed out of his control — though there was always a hint of amusement in his complaints.

Toto loved new technologies, especially when they involved big investments and promising startups. But when it came to using them in everyday life? Well, that wasn’t exactly his strong suit. And with that in mind, you almost gave up.

Almost.

But deep down, you knew the reason. It was the longing, simple and inevitable.

So suddenly, you decided: the worst that could happen was him complaining — and complaining, in his case, always came with a smile at the corner of his lips.

With a quick tap, the photo was sent.

You threw your phone in your bag and got back to getting ready. The morning flew by in the blink of an eye, full of commitments that kept your mind off it. When you finally had a moment to check your phone, all you found were a few quick messages about the trivialities of that pre-qualifying Friday.

Okay, you thought. Maybe he was too busy to reply or send an audio. It wasn’t unusual.

The day went on. When you got home, you picked up your little one from school and spent the evening between homework and a simple meal, while she chattered happily about her day. The daily routine with your daughter was a balm, something that grounded you, even in the busiest of weeks. But as the night went on, Toto’s lack of response began to weigh on you.

When she finally fell asleep, you checked your phone again.

Still nothing.

Just brief, trivial messages.

That’s when an uncomfortable feeling settled in. I’m screwed.

Because Toto, in silence, was always more dangerous. When he didn’t say anything, it was worse than any sermon. He was the kind who, with a single look or the subtle arch of an eyebrow, made it clear where the problem lay.

You took a hot shower, letting the water wash away the weight of the day. With the bedroom lights dimmed softly, you grabbed a book to read, trying to calm your mind before bed. The quiet of the house was almost comforting, and soon fatigue began to win. You settled under the covers, and slowly sleep enveloped you.

Until the sudden sound of the phone ringing woke you.

When the screen came into focus, you saw him — Toto, his face slightly shadowed by the soft light of the hotel room. He looked tired, but there was something in his eyes, something warm and constant that always made you feel closer to him, even with the miles that separated you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, absorbing each other’s presence. His image filled your screen, and seeing him, even after so many weeks, made your chest tighten with the familiar longing that had followed you since he left.

His hair was slightly tousled after a long day, but his eyes — those intense and deep eyes — were fixed on you.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Hi, schatz,” he replied, the endearment slipping out with affection in his voice. “Sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier. The day was... complicated.”

You chuckled lightly, already familiar with the craziness of race weekends. “I figured. Qualifying’s coming up, right? How are things going over there?”

He sighed, his eyes tired but lightly shining. “Everything’s under control, I think. But I miss home, miss you two.”

The warmth in your chest only grew with his words. “Don’t worry about the little one. She’s doing great. Today she drew something and said it was for you. Of course, I could barely tell what it was, but it was adorable.”

He laughed softly, with that tenderness you’d always loved. “And you said you’d keep it for me, right?”

“Of course, it’s already on the fridge, along with her other artistic scribbles,” you replied with a smile.

Toto’s eyes lingered on you through the screen, and then, almost casually, his voice dropped lower, softer. “That photo you sent me earlier…”

Your heart raced, the tension between you shifting, growing sharper, though his tone remained calm, teasing what you both knew was coming. “Oh?” you tried to play it off, but you already felt the change in the air.

He smiled faintly, that smile that made your whole body react. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he murmured, his eyes darkening slightly as they stayed fixed on yours. “The way… you looked in that photo, it felt like you were teasing me.”

You bit your lip, still trying to keep it light, but your body was already responding to his voice, to the way he looked at you. “Teasing? Me?”

He leaned closer to the camera, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you forget how to breathe for a second. His voice came out low, wrapped in a lazy devotion, but full of need. “Schatz... the way that lingerie hugged you... and that look of yours... It was like you were calling me, asking me to touch you.”

“And if I was?” you teased, barely recognizing your own voice, low and dragged by the desire already pulsing through every part of you.

He let out a low laugh, almost hoarse, and the sound reverberated through you, causing an instant shiver. “Ah, you know how that drives me crazy,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, the mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You knew exactly what that would do to me. I spent the whole day thinking about you, about how that looked on your skin...” He paused, biting his lip lightly before continuing, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “That was for me, wasn’t it?”

Your body was already warm under his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to break through, but you couldn’t hide it completely. “And if it was?” you responded, your voice coming out lower than expected, your eyes challenging his.

He watched you with palpable hunger, his smile growing slowly, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “If it was…” he began, but let the sentence hang, leaving you craving more. “You know what I’d do, don’t you? If I were there right now... I’d have taken everything off you, slowly, feeling every bit. Because I want you to feel everything... like I would.”

Your body reacted immediately, the heat growing almost unbearable. Your fingers slowly climbed up to your neck, touching the skin, and a shiver ran through your body like an electric current.

He smiled, satisfied. “Ah, schatz... keep going. Touch your neck for me, slowly... like I would.”

You obeyed without thinking, your fingers sliding over the warm skin, each movement intensifying the desire already consuming you. Your heart raced, and you could almost feel his hands, as if he were there, guiding you.

“That's it... slowly,” he said, his voice hoarse, full of contained pleasure. “Now down... very slowly. Touch your chest...”

You did as he asked, your fingers brushing the sensitive skin until they reached your chest, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. The sensation was almost as if he were there, present. He saw the effect he had on you, and it only made him smile more.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice in a low, satisfied tone, but still he kept control. “Now... lower. Very... slowly.”

The temperature in your body rose, the desire burning inside. Your fingers moved down, caressing the skin until they finally reached the most sensitive spot. You let out a soft moan, and your eyes closed for a second, losing yourself in the sensation.

“Don’t close your eyes, schatz,” he commanded, his voice firm, but wrapped in dangerous tenderness. “I want you to look at me... I need to see every second of this.”

Your body trembled as you opened your eyes, the two of you connecting through the screen, and the desire between you only grew. The tension was palpable, each second prolonging the sweet agony. “Now... one finger. Very slowly.”

You did as he asked, your fingers gently brushing over your slit, and your whole body responded, a deeper moan escaping your lips. He watched closely, his eyes gleaming, but still maintaining control.

“That’s it... slowly,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper, but filled with a force that pulled you deeper into the desire. “You know how I would do it, don’t you? I’d touch you like this... slowly... until you couldn’t take it anymore.”

You felt your body vibrate, your heart racing, your nerves on edge. “Toto… please…” you moaned, unable to hold back anymore.

His smile widened, predatory, but with a sweetness that made everything even more torturous. “Ah, schatz, you know I love it when you beg.” He paused, his eyes fixed on yours, and you could almost feel his tongue sliding over the words. “But not yet. I want you like this... a little longer.”

Pleasure mixed with frustration, and you felt like your body was about to explode, but he controlled every inch of your desire.

“Two fingers now,” he ordered, his voice low, filled with authority, but still sweet. “Slowly.”

You followed, your fingers moving gently, but the growing pleasure was almost unbearable. He kept you on the edge, always there, but never letting you reach where you wanted.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his tone teasing. “I know you want more... but I also know you love it when I leave you like this. Trapped in this desire.” He smiled, full of power. “Now... stop.”

Shock ran through your body, and you trembled, the frustration and desire mixing in an almost painful way. “Toto... no...” you tried to protest, but your voice failed.

He chuckled softly, that low laugh that made your skin tingle. “I said stop,” he repeated, his tone firm, but with a softness that was almost cruel. “You’re going to wait for me... you’re not going to touch yourself. You’ll stay like this... thinking of me. And I know you’ll obey, because you have this thing for me, don’t you?”

Your body still trembled, your breathing erratic, but all you could do was nod, desperate. He smiled, satisfied, with that quiet confidence that kept you hooked on him.

“Goodnight, schatz,” he said, his voice low, but firm, with that smile that made your heart race. “I love you.” And then, he turned off the screen, leaving you alone, still on the edge, the desire burning with no relief in sight.

You let the phone fall beside you on the bed.

Turning your face into the pillow, you hit the bed with your fist, frustrated, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, remembering exactly who you were dealing with.

Damn, fuck.

Now there was no doubt. You were completely screwed.

Inspired by: I was listening to Hold The Line by Toto (😌) on loop and thought: Why not?

[zaineviu]

❛𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦, 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦, 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦❜ - L.F (SKZ)

Synopsis. It's funny how a cup of coffee turns into cupid.

pairings. felix x reader.

content. sfw!, fem!reader, reader is a little clumsy, felix is too cute.

wc. 1,229

a/n. Very soft for our soft hearts.

You didn't think you were involved in a problem.

Not today.

No tomorrow.

No today in the morning.

You were always involved in some problem, whether at work, at home, with your friends, family, even in everyday places like a coffee shop.

The hazel eyes of the man who looked at you as if you owed him something made you feel uncomfortable and pressured to act on something that was really your fault.

You didn't know how to fix the situation you found yourself in due to your involuntary carelessness of dropping your coffee so close to him that the poor man, to prevent it from falling to the floor, got in the way, burning one of his hands with the boiling coffee.

But once again, you really didn’t think you were in any trouble.

But you were kind, too kind for the taste of your loved ones, so you didn’t hesitate to offer him help right away.

Although technically it was your fault.

Bad way to want to help.

“Oh! I’m sorry, damn, things like this always happen to me. I’m so sorry!”

You approached without asking permission, taking a large portion of the nearby napkin holder to dry the man's hand, who only looked at you expectantly.

Making a fool of yourself only took you three seconds before the boy let out a laugh so loud that you shuddered because of how noisy it was.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” he confessed, taking your hand with his other hand to stop your movements.

“No, it’s not okay, did you get burned?” you asked quickly, looking at him with moist eyes without being able to avoid it, you didn’t expect your morning to move forward in this humiliating way.

You had decided to leave your house early to go get a coffee before leaving for work, since your boss had practically threatened you with overtime the day before, this being your excuse to squeeze coffee all day.

You didn't think you would bump into this man who just smiled at you while holding your hand, you couldn't notice how cute he was..

Too many freckles.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Don’t worry, it’s just coffee.”

You couldn't accept it, that thing was hot.

You couldn't even take a sip because it was so hot.

"Could you please have my number if any burns arise? I can cover any injuries with my insurance," you pleaded once again, not letting go despite the mocking look.

Felix let out a soft laugh, that kind of laugh that seemed to fill the air with warmth, as if the coffee incident had no importance at all. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating a little?” he asked in a serene voice, tilting his head slightly to look at you better. His eyes, dark and bright, reflected a hint of fun while his lips still held a smile.

It looked like a sun if you looked at it from afar.

“I’m not,” you insisted, without being intimidated by the charm that this stranger who smiled at you gave off, as if that was the only thing he knew how to do. “If I let you go like this and you end up with a red hand like a tomato, I won’t forgive myself.” You crossed your arms in an attempt to show firmness, although your heart, racing for no apparent reason, did you no favour.

It was a strange way of hiding your nervousness.

Would it seem ridiculous to confess that you were already in love?

Probably yes.

Felix looked at you for one more second, he seemed to evaluate your stubbornness, before letting out a sigh. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I give up,” he said with that carefree smile, taking his phone out of his pocket. “If that makes you calm, give me your number. But I promise that if my hand explodes in flames, I will write to you first.”

You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, surprised by how lightly he said it. “You shouldn’t joke about that,” you replied as he held his phone out to you. The device felt warm in your hand, and the screen reflected your nervous face more than you were willing to admit.

You wrote your number carefully, trying not to make mistakes, although the pressure of his curious eyes on you did not make it easier. When you returned his phone, you couldn’t help the little smile that escaped your lips. “If I write to you, it’s just to make sure your hand is okay,” you said, trying to hide how silly you felt.

It didn’t seem serious, his hand was red but he didn’t think there was anything further, otherwise he would be crying.

Felix put his cell phone in his pocket with a quick gesture, looking sideways at his hand as if he were examining it again. “Well, it seems that I’m whole... for now,” he commented, stretching his fingers as if he wanted to convince you that everything was fine.

The silence that followed was comfortable, surprisingly pleasant after the chaos of the last minutes. It was he who broke it, leaning a little towards you. “By the way, I’m Felix,” he said suddenly, his voice soft and genuine. “I think we’ve already skipped the formalities between so much flying coffee.”

“It’s true,” you replied, suddenly feeling aware of how ridiculous everything had been. “I’m Y/N.”

Felix approached with a smile that seemed to illuminate everything around him. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Even if it was with a cup of coffee like cupid.” His joke made you laugh, a more genuine laugh than you had released in weeks.

Add yourself with a touch of confidence. “Next time I’ll invite... and I’ll try not to spill anything.”

Felix raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Next time? Are you already planning another meeting? Well, I guess you should be more careful if I see you again, or I'll end up with a ruined shirt this time."

“It wasn’t on purpose!” You exclaimed, frowning still worried about the previous event, but Felix only laughed louder.

"I know, I know," he finally said, with a gentle gesture that made you blush softly. "Though, to be honest, it wasn't that bad. Thanks to this disaster, I met someone interesting."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but you manage to hide it with a smile.

You looked over your shoulder at the wall clock, mentally cursing the time.

Your boss was going to kill you if you didn’t arrive in twenty minutes.

“I should go, my boss will get very angry with me if I don’t arrive on time, and I already have many delays behind me,” you blurted out, as if only at that moment you remembered the reality.

You ignored the fact that you didn’t have your cup of coffee in your hand.

You’d have to come back later for a new one.

Felix looked at you with a funny expression, as if he was amused by your urgency. “I don’t want to be the cause of your dismissal, so run before it’s too late,” he joked, but his eyes were still fixed on yours.

They were too beautiful to ignore.

“See you, Y/N,” he said with a farewell gesture that, for some reason, you felt would not be the last.

You nodded quickly, trying to recompose your posture.

“See you later, Felix.”

He gave you one last look, as warm as his whole being, and began to move away slowly just like you.

Without wasting any more time, you turned around and began to walk hastily towards the exit, feeling your heartbeat even stronger than they should be.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

Even though you didn't have coffee, you got something more unexpected: a conversation, a smile... and a name that, unintentionally, was already starting to repeat itself in your mind.

Felix.

[mikkomacko]

Does anything ever happen to reader while Nico is away on a job?

In hindsight, it should’ve been something you and Timo accounted for. But it had never bothered you before unless the weather got really cold and even then it was something you could live with.

After Philly, the injury to your wrist had kind of faded to the background. What was more important was the stitching and scaring on your thigh, making sure it stayed dry and bandaged. Your wrist just healed in its own, with a brief conversation over the phone with Fleury to tell him it felt fine.

And it did, so you never thought anything of it.

Until one late morning at training with Timo, you were sparring him in the boxing ring, large pink gloves strapped to your hands. Timo was throwing the pads at you, meticulously following the combo pattern you’d gone over a million times. For some reason that day though, you threw your left fist into the pad, meeting the resistance of Timo’s stance and a needle of pain shot up your wrist. Burning in the little knobby bone on the inside, stinging all the way up your forearm and to your elbow.

Wincing, you immediately curled your arm into your chest, trying to shield the throbbing pain but you couldn’t get to it with the stupid gloves on your hands.

“Ow Timo, wait.” You stop, and he freezes, shaking off the pads and immediately reaching for you. Instinctively, you step away from him, still hiding your injured wrist from him. Instead you shove your good hand towards him.

“Off please.” You whimper, and he unstraps the glove without hesitation. With your hand now free you gently grab the band of the other glove, careful as you unstrap it and ease it off.

The pressure of the band throbs as it releases from your wrist, and you suck in a sharp breath, biting at your lip. Timo steps closer, fingers cautiously reaching for your wrist.

“It’s ok, just let me see.” He assures, and you sniffle, let him take your hand with a feather light touch and examine your wrist. It’s already swollen, red and angry but when he instructs you to wiggle your fingers, you’re still able to. Even if it brings tears to the corners of your eyes.

“We’ll get Marino to look at it,” Timo explains, speaking as if he were soothing a spooked horse. In your defense, the only person who ever touched these injuries were Fleury and Nico, both of whom knew to be extra careful with the reminders of that night in Philly.

It feels…raw and sensitive letting Timo touch such a fragile part of you, one that you had been pushing back for so long. Maybe it has hurt all this time and you just didn’t let yourself feel it.

You remember Nico, months ago when he was training you, always being easy on that hand. He never restrained it too tightly, never gave you boxing combos or self defense tactics that favored that hand.

“What if he can’t fix it?” You ask sadly, and Timo pouts in sympathy.

“He can. And if he can’t, Nico’s got the best hospital in the city on payroll, ok? You’ll be fine.”

Your stomach drops, anxiety gnawing at it uncomfortably. “We’ll have to tell Nico,” you sigh, already thinking about how that conversation would go.

He’s out of town for the next three days, handling something in DC with Jesper and Jack. He said it was nothing worrisome, just working out the details of the alliance with Ovi and the Caps that the devs have had for years. Casual and quick business. No big deal.

It will be a big deal if he gets a call that you’re hurt and he’s there for the next few days though.

Timo, bless his heart, sounds calm and certain when he coos, “he’ll be fine, it’s nothing big.” His eyes though, swim with worry. More than they did when he first saw your wrist. It’s probably a good thing that the worry isn’t aimed at your injury though. Like maybe it’s not actually that bad.

What’s worse is telling Nico.

~~~~

Two hours later, with a brace tightly wrapped around your wrist and an ice pack over it, you answers Nico’s FaceTime call.

He’s in a hotel room, the white bedding and pillows messy behind him, but all you can focus on is his freshly shaved face and dimpled cheeks.

“Hi baby,” he greets, adjusting the backwards hat on his head. You can’t help but smile, the sound of his voice already easing the heavy feeling you’ve had all day.

This is Nico. Even if he’s worried, this isn’t something you can’t tell him. There’s nothing you can’t tell him.

“Hi,” you say, smile lazy and tired. You push yourself up from where you had sunk into the couch cushions, carefully adjusting your numb arm.

“You ok?” Nico asks, eyebrows pinching together in worry. “You sound sad.”

“I’m ok,” you promise, “just didn’t have a very good training day.”

Behind you, somewhere in the kitchen you can faintly hear Timo talking to who you assume is Moose by the resounding bark that follows.

“No?” Nico pouts, those brown eyes of his shining with sympathy. “What happened?”

“Timo and I were sparring,” you explain through a dejected sigh, “and I re-sprained my wrist.”

“The one from-“

“Yeah,” you pout, lifting your arm to show him the wrap Marino had fixed you with. “Johnny said it’ll be fine in a couple days but from now on Timo has to help me build it up so that it doesn’t happen again.”

Nico huffs, dejected and annoyed sounding but you can tell by the look on his face it’s more out of guilt than anything else. Guilt for Philly, for the original injury, for not pushing you to address the fact that it was still fragile, for being gone now.

“I told T to watch it,” Nico says, shaking his head. “He should’ve known to not push you too hard on that one.”

“It’s been months,” you defend, “it didn’t hurt before. He probably just thought it was fine. I thought it was fine.”

“I know you thought that,” he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Which is why I told Timo and not you to watch it.”

You jut out your bottom lip. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you, just not with your own injuries.” He laughs softly. “The same as you say to me.”

Your lips curl up in amusement. “Good thing we have each other then.”

“Except I’m not there this weekend,” Nico sighs, reaching up to remove his hat. He runs his hand through it, scratching at the tick of his jaw. “No more training until I get back and look at it. And Timo is with you 24/7, I mean it. I don’t want you so much as lifting a bottle of water with that hand, ok?”

He’s being a bit dramatic you think, but it’s sweet so you just smile and nod. Timo was already staying with you while Nico was gone and you weren’t planning on training anymore until you feel better so it’s no harm anyway.

“Yes boss.”

Nico huffs a laugh, going silent for a moment. He just looks at you through the phone, grainy but still beautiful. “You gonna be ok without me?”

“No,” you sigh wistfully, “but I’ll simply endure until my teddy bear of a boyfriend returns to snuggle me.”

You two share tiny giggles, Nico’s cheeks tinging pink at your sweet words. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs proudly and butterflies swarm your chest. “Call me if you need anything at all ok? Even if you don’t need anything. And make sure you’re resting.”

You nod along to his instructions, failing to hide the way his protectiveness has your cheeks warming and smile growing so wide it hurts. Nico tilts his head.

“What?” He asks, his own smile widening.

“Nothing,” you shrug. “I just love you.”

“I love you too baby.”

[amberlynnmurdock]

Aim For My Heart (Part 1)

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Summary: One random morning, she buys him a coffee when the barista gets his order wrong–and ever since, Dex has been entranced.

Genres: light angst in the beginning, fluff, making out

A/N: This first part is all fluff! So I hope you guys like it! This is my first time writing Dex so I hope I got his character right :)

TAGS: @danzer8705 @pcrushinnerd (let me know if you want to be tagged or if I missed you)

credit to the owner of this gif!!!

Drip drip. 

Benjamin Poindexter’s brown eyes shoot open at the annoying sound of his sink’s leaky faucet. 

Drip drip.

He attempts to ignore the sound. He shuts his eyes and readjusts himself in bed. He takes a deep breath. 

Drip drip. 

He’s had enough. He can’t stand it. 

Kicking the sheets off himself, Dex huffs out of bed and stomps to the kitchen to fix the faucet. He rips a paper towel off a roll seamlessly and wipes the nozzle. He waits a moment to see if it works. Hand on his waist, he stares at the nozzle of the faucet, almost daring it to drip again. After 45 seconds, he decides it worked. 

He goes back into his room and crawls into bed. In an instant, he falls back asleep.

***

Another dreadful day. 

He can’t remember when his days started to feel like chores he had to get done. Was it when he was put in an orphanage? Was it when his dreams of becoming a professional pitcher were taken away? Was it when his therapist, Dr. Mercer, the only person who ever understood him, passed away? 

When was it? 

It seemed he was accurate with everything else in his life except when it came to pinpointing an exact moment when it started to fall apart. And it’s been falling apart slowly every day. 

Still—he needs to have coffee to somewhat function. He throws the empty coffee bag out in the trash and turns his hands into fists as he rests them on his clean marble countertop. Why do things like this get under his skin? Something as simple as running out of ground coffee? He looks up and is met with his reflection in the microwave. Sometimes, he can barely recognize himself. 

After a few moments, he decides he’ll have to stop at the corner coffee shop, which he hates to do. He hates being around people. He hates pretending to be normal. He hates that he has to put on an act. He hates the fake smile he gives when he orders his coffee; he hates waiting in line. The anticipation of waiting kills him inside. He hates seeing the barista accidentally spill a little of his coffee on the counter. It takes everything in him to not throw the cup away out of spite. It takes everything in him to not react violently over something so small. 

“You will build your life on pillars of order,” Dr. Mercer had once told him. Pillars of order. Pillars of order. Pillars of order.

He’s trying to be better every day. He tries to follow his code, but it’s so hard without someone to guide him, like a North Star. Even though he doesn’t have that anymore, he still tries to be better. He still tries to act normal. Often though, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to live his life on his own without a guiding light. 

No, he thinks to himself. Because people get hurt. Every time. Including him. Most of all, including him. 

As he takes a sip of his hazelnut coffee, he immediately frowns at the taste. It’s not hazelnut at all—it’s mocha. He hates mocha. And he hates the fact even more that he has to go back inside that dreadful place and order a new coffee—one they will probably charge him again for. 

And of course, the line of people. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. Was it the people he didn’t like, or the thought of interacting with them? 

After five whole minutes of waiting in line—Nadeem would be on his ass for being late—Dex finally approaches the same barista at the counter who took his order before. As calmly as he can, he forces a smile.

“Hi. I ordered a hazelnut coffee, but I got a mocha instead. Could I please get a new cup?” Dex asks as he tries to ask the question like he hasn’t rehearsed it in his head a thousand times. He slides the cup across the counter. 

The barista, a young man with red hair and freckles, nods and looks at the screen in front of him. He frowns. Dex’s heart plummets in his stomach. 

“I’m so sorry. We just sold our last hazelnut of the day. We can do—“

“He can have mine,” a third voice interjects. The person it comes from is feminine—light, and friendly. Qualities Dex isn’t used to being around. Qualities Dex pretends to have. When he follows the sound of the voice, he meets a young woman standing a few feet beside him. 

She's younger than him, but not by much. She has the most beautiful smile and kindest eyes he’s ever seen. The smoothest, most perfect face. Yes, she’s perfect, he thinks. Perfect to him. He’s speechless as she holds out her cup of hazelnut coffee for him to take. 

“I didn’t drink from it yet if that makes you feel better,” she said sheepishly as she caught him staring at her. 

“Then what will you have?” Dex asks her. 

“I told myself I’d do one kind act today and not expect anything in return. I’m okay. You can have my coffee,” she smiles again, and Dex’s chest feels as warm as the cup in his hand as she hands it to him. Their fingers brush for the smallest of seconds and it’s entrancing to Dex. He smiles at her—not forced at all. She’s already on her way out as she wishes him a good day. He watches as her shrinking figure exits the coffee shop. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he ever sees her. She's the first person to show him an ounce of kindness in a long time. Her hair swayed back and forth as she walked out the door and it flew behind her as the wind came in. She's the most beautiful person he’s seen in a long time. 

And she was so nice to him. That feeling was addictive. 

“Sir?” The young barista called. “I need to take the next guest’s order.”

Dex ignores him, ignores all the people in the coffee shop he pushes past. His gaze is stuck on her path. He follows where she left, her coffee in his hand. He exits the coffee shop. How could she already be gone from his reach?

  He sees her down the block as she makes a right turn. 

Dex isn’t far behind. 

***

The next time he sees her, he owes her a coffee. 

He made sure to get to the coffee shop earlier than normal the next day. He ordered two medium hazelnut coffees from the same barista who had taken his order the previous day. Dex feels lighter in his step—a rare surge of confidence in his entire body. He even decided to wear his FBI bomber jacket. He normally liked to hide what his profession was but thought that maybe it would impress her… and hopefully not scare her. He brushed his dirty blonde hair neatly and even sprayed on cologne. 

He waited at a table near the front and kept an eye on the clock. He had enough time to bring her coffee and make it to work before nine. He watched the door like a hawk, watching carefully as each person entered the shop.

And then finally, she came in. 

She wore a long trench coat and tall boots. Her hair was freshly windblown and she looked slightly flustered, like she was in a rush. Good thing she wouldn’t have to wait in the already growing line to order coffee. 

Dex sees as she audibly sighs at the sight of the line. 

“I owe you a coffee,” Dex calls out confidently as he rises from his seat. She looks over at him, frazzled at first, until recognition settles in her features and she seems to—dare he think—calm down. He’s made her calm down. 

“You don’t,” she says carefully, eyes glancing at the FBI logo on his jacket, “but something tells me if I don’t accept this coffee, you’ll put me on the Most Wanted list.”

Dex laughs—a real laugh—and hands her the cup of coffee. Their fingers brush again. He’s entranced by her touch, again. 

“I could never,” Dex says. “I didn’t get to say thank you for yesterday. So thank you. You have no idea how messed up my day could’ve been without my morning cup.”

“Trust me, I do,” she smiled. “And you’re welcome. And thank you—for my cup today,” she blushed as she fumbled over her words. Dex felt that familiar warm feeling spread through his chest the longer he looked at her. 

“I’m Ben Poindexter… or Dex,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand. She accepts it with ease and shakes his hand. She introduces herself and smiles. Dex repeats her name in his mind to memorization. 

“On your way to work?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” she answers, “late, honestly. But now that I got my coffee early, I can spare a few minutes. Where’s the uh—FBI office?”

“Just a few blocks down. Mind if I walk with you?”

“Not at all,” she smiles. 

Dex holds the door for her and lets her walk out first. He scans the area outside—normally he doesn’t check for threats (like he should) but now he has a reason to make sure the surrounding area is safe. 

They both begin to walk down the block. He matches her steps. 

“What do you do?” Dex asks. 

“I work at a therapist’s office. Client relations—not as daunting as being an FBI agent—is that what you are?”

“Special Agent,” Dex gently corrects. Dex perks when she mentions she works at a therapist’s office. “It’s not as fancy as it sounds, though.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen some shit,” she replies, shivering a little.“I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah, it can get tough,” he sighs, “but you get used to it after a while. Do you like working at the therapist’s office ?”

“I do. You learn a lot about people. I’m not a doctor, but I help where I can.”

“You must have a lot of patience,” Dex muses. He enjoys the cool breeze hitting his face. She looks like she's fighting against it. If the cold weather were a physical being, he’d choke the living life out of it for making her uncomfortable.

“I try to,” she smiles again, crossing her arms across her chest to keep warm. Dex feels a strong urge to wrap his arm around her, but he doesn’t. 

Dex already knows where her work building is—he followed her yesterday up until a certain point. He’s passed his office already. He doesn’t care. As long as he knows she makes it to work safely—he doesn’t care. 

The rest of the walk, they make small talk. Dex doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, the entire time walking, he’s thinking of ways to ask her out on a date. Do I run into her at the coffee shop again? Do I ask her right now? 

Finally, she stops in front of her building. She takes a sip of her hazelnut coffee that Dex bought for her and smiles at him. Dex catches her smile and looks away, almost shy.

“Thank you again for returning the favor, even though you didn’t have to,” she held up her cup in a cheersed way. Dex shrugs, and shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly. “Was it a good cup?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Hit the spot.”

If it wasn’t good, Dex thinks he might’ve taken it out of her hands and thrown it against the building. Nothing should ever disappoint her, or not live up to her standards. He’s relieved she enjoyed it. 

“Could I—ask you out for dinner, sometime?” Dex stutters slightly, as he feels his heart pound against his chest. From the way she smiles at his question, it puts him at ease. 

“You could… but are you going to?” She teases, squinting her eyes a little at the handsome blonde FBI agent before her. Dex laughs and looks down sheepishly, before meeting her eyes again. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me this Friday night?” Dex officially asks her, smoothing any nervousness in his voice. Confidence.  

“Yes,” she nods. “I would love to.” Dex can’t help the blush that creeps on his cheeks. She’s holding her coffee as she searches through her bag for her phone. She almost drops the cup before Dex—with lightning reflexes—catches it before gravity can win. 

“Oh my goodness,” she gasps. “I would’ve been so sad if I dropped it! Thank you—again," she breathes. Dex smiles and holds the cup for her as she looks for her phone. 

“It’s no problem,” he says. 

She asks for his phone number and sends him a text so he’ll have her number saved. Dex is impressed by the way she takes the initiative to his contact information. She must really be interested—though definitely not as interested as he is. He feels his phone buzz in his jacket, confirming he received her text. 

“Well, have a good day, Dex,” she says in a sing-song way, a way Dex will never forget. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

***

She wasn’t one to go to someone’s house after a first date, but Dex might be testing that theory for her. 

She’s watching him carefully over the leather-bound menu. Stealing glances and looks every so often as she pretends to look over the list of red wines. Squinting her eyes, studying his face. He’s completely focused on the menu—he almost looks confused as he reads it. It’s a confusing menu because the place Dex chose has four Michelin Stars. She doesn’t mind though. It buys her time to keep looking at him. 

His skin looks soft…but it’s the way his jaw cuts that brings a sort of harshness to his look. No less handsome, however. She’s not sure if it’s because she knows he’s an FBI agent, but his presence is commanding, whether he realizes it or not. Commanding and sweet at the same time. Even the way his hands look strong and have surely held a gun against someone (because isn’t that what FBI agents do?) are now holding the menu so softly… it’s mesmerizing to see such hands that are capable of doing rugged things hold a leather-bound menu so gently. It only makes her wonder what else he could handle with gentleness—or roughness. Whatever she wants. 

“What are you thinking of getting?” Dex asks her, his silky voice bringing her out of her train of thought. She inhales sharply and quickly scans the menu again. 

“I think a glass of cabernet,” she replies, “and the burrata to start?”

“I was thinking the same,” he grins, warm brown eyes looking into hers. She glances away quickly—the way she feels when he looks at her is unsettling by how much she likes it. “You look really beautiful, by the way.”

And of course… he had to make it worse. There was no use in fighting the blush on her cheeks. She smiled. 

“Thank you.”

The waiter took their orders, and Dex watched her carefully as she spoke. She was pleasant. She smiles at the waiter—but not the same kind of smile she gives to him. Dex leans back in the velvet chair and sighs in content. He never thought he would get this far with her. 

When it was finally the two of them, Dex cleared his throat. 

“So, you do client relations at a therapist’s office? What does that exactly mean?”

“I greet them, I bring them into the room before the doctor gets there. I ask them questions and fill out their intake form. I’m basically a glorified receptionist except sometimes I get to ‘play’ therapist,” she explains rather sheepishly. Dex thinks anyone would be lucky enough to be greeted by her. If he were a patient, he’d ask to never see the doctor. 

“Do you want to become one?” He asks with curiosity. 

“I think one day,” she answers. “I like talking to people. Never mind doing it to help—sometimes just a person to talk to is all someone needs.”

Ain’t that the truth, Dex thinks to himself. “I agree. I used to see a therapist myself.”

“Really? There’s no shame in it at all.”

“I know… well. We’ll save that conversation for another time.”

“Have you always been in the FBI? I’m not even sure I know what the requirements or credentials are,” she asks. 

Dex laughs, “It’s a lot of background checks and training before you start. And no, I haven’t always been in the FBI. I was in the army before.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, wow. Thank you for your service. Now I definitely think you’ve seen some shit. And I can see why you’d go to therapy. Why did you stop? You said you used to see one.”

Dex sighs uncomfortably. She picks up on it immediately. 

“Never mind. You said another time. Have you always wanted to be in the FBI?”

Dex smiles a little, appreciative of the way she stopped the conversation about his therapist. 

“I used to want to be a professional baseball pitcher,” he admits. 

“I love that. Do you still play?” 

“Not really,” he says softly. “Other interests came to mind. Life.”

“I know what you mean. Life.”

A comfortable silence falls between them—they catch each other gazing into the other’s eyes and laughing at the same time. Dex can’t remember the last time he felt so enamored with someone, so comfortable and so attracted. He’s grateful for running out of coffee that morning. He’s grateful the barista got his order wrong. Most of all, he’s grateful for the young woman who sits across from him at this restaurant. And he’s grateful for the way she’s smiling at him. 

***

It didn’t take much convincing for her to agree to go to his place after dinner. While she promised herself she wouldn’t let it get too far, she was curious to see where the night would go. Dex held her hand the entire walk back to his apartment. She cuddled against his arm, an attempt to feel more warm. Dex pulled her in closer. 

He lived in a humble building just outside of Hell’s Kitchen. His apartment was even more humble: small, but very nice. White walls. White marble countertop without a spec on it. Everything was in its place from the spices to the napkins. Everything was labeled. His couch was placed perfectly in the middle of the room. Picture frames were all aligned on the walls. He dimmed the lights a little. 

From where she stood, she could see his bedroom door slightly ajar. She caught a glimpse of his bed with white sheets—his bed was perfectly made. From how organized and clean he seemed to be, she thought he would freak out to see her mismatched decorations and colorful bedsheets. 

“This is such a nice place,” she said aloud.

“Thank you. I don’t ever have guests, so I’m sorry if it’s a little boring.”

“Not at all,” she moved to sit in the corner of his gray couch. She placed her bag on the floor, and Dex picked it up to move on the coffee table. 

“It’s better to keep it clean off the floor,” Dex murmured as he sat down next to her with two glasses of red wine. He gave her a soft smile as he handed her a glass, which she gladly accepted. They clinked glasses and took a sip, all while holding each other’s gaze. 

“Can I tell you something?” Dex asks suddenly. 

“Of course.”

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Dex gestures to the two of them. “It takes a lot in me to do this. I—I really wanted to ask you out. And I’m happy you’re here. I just—“ he feels himself breathing fast. It’s an awful habit he has, getting overwhelmed by every little thought in his head. Bring a beautiful girl into the mix—it was a terrible concoction for his mind to handle. His mind won’t allow him to enjoy this pleasure because it’s already thinking of ways it could go wrong. Like she’ll never want to see him again.

“Hey,” she whispered, placing a hand on his knee to calm him down. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out in embarrassment, covering half his face with his hand. 

“Don’t need to be sorry,” she said softly. 

“I just don’t want this to be the last I see of you,” he admits. “I had such a good time at dinner and here you are now—“

“Dex,” she began, “I had an amazing time at dinner with you. Truthfully, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to come to your place. I’m happy I’m here. If it’s all the same to you, I definitely don’t want this to be the last I see you.”

“Absolutely,” Dex agrees immediately, turning to face her more. “I’m so happy you’re here too. I’m happy you gave me your coffee that morning and it’s led to this.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

Her hand is still on his knee. Dex is reminded of it when he feels that area of his leg getting warmer from her touch. He glances down at her hand on him and memorizes the image. He doesn’t want to imagine too much, imagine her hand slowly trailing up his thigh… 

To stop his thoughts, he places his hand on top of hers and trails his fingers up the length of her arm, until he reaches her neck and brushes his fingers through her hair. He brings her closer to him, some force guiding him with confidence. Her eyes are half closed as he slowly brings her in for a kiss. A kiss. 

He first brushes his lips against hers, almost as a way to ask if this was okay—if the way he was guiding her to him was okay. She doesn’t protest. Dex kisses her softly at first, memorizing the way her lips feel on his. And then he kisses her with a newfound force. She opens her mouth for him to enter his tongue and Dex breathes her in. He places his arms around her waist and lifts her up and into his lap so she’s straddling him on his couch. She has her hands on either side of his face as she kisses him just as passionately, holding him in place. He runs his hands up and down her back, pulling and pushing her to and fro himself. 

He pulls back, breathless, and looks up at her. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, running his hands in disbelief through her hair. “Everything about you is perfect.”

She kisses him again and again. Dex’s heart is pounding like it never has in his chest, so much it hurts, so much he thinks his life depends on kissing her. After a while, he pulls back again. 

“Let me take you home,” Dex whispers in her ear. “I don’t want to get too far, and we’re treading that line.”

She can’t help but laugh, even though she agrees. “Okay. Walk me home.”

Dex holds her hand the entire walk home. When she says they’ve arrived at her apartment building, she kisses Dex one last time and makes him promise he’ll text her as soon as he gets home.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Dex smirks, enamored by the look in her eyes. 

“I do,” she argues, “I do now.” 

“Goodnight,” Dex whispers. 

He watches as she walks into her building and enters the elevator. Dex moves across the street and waits to see which apartment light turns on. When he sees one turn on, he immediately falls into a dark alley and pulls out a mini telescope. 

He found her. And he watches her. Through a small slip of her curtain. He watches as she moves around her kitchen and living room. She changes into a silk robe in her bedroom. 

He stays there for another two hours until she’s turned off the lights and headed to bed. 

“Goodnight,” Dex whispers to her from afar. 

[corazondebeskar-reads]

how to break a girl in ten easy steps - part four

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

words: 600

summary: rewind. play it back from the start.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, non-con, captivity, predator/prey, capture, non-linear storytelling, brief mentions of car accidents - no graphic description. there's nothing explicit in this chapter, but it's still fairly dark.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: please read and heed the series and chapter warnings. this is very dark. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. please read responsibly.

Step One Once you’ve selected the perfect girl, make arrangements to bring her home. Remember all the elements of a successful acquisition: stealth, strength, and speed. Follow the tips in Appendix B to avoid unwanted attention. 

He’d been looking for a girl like you. A dumb little thing who no one would miss. He had everything else he wanted — his land, his cabin, his truck, his guns. Everything his shriveled old heart could want, except a warm cunt. 

And, admittedly, he was just a little lonely. Not enough to want to be around people more. No, he made his chit-chat on monthly shopping trips.

The townsfolk liked him an awful lot. Sure, it was mostly pity, but he’d fixed enough fences and done his part at a few barn raisings. Always asked Billy at the hardware about his grandkids and tipped Sheila generously at the cafe. Kept the boys at the Sheriff’s department flush with venison and took care of any mountain lions that wandered too close to the residential areas. 

He heard them whisperin’. Poor Old Man Miller, what a sad bastard, living by himself out in the woods since the accident. 

You’d stayed at the little motel for a night, and seemed to have moved on in the morning. 

Seemed to. 

What was left of your shitty, banged-up little sedan was in his tertiary barn. Your shitty sedan, an old truck he’d been halfway through fixing up a long time ago, and the remains of another truck covered by a tarp (which, in turn, was covered by a thick layer of dust) in the back corner. 

A little graveyard of sorts.

He’d known when he saw you sippin’ coffee in the diner. Eyes darting around you, clearly put off by the dinky little country town you’d stumbled across for the night. All alone and so sweet. So fuckin’ pretty. You were perfect. 

And by the next night, you were his.

You’d been just passing through. But you’d driven through the night, and now that it was the next afternoon, you knew you had to call it soon. The only thing around was some pit stop of a town; all huddled around the off-ramp on the south side of the mountain pass. A Holiday Inn was nestled behind a gas station, and you couldn’t tell if either were really open. 

The Speedway was a success, doing yourself the favor of filling your tank tonight so you could hit the road at first light with no extra stops. The Holiday Inn, however, was way out of your budget. Luckily, on the other side of the highway was a dinky motel and a cute little diner whose neon sign was speaking all the right words—and those words were “24-hour breakfast.” 

As expected, there weren’t too many people inside. It was dubiously clean and probably was a nice place fifty years ago. Now, the Formica tabletops were cracked and stained. The bench’s vinyl cover was ripped, but you didn’t mind any. Not when you can smell eggs and pancakes already.

There was a grizzled man at the counter with a cup of black coffee. His dark eyes narrowed and followed you, sending spidery shivers down your neck. You ignored him, even though he kept looking at you while you ate. Every town had its old perverts, and so long as he didn’t try anything, you’d forget all about him by the next day.

Or, you would have. If only he hadn’t been the one to pull you from the wreck of your little Toyota after that pickup drove you off the road. 

If only. 

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 18

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of guns, shooting, mentions of shooting

Chris' POV

I ended up crashing at Nate’s place last night. After the chaos of the evening, there wasn’t a chance I was going back to my uncle’s. Nate had a guy who could handle the car, so we made a plan to have it fixed first thing in the morning. I barely slept. My head was spinning, replaying every second of what happened.

Y/n.

The way she didn’t even look at me when she got out of the car, it wasn’t just fear. It was something worse: disappointment. I couldn’t get it out of my head. As soon as I woke up, I grabbed my phone and sent her a text:

Hey. Just wanted to check on you. I know Its all so messed up, but I need to know you’re okay. Please talk to me.

I stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for those three dots that never came. I didn’t blame her, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

Nate was already up, tossing on a hoodie and grabbing his keys. “Car guy is gonna meet us at the docks. Vince wants to see us there anyway.”

“Vince?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Nate nodded. “Yeah, something about last night. Probably wants to know why there’s heat on us now.”

Great. Vince wasn’t exactly the forgiving type, but it wasn’t like we had much of a choice. 

We headed out, Nate’s beat up Honda rattling as it cruised through the early morning streets. The docks were quiet at this hour, almost peaceful, if you didn’t know the kind of business that went down there.

As we turned onto the road leading to the docks, my stomach dropped.

A car passed us going the opposite direction, creeping just slow enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

A black sedan.

“Chris-”

“I see it” I cut Nate off, keeping my voice low. “Just keep driving. Don’t even look back.”

Nate tightened his grip on the wheel, muttering a curse under his breath. “You think it’s them?”

“Who else would it be? They’re probably snooping, trying to see what we’re up to.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t stop. We’ll tell Vince. He’ll sort it out” I said, my voice steady, but inside, my mind was racing.

What the hell were they doing this early? The docks weren’t exactly prime real estate for tourists or morning joggers. Whoever they were, they had no reason to be there unless it was for us.

We reached the lot near the warehouse, pulling in next to Vince’s black SUV. Nate killed the engine, and we both sat there for a moment, neither of us saying a word.

“You think they’re watching us?” Nate asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Probably” I admitted. “But we’ll let Vince handle it. That’s what he’s here for, right?”

Nate nodded, but the unease in his eyes mirrored my own. This wasn’t just about the car anymore or even the shots fired last night. This was bigger. And now, Vince was involved.

I pulled out my phone again, checking for a reply from Y/n. Nothing. My chest tightened.

“Let’s go” I said, opening the door and stepping into the crisp morning air. The docks might’ve been quiet, but the tension was anything but.

Vince was leaning casually against his black SUV, talking to Sully. Sully, who was Danny’s right hand man.

It still made no sense to me why Vince thought I could fill Danny’s shoes. Especially when there is people like Sully still around, who had been groomed for this life since day one, practically raised on Vince’s rules. 

Vince glanced up, his eyes cold and calculating, and motioned us over with a flick of his hand.

“I heard about last night” he said, his voice low but sharp. “Shooting in Longwood. That was your car, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah” I admitted, my jaw tightening. “They got the back window. We weren’t hit, though.”

“And what kind of distraction did you have that you didn’t see it coming?” His gaze bore into me, cutting through whatever excuse I might’ve tried to muster.

“I wasn’t distracted” I said firmly. “I was doing a run. It happened when I was heading back to my car. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Vince studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And you’re sure it wasn’t you they were after?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think they thought Nate was in the car. We just saw the same sedan pulling out of here on the way in, they’re lurking, Vince. Everywhere.”

The mention of the car seemed to hit a nerve. Vince’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Sully, who gave him a slight nod, as if confirming something.

Before Vince could respond, the rumble of a tow truck cut through the silence. It pulled into the lot, heading straight for my busted car. Nate walked over to deal with the driver, giving directions to the warehouse, while I stayed behind with Vince.

“Looks like you’re making a habit of finding trouble,” Vince said, his tone lighter but still laced with an edge.

“Not by choice” I muttered, watching as the tow truck maneuvered my car out of the warehouse.

Vince stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve proven yourself to me, you know.”

I frowned, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“The other night. When we had an unknown on our turf, sniffing around. You handled it better than Danny would’ve.”

His words sank in, and I struggled to hide my disbelief. “I just did what I had to do” I said carefully.

“That’s the point” Vince replied. “You didn’t hesitate. Danny would’ve folded, made a scene. You didn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to argue, to tell him I wasn’t cut out for this, but another part of me, the part that had survived in this life so far, knew better than to argue with Vince Moretti.

Nate walked back over, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Car’s sorted” he said. “He’ll have it ready in the next day or two.”

“Good,” Vince said, nodding. Then he turned his attention back to me. “Keep your head on straight, Chris. We’ll need it.”

I swallowed hard, nodding even though my stomach was in knots. As Vince and Sully walked off, Nate gave me a look.

“What the hell did he mean by that?” Nate asked.

I didn’t answer right away, my mind still spinning. “Nothing good” I muttered finally, staring at the empty street where the black sedan had been. “Nothing good.”

As Nate and I got back into his car, the weight of everything Vince said lingered. My head was pounding from the stress, and my chest felt tight thinking about Y/n. I hadn’t heard from her still, and it was killing me.

I pulled out my phone again as Nate began to drive.

Me: Y/n, I’m so sorry for what happened. Please, just let me know if you’re okay. I don’t expect you to want to talk to me right now, but I need to know you’re safe.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Nate asked, breaking the silence.

“Of course, I’m thinking about her” I snapped. “She was in the car when it got shot at. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Nate’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I do. I’ve seen shit like this go down before. You’re not the first guy to have someone close to you caught in the crossfire. But you’ve gotta focus, Chris. Losing your head over this isn’t gonna fix anything.”

“I’m not losing my head” I muttered, though the edge in my voice betrayed me.

“What are you gonna do if she doesn’t answer?” Nate asked as he ordered his food.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice low. “I can’t just leave things like this.”

“She’ll come around” Nate said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convincing. “She just needs time.”

“Time doesn’t fix this” I muttered. “How do you fix something when you’ve dragged someone into a world they don’t belong in? And they could’ve been killed in the process. She shouldn’t have been there.”

“You tried to protect her” Nate offered. “She chose to come. That’s on her.”

“No” I said sharply. “It’s on me. I should’ve said no, Nate. I should’ve been smarter.”

He didn’t argue, which somehow made it worse.

When we got back to Nate’s place, I sat on the couch, staring at my phone, willing it to light up with her name. Every second that passed made the pit in my stomach grow deeper.

Finally, I sent another message.

Me: Y/n, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need to explain everything to you. Please. Just one chance to fix this.

I leaned back, running my hands through my hair, the guilt eating away at me. I had no idea if she’d even read my messages, let alone respond.

The silence in her almost built a rage in me, a rage I didn’t know how to contain. It wasn’t directed at her,I couldn’t blame her for shutting me out, but at Vince, at everyone in the gang, at the world, at the life I’d been roped into, at the situation that had unfolded last night.

I needed to see her, to speak to her, to hold her and know she was okay. Every minute of radio silence chipped away at my resolve, and the frustration boiling inside me threatened to spill over.

I stared at my phone, considering whether to call or just show up at her place. But I didn’t even know if she’d be home. It was nearing 11 am, and I didn’t want to make things worse by ambushing her.

“Wanna get McDonald’s breakfast?” Nate asked from the other side of the room, breaking me out of my spiral.

I looked up, narrowing my eyes at him. “Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? You’re sitting there brooding, and I’m starving.”

I let out a sharp exhale, trying to let his nonchalance cool my temper. “Fine” I muttered, standing up. “Let’s go.”

We got in Nate’s car, and he started the engine, pulling out of the driveway. The ride was quiet, the tension in the air thick as I stared out the window, my mind racing.

Y/n’s POV

The morning sunlight streamed through the cracks in my curtains, warming the room in a way that felt cruel given the cold heaviness in my chest. I woke up with my heart pounding, the events of last night replaying in my mind like a relentless reel.

The shattering glass. The gunfire. Chris yelling my name.

I sat up in bed, rubbing my hands over my face as I tried to steady my breathing. My room, my sanctuary, felt suffocating this morning. The usual comfort I found in the soft sheets and familiar walls was absent.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, but I didn’t have the energy to look at it. I knew it was probably Chris, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him, not yet. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face twisted in panic, his voice pleading to know if I was okay.

I didn’t know how to feel. Part of me was grateful we were alive, but the other part, the bigger part, was furious. Furious at him, at the situation, at myself for ever stepping into his world.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sat there for a moment, staring at the floor. My limbs felt heavy, like they were weighed down by more than just exhaustion. I stood up slowly and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to see the treehouse outside. It had always been my escape, my safe haven, but even it felt tainted now.

I needed to move, to do something to shake off this feeling. Dragging my feet into the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, a clear reminder that I’d spent most of the night crying.

After changing into some sweats, I made my way downstairs. The house was quiet, only able to hear the faint hum of the refrigerator. My parents weren’t home, thank God. I couldn’t handle their questions or concerns right now.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, but it tasted bitter, even with sugar. I left it on the counter and wandered into the living room, sitting on the couch and pulling a blanket over me. My phone buzzed again, and this time, I forced myself to look.

The tears came again, silent and unrelenting. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t. I cared about him too much. But caring about him meant being dragged into this nightmare, and I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to handle it.

I needed water. My throat was dry, my lips cracked from how much I had cried. I walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass picking up the Brita pitcher from the counter. As I poured the water, my eyes caught on a note stuck to the fridge.

"Will be out for the day. Have a delivery of fabric samples coming, make sure you answer the door. Mom x"

I stared at the note for a moment. It was strange how mundane her words felt after everything that had happened. Still, it gave me a small sense of routine, a task to do, a reason to stay put. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere today, so answering the door was no problem.

I took a sip of water, letting the coolness soothe my raw throat. My mind wandered as I leaned against the counter, the events of last night still looping endlessly in my head. I felt so detached from reality, like I was floating somewhere between anger, fear, and heartbreak.

The sound of the doorbell jolted me out of my thoughts. My gaze flicked to the clock on the oven. That must be the delivery Mom mentioned. The timing was almost eerie, as if the universe was giving me a task to force me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I set the glass down and walked to the front door, tugging at the hem of my hoodie as I approached. I pulled the door open, expecting to see a courier with a box of fabric samples in hand.

But it wasn’t a delivery man.

It was Chris.

He stood there on the porch, looking a little worse for wear, a McDonald’s bag clutched in one hand, my moms delivery held in the other. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

“Hey” he said finally, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “I.. uh, I brought breakfast.”

I stared at him, frozen in place. Part of me wanted to slam the door in his face. Another part wanted to step outside and throw myself into his arms, no matter how much I wanted to be mad at him.

“Can I come in?” he asked, shifting nervously.

I hesitated, gripping the doorframe like it might ground me. “Why are you here, Chris?” My voice came out steadier than I felt, laced with the exhaustion I couldn’t hide.

“To talk” he said, glancing down at the bag in his hand. “And to make sure you eat something. I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to cook.”

His thoughtfulness made my chest tighten, and I hated how he always seemed to know me so well. I wanted to yell at him, to demand answers, to make him understand how much pain I was in. But instead, I stepped aside and let him in.

Chris walked into the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter. He was careful, almost like he was trying not to disrupt the fragile atmosphere between us.

“You didn’t answer my messages and I-” he said softly, his back still turned to me as he pulled two McMuffins and hash browns out of the bag.

“I didn’t know what to say.” I admitted, cutting him off, standing by the doorway, my arms crossed.

He turned to face me, leaning back against the counter. “And I get that. I do. But I couldn’t just leave things like this. I needed to see you, to talk to you. And.. to make sure you’re okay.”

I scoffed, the bitterness finally bubbling to the surface. “Okay? Chris, someone shot at us. At me. How am I supposed to be okay with that?”

His expression crumpled, and he looked down at the floor, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I hate that you were there. I hate that you had to see any of that. If I could take it all back, I would. The last thing I want to do is push you away.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Well, congratulations, Chris. You succeeded. I’m not pushed away, I’m shoved. And now I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

He stepped closer, stopping when he was only a few feet away. “Y/n, please.. I know I’ve fucked up. But I need you to know that you’re the only thing keeping me sane in all of this. I don’t know how to fix this, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My emotions were tangled in a way I couldn’t unravel. Instead, I just stood there, staring at him, trying to figure out if I could trust his words, or if I was just fooling myself all over again.

Chris took a deep breath, his eyes searching mine for a sign that I’d let him continue. I stayed silent, arms crossed tightly across my chest as I leaned back against the counter. The weight of his words already felt heavy, and he hadn’t even said much yet.

“I never got to tell you this” he began, his voice low and measured, “but at Danny’s funeral.. someone tried to make a hit.”

My brows knitted together as I straightened up slightly. “What?”

“They were caught before they could do anything” he explained quickly, as if to reassure me, though his tone carried no reassurance at all. “It happened right when Nate was reading Danny’s eulogy. The guy had a gun on him, but he was spotted before anything could happen.”

I stared at him, my mind racing to connect the pieces. A hit at a funeral? While Nate was speaking?

Chris ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “And then last night, before I picked you up.. I was with Nate. I saw that car, the car, snooping around his house.”

“The black sedan?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded grimly. “Yeah. It was parked down his street, just sitting there. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but then we saw it again at a gas station later.  Im assuming same car, same guys. They must’ve been tailing us, thinking it was still Nate in the car.”

The room felt like it was spinning. Everything about last night suddenly had a sharper edge, a deeper layer of terror I hadn’t fully realized in the moment. “You’re saying.. the shooting wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for Nate?”

Chris nodded again, his jaw tightening. “I’m certain of it. They thought Nate was in the car, not you.”

The air seemed to thin as I processed his words. Anger bubbled up beneath my fear, mixing into a volatile storm. “So I was just collateral damage?”

“No!” Chris said firmly, stepping closer, his hands reaching for mine, though I didn’t uncross my arms. “You were never supposed to be involved, Y/n. I never wanted you anywhere near this. I-I don't even want Nate near it anymore, but he’s-” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “He’s in too deep. He’s too stubborn.”

“So are you” I shot back, my voice cracking with emotion.

Chris flinched, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked at me with an expression that was equal parts guilt and desperation. “I know. And I’m trying to figure out a way out. But this.. this isn’t just about me anymore, Y/n. It’s about Nate. And now it’s about you too.”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t sign up for any of it.”

“I know” he said softly, his shoulders slumping. “And I’m so sorry. For all of it. For dragging you into something you should’ve never been a part of.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of my shaky breaths. I looked at Chris, trying to decide if I could trust him to keep me safe, or if staying anywhere near him was the worst decision I could make.

“You need to fix this,” I said finally, my voice steady but cold. “You need to figure out a way to get Nate out, to get yourself out. Because I can’t live like this, Chris. I won’t.”

Chris stared at me, his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of my ultimatum crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

“And I mean it, Chris,” I said, my voice sharper now, unwavering. “You do it. Today. I’m not waiting any longer. It’s either your Allies or your Affiliates. You decide which one you want.

His head dropped, and he let out a breath, running his hands over his face. “Y/n..” he started, but I cut him off.

“No. No excuses, no ‘I’ll figure it out’ You make a choice. Right now.” My chest was heaving as I spoke, the adrenaline surging through me making my words come out faster than I could think. “Because if you can’t.. then I can’t stay, Chris. I can’t keep doing this.”

His hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped closer, his voice quieter but laced with urgency. “You think I don’t want out? You think I’m happy living like this? Every second I’m in this life, I’m looking for a way out. For Nate. For me. For you.”

“Then do it!” I snapped, the frustration bubbling over. “Stop talking about it like it’s some impossible task and just.. do it. You’re Chris. You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You can figure this out if you really want to.”

Chris stared at me, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the call. Today.”

I nodded, my arms still crossed, my heart still pounding. “Good. Because this is it, Chris. No more excuses. No more waiting. It’s either me or them.”

He didn’t respond right away, just stood there, looking at me like he was trying to memorize every detail of my face. “I’ll fix this” he said again, his tone steadier now. “For you. For us.”

I wanted to believe him. For the first time in a long time, I needed to believe him. Because if he didn’t.. I wasn’t sure I could take much more.

Chris’ POV

I held her gaze, searching for any sign that she might doubt me. She didn’t speak, but the way her eyes softened told me she wanted to believe what I’d said. “By tonight, I’ll be out of this. I promise you, Y/n.” My voice was firm, but inside, I felt like I was balancing on the edge of a knife. Making promises to her was easy, but keeping them while dealing with Vince? That was going to take everything I had.

Still, right now, none of that mattered. What mattered was her, safe, here, in front of me. I pulled her into a tight hug, never wanting to let her go. We slightly swayed side to side before pulling back from each other. 

I got you hash browns, a sausage McMuffin, and an iced latte. Thought you might need something good after the night you’ve had.”

She blinked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the exhaustion on her face. “Thanks” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, watching her closely. “Did you sleep at all?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Barely” she admitted, tucking her hair behind her ear.

I nodded, concern creeping into my chest. “You need to rest, Y/n. How about this: eat breakfast in bed, and then sleep for the rest of the day. I’ll stay with you.”

Her lips parted like she was about to protest, but then she seemed to reconsider. The guarded tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “That actually.. sounds nice” she murmured, surprising me.

“Good” I said, relief washing over me. I grabbed the bag and her drink, gesturing toward the stairs. “Come on, let’s get you settled.”

We made our way upstairs, the silence between us thick but somehow comforting. Once in her room, she climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged as I handed her the iced latte. She took a sip, her eyes momentarily lighting up with gratitude, though the tiredness still weighed heavily on her.

I sat next to her, unwrapping her food and placing it on the nightstand within reach. She ate slowly, the quiet between us filled only with the occasional rustle of the wrappers. I didn’t push her to talk, sensing she needed this, just the simplicity of being here, without questions or demands.

When she was done, she set the wrapper aside and shifted closer to me, leaning into my side. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I instinctively wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. I could feel the tension in her body begin to melt away, little by little.

After a moment, I broke the silence. “I need to send Vince a message” I said quietly.

She tensed slightly against me, her fingers stopping their absent-minded tracing on my arm. “What are you going to say?”

“I’ll tell him we need to meet later. I’ll let him know I’m done. Finished with all of it” I said, my voice steady.

She exhaled slowly, relaxing again. Her fingers resumed their soft movements against my skin. “Thank you.. for taking me seriously” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, Chris. Or the thought of you losing Nate.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, letting her warmth ground me. “You won’t lose me. I promise you that.”

She nestled closer, and I could feel her breathing start to even out. The quiet of the room was almost deafening, broken only by the faint sound of her sipping the last of her latte.

As she drifted off, I stayed still, my thoughts spinning. The weight of what I had to do pressed down on me like a vice. Tonight, I’d face Vince and make good on my promise to her. There’d be no more runs, no more deals, no more looking over my shoulder. But leaving Vince wouldn’t be easy, and I knew the risks better than anyone.

Still, for her, for us, I’d risk everything. She deserved a life without fear, without chaos, and I wanted to be the one to give it to her.

When her breathing steadied, I carefully reached for my phone, typing out a message to Vince.

Me: Need to meet later tonight. Got something to tell you.

I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send. The message was short and to the point, and I knew it would raise questions. But that didn’t matter now.

Y/n shifted slightly against me, and I tightened my arm around her. For the first time in a long time, I felt something like hope – a fragile, flickering thing, but it was there.

As I sat there, holding her, I made a silent vow. By tonight, I’d be out of this life for good. Whatever it took.

a/n: im going to keep my mouth shut here so i dont give spoliers

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ilovepurpledragons @mattsside @riasturns @sturnslutz @chrisstxrnsaxe

[court-jobi]

Unsee

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line. 

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume. 

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office. 

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates. 

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode. 

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear. 

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip. 

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?" 

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves. 

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly  flicks it over to the shared screen. 

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe. 

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood. 

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens. 

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement. 

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing. 

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead. 

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning. 

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right. 

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place. 

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display. 

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates. 

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer. 

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be. 

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for." 

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate. 

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then. 

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.  

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap. 

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead. 

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers. 

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’ 

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch. 

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward. 

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together. 

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens. 

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore. 

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another. 

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that. 

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah." 

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

 He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file. 

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head. 

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort. 

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again. 

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost. 

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes. 

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged. 

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business. 

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place. 

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast. 

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

[spencerreidsreads]

I’d take 100 bad days for this

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Summary: A bad day turned good by a stranger giving you his sweater

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Spencer is probably slightly out of character. I’m still learning and this is my first time writing for him so please forgive me.

AN: Once again not proof read as I’m still too embarrassed to read my own works. Please let me know if there’s any mistakes.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡꘎

With tears streaming down your face, you continue your walk through the streets. The barley there light flickering from the questionable lamppost above casts a slither of light to shine over your soaking wet form. Your tears mix with the raindrops to coat your skin and add to your already terrible mood.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong today, did. First of all, you’d had a terrible nights sleep. Coffee was the first thing on your mind when you woke up in the morning, but instead of starting your day with a warm vanilla latte like you had planned, you found yourself out of coffee. This was strike one.

Then, as you started your journey to work, hoping to stop off at your favourite coffee shop to try get your fix in, your favourite jacket that you had been wearing got caught on god knows what and ripped. The hole that now sat in the sleeve of your jacket mocked you as you lost the energy to detour for your morning caffeine.

Other small things continued to happen throughout the day to add to your sour mood. Someone shut the door on you as you were walking into the building, you realised you had forgotten your lunch and a colleague of yours spilled her coffee onto your recently completed paperwork.

The final straw, however, was when your boss called you into her office. This was never a good sign, you don’t get called into your bosses office unless it’s bad news. The eyes of the rest of your colleagues followed as you trudged into the room that was your idea of personal hell. As soon as you sat down opposite your boss, she explained that the design for a project you had presented had been turned down. They had gone with someone else’s.

This in particular broke your heart. You had been so passionate about it. So confident in your ability to make it work, so why did no one else see that? Add this to all the other small things that had happened that day, and it’s enough to open the floodgates.

As you exit your office and enter the street below ready to walk home, the sky matches your mood. Grey clouds and heavy rainfall are all you can see and hear. Well, you thought, at least it matches your mood.

You decide to take the train home, the quicker you get home the quicker you can drown your sorrows in ice cream. Once you get to the station with tears still spilling from your eyes, you’re happy to note the platform is completely empty. Except for one other individual, a tall man with longish hair, who looked just as soaked as you were. He stood, clutching onto the strap of his brown satchel as he looked around the platform.

His eyes locked onto you and he gave you an awkward smile. You reciprocated the smile and looked away. He didn’t look like the type of guy who would cause you any trouble, but you certainly weren’t in the mood to find out. Avoiding any more contact was the best option, you thought.

Though no matter how hard you avoided looking in his direction, you didn’t anticipate that he would initiate the contact with you.

“Excuse me?” you heard his voice. It sounded unsure and soft, yet friendly in it’s tone.

You turned to look back at the man with the satchel, your eyes asking the question you didn’t need to vocalise, “what?”

You look down and see he’s holding some sort of fabric in his hands.

“I just - uh, you looked cold and I have a spare sweater… if you’d like to put it on. Don’t think you have to! I just thought I would offer since you’re wet and well if you’re wet and cold for a prolonged period of time, it may negatively affect your immune system, making you more likely to get a cold” - he didn’t look in your eyes once whilst saying this - “so… yeah, I just wanted to offer”. You struggled to hold back your smirk, already feeling slightly better. He was a rambler for sure, you knew this much already. He also seemed terrified as he waited for your response. You got the idea he wasn’t the most confident guy in the world.

“Are you sure?” you asked the man. You were very aware of stranger danger and knew you most likely shouldn’t be taking this from him, but honestly you were absolutely freezing. The rain had completely soaked through your clothes at this point and had left your skin feeling the cold. Not to mention, the guy was cute and the idea of wearing his sweater made you feel slightly warmer already.

“Oh absolutely! I don’t need it, it’s just a spare I had in my bag. Actually you should probably take off your shirt before putting the sweater on. Wearing wet clothing in cold temperatures significantly increases the risk of hypothermia, as it rapidly removes heat from the body. The water in wet clothing quickly evaporates, taking heat away from the body therefore reducing the body's ability to maintain a normal temperature.”

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion that you take off your shirt. He looked confused for a second before realising what he’d said. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and he began to stutter out an apology.

“N-no I didn’t mean that. Well, I did but not like that. I’m not asking you to take your shirt off. I- uh, I’m sure you’ll be totally fine if you keep your shirt on. In fact-“

You cut off his panic induced ramble with a laugh, he is absolutely adorable, you thought to yourself.

The stranger looked at you, his cheeks flushed, most likely out of embarrassment and slightly biting his lip. Like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. You decided you’d help him out.

“That’s certainly the most creative way a guys ever hit on me. Asking me to strip on a train platform is a new one for me” you said with a smirk.

The man’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no - that’s not.. I didn’t..”

You once again cut him off with a laugh, louder this time. “I’m just messing with you, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you, for the sweater. I really appreciate it. And your concern for my well being too, that’s very sweet of you” you spoke as you slipped the sweater over your head. You couldn’t help but softly inhale the light smell on the sweater, it smelt clean with a hint of warmth.

“Oh, yeah you’re welcome” he replied, still not making eye contact with you. He didn’t say anything else so you decided to try and continue the conversation whilst you wait for your train.

“So, do I get to know the name of my knight in shining armour who protected me from freezing to death on the train platform?” you asked, you’d made the decision that this man didn’t want to hurt you, so you wanted to get to know him a bit better.

“Oh I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid” he replied, finally looking at you.

“Well Spencer, Spencer Reid. I’m (y/n), I assume you’re waiting for this train?” and you pointed to the empty tracks where your train should be showing up within the next few minutes.

“Yeah, just heading home for the day” Spencer told you. “I’ve been out of town for the past couple of days so I’m excited to just get home and relax with a book”

At the mention of his idea of relaxing being a book, your eyes lit up. You’ve always loved reading, ever since you were a child. Anything you could get your hands on and you were grateful. Fantasy, romance, thriller, historical fiction - anything. You were an absolute bookworm at heart.

“What book are you planning on reading?” you asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. Though I’ll probably go for some light reading since it’s late, I have a few chemistry textbooks I’ve been meaning to read so maybe I’ll get started on those”

You laughed at his mention of chemistry textbooks being light reading, so he’s pretty and funny, you thought.

Until you looked at his face and he seemed utterly confused as to why you were laughing. Was he serious when he said that?

You halted your laughter and decided to get back on track with the conversation. “Well that sounds interesting, I tend to read romance or fantasy books when I’m feeling tired. They keep me engaged enough that I don’t fall asleep straight away. Though I’m currently rereading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Housseini. I haven’t read it in years but came across it in the library recently and decided I wanted to read it again. It’s just as good and moving a second time”

Just as you finished saying this, your train started to pull up. The both of you moved together and approached the doors that were waiting to open. Once they did, Spencer signalled for you to enter first, thanking him you stepped onto the train and headed to find a seat. One sat, you saw Spencer who looked unsure. You guessed he wasn’t sure if you’d want him sitting with you, but just in the short conversation you’d had, he already decided he wanted to talk to you more.

Luckily you sensed his worry and patted the chair next to you; inviting him to sit. Spencer slowly approached and dropped down next to you, taking his satchel off of his shoulders and placing it on his lap. He turned to you and continued your previous conversation.

“You like to read?” he asked “that’s great, I love reading, I can actually read twenty thousand words per minute so I get through book’s extremely fast so I’d love to hear any recommendations if you have any”

Since he again, looked completely serious when he said this, you assumed he maybe wasn’t joking. A guy who can read 20,000 words per minute and enjoys chemistry textbooks in his spare time, what is he some sort of genius?

“Wow” you blinked. “ I’m lucky if I get through one book per month, I get distracted too easily. No matter how much I love a book I just can’t get through it in one go” you admit. Though not out of shame, you read for pleasure and getting through one book a month is working just fine for you.

Spencer smiled slightly at your words,

“but I’d love if we could trade book recommendations” you add on. “Though I’d prefer if you didn’t recommend anything to do with chemistry. Or biology for that matter, or physics. You know what, anything science based is just not my cup of tea.”

He laughed slightly at your request. “Deal” he said. “Are you more of a fiction fan?”

“Absolutely” you responded, “I’m good with any genre but it has to be fiction”

“Ok. I can do that, I’ve read plenty of fiction” he smiled through his words.

“I bet you have Mr twenty thousand words per minute” you giggled.

Spencer laughed along with you, he could tell you weren’t teasing him, it actually almost felt flirty. If he knew for sure Spencer might flirt back, or attempt to at least. But he doesn’t want to have got the wrong impression and make a fool out of himself. He was currently fighting an internal battle with himself.

Either act like this is just a normal, totally none flirtatious conversation and leave the train with a few book recommendations for books he’s probably already read and nothing else. Or, be brave and ask you out. Not only had the conversation you had been fun to him, but Spencer couldn’t deny, you were absolutely beautiful. Even soaking wet from the rain, your hair in ringlets and makeup smudged slightly on your face, Spencer thought you looked breathtaking.

Unfortunately for him, he would have to hurry up and make his decision. Because whilst he was in his own head, he hadn’t realised the train was slowing down.

“Well” you said as you begin to stand, “this is my stop”. You hadn’t even had the chance to exchange book recommendations. You were seriously hoping he would ask for your number. It was almost like your bad day hadn’t happened at all when you spoke with Spencer. He made you smile for the first time since yesterday and you really would love to see him again.

And Spencer was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t often he had to chance to have normal conversation like this. Especially about books. He mainly spoke with his team about serial murders and cases they were working on. It felt nice to leave work behind for a while and have a conversation about an interest of his.

Once he saw you stepping towards the doors of the train, he jumped out of his seat after you.

“Wait, uh (y/n)” he seemed nervous again. “We didn’t get to recommend books to each other.”

He seemed genuinely upset about this.

“You’re right” you replied. It seemed he may need a little push to say what he wanted to say. So you decided to help him again, you couldn’t wait all day, you needed to get off the train any minute now. “I wonder what we could do about that?” you posed like a question, giving Spencer the option to offer a solution.

And in an act of courage that he didn’t normally have around women, he offered one.

“Would you like to get a coffee sometime? With me, I mean”. You could almost hear his heart pounding with how nervous he seemed.

“You mean like a date?” You asked.

“If you’d like, I’d love to take you on a date. We can discuss books and drink coffee and hopefully we’ll be more dry and comfortable than we are now” he reminded you that you both were still currently soaked from the rain.

Your face showed a small smile, but on the inside you were ecstatic. You couldn’t believe after your terrible day that this gorgeous, sweet man was asking YOU on a date.

“I’d love that Spencer” you said earnestly.

You noticed the train doors were about to open, you needed to be quick as you had no way of contacting each other but you needed to get off if you wanted to get home any time soon.

“Uh, do you have a pen? Or your phone. I need to give you my number” you began to panic that you wouldn’t have time to exchange numbers. The doors had just opened.

“Just tell me it.” He stated.

“What?” You responded.

“Trust me” he replied, “I’ll remember it”

How could he remember a full phone number that quickly, after just hearing it once. But you didn’t have time to question it, you quickly relayed your number to him and went to step off the train.

“(Y/n)!” Spencer called your name.

Now on the platform, you turned to look at him, he stood there, looking at you with a smile on his face.

“I’ll call you. It was-“

Spencer was cut off my the doors of the train closing. You watched as the train pulled away, taking the handsome man with it. He awkwardly waved at you as he left.

You felt like a fool, of course he wouldn’t remember your number. Was he just playing you this whole time? Why did he ask you out if he had no intentions of actually wanting to do it?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. This was just a coincidence. It was probably someone wanting to give you more bad news to finish off your day. You signed and started to walk whilst pulling your phone out of your purse.

“Hello?” You said into the phone, not even looking at who called.

“So when are you free for coffee? I can’t wait to hear those recommendations.”

You had to pause your steps you were so surprised. It was actually him, you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face.

You looked down at the sweater hugging your fame, the sweater that belonged to him. The man who was taking you on a date.

You’d take a hundred bad days, if it meant your evenings would end like this. Softly conversing with a gorgeous man on the phone, wearing his sweater and discussing when you were going to see each other again.

“Ah, Mr twenty thousand words per minute, it’s so nice to hear from you…”

Maybe your day wasn’t so bad after all.